Sunday, March 23, 2025

 The Big Dig    3 Lent, March 23, 2025             The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

 “The Big Dig was a megaproject in Boston that rerouted the then elevated Central Artery of Interstate 93 that cut across Boston into the O'Neill Tunnel and built the Ted Williams Tunnel to extend Interstate 90 to Logan International Airport. The project constructed the Zakim Bunker Hill Bridge over the Charles River, created the Rose Kennedy Greenway in the space vacated by the previous I-93 elevated roadway, and funded more than a dozen projects to improve the region's public transportation system. Planning for the project began in 1982. Construction work was carried out between 1991 and 2006. The project concluded in December 2007. The project's general contractor was Bechtel, with Parsons Brinckerhoff as the engineers, who worked as a consortium, both overseen by the Massachusetts Highway Department.”

“The Big Dig was the most expensive highway project in the United States, and was plagued by cost overruns, delays, leaks, design flaws, accusations of poor execution and use of substandard materials, criminal charges and arrests, and the death of one motorist. The project was originally scheduled to be completed in 1998 at an estimated cost of $2.8 billion, US $7.4 billion adjusted for inflation as of 2020.The project was completed in December 2007 at a cost of over $8.08 billion in 1982 dollars, $21.5 billion adjusted for inflation, a cost overrun of about 190%. As a result of a death, leaks, and other design flaws, the Parsons Brinckerhoff and Bechtel consortium agreed to pay $407 million in restitution, and several smaller companies agreed to pay a combined sum of approximately $51 million.” (Wikipedia)

Where was DOGE then? And every year thereafter? Or how about those other institutions that are plagued by people “looking the other way,” maintaining a silence that denies the sin, inaction that not only is unhelpful but is also harmful? Perhaps this is why St. Paul wrote to the Christians in Corinth, telling them that these “failings” of people and organizations, of their leaders and our law-makers, are intended to be examples for us all. And not just examples but also invitations and opportunities for us to correct them, restore them, and renew them for the good of God’s people.

“At that very time there were some present who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them--do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."

“Then Jesus told this parable: "A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'" (Luke 13:1-9)

Our world, then and now, is literally layered with successive political, socio-economic, and religious systems that are built on the broken promises of those who have tried and gone before. We are broken people living with broken systems. These unjust and sinful systems are hard to reform and correct without clear-eyed intention, integrity, and collaboration. It is easy to point to world leaders and blame them for our wars and political ruins. It is easy to point to rebellious people and blame them for our violence. It is easy to point to immoral people and claim that they died because of their indulgences. But reform never was easy. And we are all guilty.

Jesus often levels the playing field in the gospel of Luke. He states that we are all sinners, and our Anglican moral theology reminds us that a sin is a sin is a sin, no matter how large, no matter how small. “Do you think that because they suffered in this way, they were worse sinners than you?” “No,” he says; “but unless we repent, we shall perish as they did.” The Roman armies have become Russian armies and Ukrainian armies. Terrorists of every kind destroy human lives. Diseases proliferate, and nuclear bombs level the playing fields.

Lent is our Big Dig. It is that season in some of our religious traditions when it is an opportunity to look at ourselves and our world and name some truths. We are reminded of our mortality, that we are dust and to dust we shall return. It is a time when we name and claim our sins: personal, systemic, and universal. It is a time when we repent, when we think again about who we are and the choices that we make. Do we choose life, justice and mercy, walking humbly with our God and our neighbors?

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” poet Mary Oliver asks in the poem A Summer's Day. And in her poem, from her book of poems, The Unfolding, Rosemary Wahtola Trommer offers some answers.

So I can’t save the world -

can’t even save myself

can’t wrap my arms around

every frightened child, can’t

foster peace among nations,

can’t bring love to all who

feel unlovable.

So I practice opening my heart

right here in this room and being gentle

with my insufficiency. I practice

walking down the street head first.

And if it is insufficient to share love,

I will practice loving anyway.

I want to converse about truth,

about trust. I want to invite compassion

into every interaction.

One willing heart can’t stop a war.

One willing heart can’t feed the hungry.

And sometimes, daunted by a task too big,

I tell myself, What’s the use of trying?

But today, the invitation is clear:

To be ridiculously courageous in love.

To open the heart like a lilac in May,

knowing freezing is possible

and opening anyway.

To take love seriously.

To give love wildly.

To race up to the world

as if I were a puppy,

adoring and unjaded,

stumbling on my own exuberance.

To feel the shock of indifference,

of anger, of cruelty, of fear,

and stay open. To love as if it matters,

as if the world depends on it. 

Lent is our Big Dig. As we dig around the roots of our mortal lives, we often uncover some things that invite change. As we get our hands dirty, smelling the odor of manure in our nostrils, breaking our backs on the hard work of gardening, we come to realize that digging isn’t just painful, however, but also healing and constructive. We let some things die as we plant seeds for new life. With digging and fertilizing we begin to bear fruit worthy of repentance. We grow spiritually closer to the Light and God’s Love.

Unfortunately, repentance is often considered only an individual and personal activity; but it is also communal and global. Although we can only change ourselves, living only one day at a time, we can make a difference when we join others in creative and collaborative work. Together, we become the hands, heart, and feet of Christ. Faith unrealized and unfulfilled, not actualized and embodied, remains not only dead but it also stinks!

As faithful Christians and moral human beings, we can offer simple acts of kindness and moral goodness every day. As the saying goes, “We can think globally; and act locally.” So here’s a final story from Peace Tales: World Folktales to Talk About which I’ve told before and yet it bears repeating.

 “Once upon a time, a man visited hell, where he was amazed to find people sitting around a table, with all kinds of food piled high. Maybe hell wasn’t so bad, he thought.”

“But then the man looked closely at the people; and they all looked hungry - in