Seeds of Hope

 

St. Barnabas Church, Falmouth            The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

             According to my HarperCollins Study Bible, today’s passage from St. Paul’s letter to the Romans is introduced with the headline, “Marks of a True Christian.” It is a list of imperatives, drawing on the wisdom tradition of scripture, like the book of Proverbs. It focuses on social relations, which St. Paul offers as guidelines for the budding Christian community in Rome. During these times of COVID 19, systemic racism and violence, political battles, and social unrest, how many of us can claim these marks for ourselves? Not me!

            The marks of being a true Christian suggest ways we can become better versions of ourselves; and yet holding myself up against this yardstick of perfection, I find myself sorely lacking. My battle with the squirrels brought out the worst in me, “Vengeance is mine!” I would yell as they scurried away from the birdfeeder. Or listening to the news, I would find myself despairing. How do you not curse some of these people? How do I hold fast to what is good when I want to heap burning coals on their heads?

St. Barnabas, whose feast day was this past Monday, was known as both the “son of consolation and the son of encouragement.” When I read this passage from St. Paul’s letter, at first, I was neither consoled nor encouraged. We live in dark times. The pandemic is still virulent, Jacob Blake was shot by the police in his back 7 times, and violence is erupting in our cities. Many people are feeling helpless, powerless, and hopeless.

Sometimes I wonder about us humans!  How can we behave like “that” and still call ourselves people of faith or “true Christians” or just decent human beings? Discouraged by what I see and hear, I weep with those who weep; and then I look for some relief from the pain. I look for temporary distractions, not to avoid or deny the reality of what is going on, but rather to pause and reflect on how I might respond. I want answers to the chaos and confusion in our world, and scripture stories remind me of God’s steadfast love, justice, and mercy.

Moses was born as a Hebrew child, and yet raised by Pharaoh’s daughter in Egypt, after her father ordered all the Hebrew baby boys to be killed. As an adult, Moses began to understand his own heritage; he saw firsthand the oppression and forced labor of his people. When he saw an Egyptian beating one of his kinsfolk, he made sure that no one was watching, and then he killed him. He took justice into his own hands.

“When Moses went out the next day, he saw two Hebrews fighting between each other; and he said to the one who was in the wrong, “Why do you strike your fellow Hebrew?” The man answered, “Who made you a ruler and judge over us? Do you mean to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?” (Exodus 2:11-15) Violence is prevalent when unjust systems exist; and during times of high stress, people react poorly. We turn against one another. We kill our own people. And yet, St. Paul reminded the Christians in Rome, who were being persecuted at that time, to leave room for the wrath of God.

John Fraser, the European correspondent of the Globe and Mail, one of Canada's national newspapers in 1985, told a story about his daughter Jessie to the late Henri Nouwen. In his book called Seeds of Hope, Nouwen recalled John’s story. “One morning Jessie, who was 4 years old at the time, found a dead sparrow in front of their living room window. When she saw it, she was both deeply disturbed and very intrigued. Jessie asked her father, “Where is the bird now?”

            “John said he didn’t know; and when Jessie asked why it had to die, he replied, ‘because all birds return to the earth.’ ‘Oh,’ said Jessie, ‘then we have to bury it.’ A box was found, a procession was had, the grave was dug, and a cross was planted on top of it. The 4-year-old girl then offered a prayer, “Dear God, we have buried this little sparrow. Now be good to her or I will kill you. Amen.” (Seeds of Hope, p.214)

When we are sad or really angry, and our feelings are out of control, it is tempting to threaten people, or in worse cases, to take justice into our own hands. The seeds of good and evil are planted early in our human hearts. How we nurture these seeds, however, remains up to us. Hate will consume us. Rage will burn buildings and set fires of destruction. Only Love will save us.

Perhaps the silver lining in times like these is that everybody gets “woke up.” Everybody’s attention becomes focused on the problem at hand, like COVID 19, or those issues lying beneath the surface, like systemic racism. In today’s reading from Exodus, God woke up. “I have observed the misery of my people and I have heard their cry,” he said to Moses. “Indeed, I know their sufferings. So, I want you to go back to Egypt; I want you to deliver my people.”

One of my favorite distractions is to watch the Celtics basketball team. As a season ticket holder, I love the diversity and variety of the fans as well as the players. I love the passion and culture of this team, and how they console, support, and encourage each other, not only in their work but also in their lives. Since the Pandemic, they have been playing in a bubble in Florida and had just entered the playoffs when Jacob Blake was shot. In a show of solidarity against systemic racism, they postponed their first play-off game until today.

Jaylen Brown, a 23-year-old rising star on the team, wears the number 7 on his jersey, and the word “liberation” on his back. In a recent interview, he said, “When I woke up after the shooting of Jacob Blake, everything in me was on fire.” According to Taylor Snow, “what angered Brown was the familiar nightmarish scenario that African Americans continue to endure in the United States, along with the commonplace attempts to minimize such events.”

 “I now see my number 7 and can only think of a black man being shot seven times. There is an emphasis in this country on the framing of these instances,” Brown explained, “‘Well, he was a convicted felon. Well, he had a history of police brutality. Well, he possibly had a weapon.’ This framework is not unfamiliar to people of color and African Americans, nor does it constitute death or being shot seven times.”

“People of color have histories of the plague of systemic oppression, the lack of education, economic opportunity, housing, systemic racism and injustice. Yes, we are athletes being paid to play the game we love; but we are also human beings, family members, and members of our communities back home.” (Taylor Snow @taylorcsnow Celtics.com, August 25, 2020)

So, perhaps like Jaylen’s team members, perhaps like you and me, we need to keep asking that question, “What should we do now? And what exactly can I do?” “Extend hospitality to strangers,” St. Paul wrote in his letter to the Christians in Rome. In “Hostility to Hospitality” Nouwen claims that “hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place. It is not to bring people over to our side, but to offer freedom not disturbed by dividing lines.”(Seeds of Hope, p36) Together, in our communities and our churches, we can make space for transformation. We can educate ourselves out of ignorance. We can build bridges of hope, plant seeds of love, and accept all people as beloved children of God.

In his letter to the Romans, St. Paul said, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God-- what is good and acceptable and perfect.” Being perfect means having integrity. It means that our words and actions are consistent with who we claim to be. We strive to love one another with mutual affection, outdo one another in showing honor, not lag in our zeal and spirits, and walk the talk with our brothers and sisters.

 “Do not repay anyone evil for evil but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all,” wrote St. Paul. “So far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” people. St. Paul’s words are aspirational, and they are intended to be words of both consolation and encouragement. “Never, never, never give up,” said Winston Churchill; for “it all seems impossible, until it is done,” claimed Nelson Mandela.

“Set your mind on divine things,” Jesus told Peter. When we are patient in our suffering, and persevere in our prayers, we can rejoice in hope with others because we trust that God will lead us out of this darkness into light. We may even find ways to bless our enemies. When the Son of Man comes with his angels in glory, he will make reparations and restore the breach that divides us; for, as MLK, Jr. once said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Battle at the Bird Feeder

 

St. Barnabas, Falmouth, Massachusetts    August 23, 2020            The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Jesus said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”

Jesus had come to a point in his life when he needed to ask this hard question of those closest to him. “I know what others are saying about me,” he said. “But who do you say that I am?” “Well,” they replied, “some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” And then Peter stuck his neck out and said, “No. You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

Location is important. Not speaking from a convention in Bethlehem, cleaning out the temple in Jerusalem, or teaching in a synagogue in his hometown, Jesus was talking to his disciples in Caesarea Philippi. Jesus was on his proverbial campaign trail, stepping far away from his family, his religious party and its leaders, and the political rulers of his country. He had traveled north with his disciples to reflect upon his own identity.

Identity politics is a buzzword and a trigger for many people. Now before you react to these words, in an article by German Lopez in August of 2017 entitled “The Battle over Identity Politics, Explained” he wrote that (quote) “identity politics isn’t just a tool of the left. The right has used it again and again. At the crux of both sides of identity politics is a simple problem: No one wants to get left behind.” (end quote) And so, our battles continue.

My recent battle started out innocently enough; and yet it has taken on “wings of its own.” I call it the battle at the bird feeder. You see, our son Brian created a bird feeder for my birthday. Initially, when my husband Paul and I began sheltering on the Cape, we placed the bird feeder on our deck. We were delighted and amazed at the variety of birds that arrived to eat. Then the raccoon appeared, followed by rabbits and chipmunks, and finally an army of gray and red squirrels.

At first, we would bring the feeder into our house at night, which made the squirrels so angry that they chewed through our screen door. One day, Paul found the leader of the pack happily helping himself to food in our living room. So, we decided to leave the bird feeder outside, where it was routinely occupied by the squirrels. The birds, chipmunks, and rabbits watched from a distance, feeding on whatever fell to the ground or scattered on the deck, and only after the squirrels had left. Apparently, the raccoon had moved on. There was no justice and no peace at our bird feeder. And it made me angry.

Our deck soon became littered with birdseed, animal waste, and property destruction. It looked like a city street after a bad night of protests or partying. And so, Paul and I decided to move our bird feeder to a different location and put it on a pole. We thought that the birds would then have total access to the food; but squirrels can jump; and they climbed the pole, even after we had greased and pepper sprayed it.

Some years ago, during my sabbatical from parish ministry, I took a course called Jesus in Palestine at St. George's College in Jerusalem. For two weeks we learned about Jesus and the ongoing battles between the Palestinian Christians, the Arabs in surrounding countries, and the Jews who inhabited the country of Israel. One day, we visited the northern district of Caesarea Philippi.

In ancient times, Caesarea Philippi was a pagan holy site. It had a deep spring of water inside a dark cave which inspired awe and mystery. Worshipers would throw human beings into the pool of water at the back of the cave as living sacrifices for their god. If the body disappeared, they believed their sacrifice had been accepted; if the body or blood rose to the surface, then the sacrifice had been rejected and they would try again.

When this territory became occupied by Alexander the Great, an altar was erected to the Greek god named Pan, who was believed to be part human and part goat. Goats were considered sacred; and so, like my squirrels, they had enormous freedom to frisk about in this grotto. They nibbled on the leaves and the gifts of food that had been left on the altar. After all, their god was part human and had to eat more than just leaves!

Now, in this very same location, which was now occupied by the Roman government, Jesus asked that question about his identity, “And who do people say that I am?” he asked. “You are the Messiah,” Peter claimed. That is “You are the anointed one, our divinely appointed king, who will save us from the religious and political leaders of our time. You are a human being just like us and yet you are the Son of the living God.” “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven,” Jesus responded.

“From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the religious and political people in power. “It will be me,” Jesus was saying to his disciples, “who will be thrown into that cave, but my sacrifice will be once and for all people. Although you will see my body and blood on the cross, you will not have to try again. So, present your bodies as “living sacrifices, which is your spiritual worship, and love others as I have loved you.”

Battles have raged over people, places, and things from the beginning of time, and power has shifted from one group to another with regularity. My innocent battle at the bird feeder got me thinking. I have been sorely tested by those squirrels in my backyard. As a mother against gun violence, and an opponent of the death penalty, at times I was tempted to hurt the squirrels. In my anger, I wanted to defend our property and stand my ground. No one wants to have their homes invaded, or their property destroyed. I wanted justice.

The bird feeder was created to feed birds; and yet my handouts were going to the squirrels. I looked at those “Have-a Heart” suggestions and thought of ICE: Immigration Control and Enforcement. But I know that relocation does not always solve our problems; and those squirrels keep coming back. As an advocate of open communion, I began to wonder. Perhaps I should welcome the squirrels to my bird feeder?  “No one wants to be left behind,” right? Everybody’s gotta eat!

Identity is important. “Who are you?” my daughter once asked me when I did not behave like her mother. Well, that depends, I thought to myself. Politically, I am red, blue, purple, and green depending upon the issue. Spiritually, I can fly like the birds. Sometimes, I can even behave like those squirrels. But if I identify myself as a baptized Christian, then you will know that I am a member of Christ’s Body, who has renewed her covenant with God in front of God’s people, with regularity.

This past week, Brother James from SSJE wrote about dignity. He said, “In our baptisms we pledged, with God’s help, to strive for justice and peace among all people, and to respect the dignity of every human being. But we cannot do that if we are constantly elbowing people out of the way in order to get what we think we are owed. We cannot do that if we fail to see the image of God in the faces of those whom we deem to be insignificant, or least, or last.” And I would add or different from us.

On that day in Caesarea Philippi long ago, we renewed our baptismal promises in the trickling waters of the Jordan River. We made the sign of the cross on our foreheads and promised to respect the dignity of all people. We promised to care for all of God’s creation. While my battle at the bird feeder, the political and religious battles in our country and throughout our world are not yet over, in the end, the victory is ours. For the crux of the matter is that God does not want anyone, or any part of God’s creation left behind.

As Christians, we believe that God’s mission of reconciliation was accomplished in the person of Jesus, who was fully human and fully divine. Through Him we are forgiven, restored, and set free; for despite his initial request for secrecy, the identity of Jesus was revealed on the cross. Peter got it right. Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God, and that is good news for all of us, maybe even for the squirrels.

 Romans 12:1-8        Matthew 16:13-20

 

Begging for Mercy

 

August 16, 2020        The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling        Begging for Mercy

 Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly. (Matthew 15: 21-28)

Have you ever had to beg for mercy? If you are anything like me, you prefer not to ask for help, because you like to be in control. You like to be independent, self sufficient, capable of handling whatever happens. And so asking for help is difficult, and begging for mercy is nearly impossible. Things have to be pretty bad to sink that low, to become that vulnerable. Like the first time I had to ask for help when a family member was struggling with an addiction.

Begging for mercy was also the case with the woman in today’s gospel. She was a Canaanite, in other words an enemy of the Jews. She was one of those people the Israelites had to conquer in order to receive the land promised to them by their God. And she was unclean because she was a Gentile. A Gentile, and a woman! No wonder Jesus, who was a good and faithful Jew, gave her the silent treatment. No wonder the disciples wanted Jesus to send her away.

According to the Bible, we are made in the image of God. We have been created with minds to think, hearts to love, hands to serve, and the freedom of our wills to decide what we will or will not do. I often think that I should be able to handle things that I can't. Sometimes I understand what’s happening and why; other times I can only "smh"- shake my head. Jesus thought that he had been sent by God only to his people. And now here was this Gentile woman begging him for mercy.

Jesus told her that it wasn't fair, that it wasn't right, that he should give Israel’s food - that is the mercy of God- to the dogs - a Jewish euphemism for Gentiles. Initially, he intended to send her away. But this woman was desperate, as those of us who have ever faced the loss of a loved one can be. At times like these, read pandemic, we'll do anything, try anything, say anything to hang on to what we know and love - whether it be a person, a job, a teaching, or even an addiction.

I worked for a year as a chaplain at Bridgeport Hospital. On a Friday that I will never forget, I was the chaplain who was called to the emergency room. In the trauma room was a young Korean woman in her early 20's. She had drunk approximately 3 gallons of cleaning fluid, and had been discovered in the bathroom by her younger sister. The doctor asked me to inform the mother and sister that she would not live. The social worker escorted me to the family room, where I met the mother and her other daughter for the first time.

The mother was understandably hysterical, and as she spoke to me in Korean, her daughter translated. She told me that her older daughter could not die, because they were Christians, and if she died she would go to hell because she had done this terrible thing. I told her that I also was a Christian, but did not believe that. I told her that I thought that there is a wideness in God's mercy, and that when she died, she would not go to hell. I told her that while the doctors did not expect her to live, I also told her that I believed in miracles. And that all that we could do at this point was to pray - pray for her life and pray for God 's mercy.

Together we went to the trauma room to say some prayers, where the older daughter lay, with black fluid draining from her body, and a team of physicians and nurses surrounding the table. Before I could open my mouth, the mother began to pray in Korean. Weeping and praying, hands outstretched over her daughter, she continued until the doctors told us that it was time to go. Her daughter was then wheeled from the trauma room to the Medical Intensive Care Unit in order to die.

I accompanied the mother and the younger sister to our chapel in the hospital, where I offered to stay with them and pray. The mother indicated to me that she was fine being alone, and so I returned to her dying daughter in the MICU to say some final prayers of my own. Like the woman in today’s gospel story, I couldn't bear the grief of this mother, perhaps because I am a mother myself. I couldn't bear the thought of this young and beautiful daughter dying, perhaps because she was so close in age to my own daughter. And I was angry because I thought that there must have been something awful that happened to drive her to such an extreme. Certainly God wouldn't condemn her for such a decision. And so at her bedside in the MICU, with tears of anger and grief in my eyes, I prayed very briefly beföre I went home. "Lord Jesus, you said that if we asked for anything in your name, you would do it. So do something!"

Although not Jewish, I do have a lot of chutzpah. And although bold, I have never been quite so bold, before or even after that Friday. I have not demanded certain outcomes from God since then; and yet I have begged for mercy on many occasions. As my anger subsided, my grief did not, and I found myself praying all weekend, begging for mercy. I imagined laying my hands upon this girl's head and praying for her healing. When I returned to the hospital on Monday, I learned that her mother had spent the whole weekend on her knees in the chapel.

That Monday morning I received a phone call from the social worker, who has never been a big fan of hospital chaplains. The emergency room was her territory, and she never saw the need for chaplains. With awe in her voice, she told me that on Sunday the black fluid in the tubes suddenly turned clear. The young girl was out of intensive care and resting comfortably in another part of the hospital. At the very least, the doctors told her that she should have burned her esophagus and stomach from all the chemicals that she drank. On that Monday, she was only suffering from a slightly sore throat.

When I saw this young Korean girl later that day, I learned that her uncle had suffered from such severe depression in Korea that he had thrown himself off of a roof. She was told that she needed medication for her own physical and chemical imbalances. When her mother walked me out of the room, after our visit, she hugged me in the hallway. With her arms in the air and a smiling face, she kept saying, "Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.”

I don't tell you this story in order to impress you with any great powers that I might have in prayer, nor likewise for the Korean woman, or suggest that if you stay on your knees long enough, you'll get what you want. For I have prayed long and hard for things that seemingly never changed. But I do believe in miracles, and I know that there are plenty of things well beyond our human understanding.

I also know that just as we change our minds and our wills at different times in our lives, so too did Jesus. He kept his mind and his heart open for new directions from God. What never changes, however, is the unchanging love of God for our health and our salvation. Mercy is the steadfast love of God, and it endures forever. For in his tender compassion, with no begging on our parts, Jesus stretched out his arms of love on the hardwood of the cross so that we might know the healing power of God’s love and the promise of resurrection life. Thank you Jesus. Amen.

 

The Pity Pit

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

August 9, 2020

Genesis 37: 1-4, 12-28

The Pity Pit. It’s always tempting to throw ourselves into it for different reasons. Maybe we’re like the brothers of Joseph, jealous of their younger brother’s favored status with their father, feeling sorry for our “unloved” selves. Maybe we’re like Joseph, envious of the work that his brothers enjoy, and so we snitch on them. We report badly about them to “our father,” or obsess over unfair benefits. Perhaps even Israel knows the pity pit. Because of his declining years, he just can’t do things the way he did when he was younger.

Self-pity is a common temptation for us all. Especially during these pandemic and political times, it can be easy to feel a little sorry for ourselves. Nothing is the same. Everyone is doing it wrong. Anger and resentment rule our lives. We are critical and judgmental. What’s a person to do when we’ve fallen into the pity pit? When we’re having our own little pity party? 

Choose gratitude. Love the life you have on life’s terms. Keep your expectations realistic. Focus on yourself and not the actions and attitudes of others. Comparisons aren’t helpful, and incessant complaining only magnifies the problem. Don't “take” offense; and don't make mountains out of molehills. Shrug off the hurts, be good to yourself, and laugh a little with others. Dwelling on the past, which we cannot change, or imagining a future that may never happen, can drive us into the Pity Pit.

Today is all we have, how will we use it?

Cancel Culture

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling            August 2, 2020                    Cancel Culture

 Romans 9:1-5: I am speaking the truth in Christ-- I am not lying; my conscience confirms it by the Holy Spirit-- I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my own people, my kindred according to the flesh. They are Israelites, and to them belong the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship, and the promises; to them belong the patriarchs, and from them, according to the flesh, comes the Messiah, who is over all, God blessed forever. Amen.

What is it like to be cut off from your own people? To be cut off from your own flesh and blood? St. Paul claims that for him it is a great sorrow and unceasing anguish in his heart. As a Jew who came to believe that Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah, he felt cut off from his own people. Ever felt that way too?

Cut offs are common in our relationships. It happens when we are so angry, bitter, and resentful that we cut people out of our lives. We stop speaking to them. We avoid them. We “unfriend” them. In today’s jargon, we call this our “cancel culture.” “The truth is,” as St. Paul once wrote to the Romans, “I am not lying, my conscience confirms it,” everyone is bleeding. Everyone is hurting when there are cut-offs. And it doesn’t have to be so.

“One can tell that the people who hear these words from St. Paul are people who have gone through deep and long-term continuous suffering of some sort,” wrote Gary Simpson in Christian Century. You know who they are, right? People of color and abject poverty, victims of violence and unrelenting oppression, groups of people who suffer injustice and inequality throughout our world. All of us, today, are currently suffering through this pandemic. “The truth is,” as St. Paul once wrote to the Romans, “I am not lying, my conscience confirms it,” we are cut off from each other by pandemics, political and religious disagreements, international warfare, and the never-ending “isms” that cause us such great sorrow and unceasing anguish. We keep cancelling each other out. And it doesn’t have to be so.

Perhaps like you, and St. Paul, I feel great sorrow and unceasing anguish over the current state of affairs. Paul’s core message, however, was one of reconciliation. In Christ, he claims, there are no “cut-offs.” No one is cancelled out. In his letter to the Romans, he reminds them that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God, not even death. For we have all been adopted by Christ, grafted onto the same tree of life, and destined for the same everlasting future. St. Paul’s message is good news for us in the midst of so much real sorrow and anguish, both back then, and even now. We all just need to stay connected to one another through God. May it be so.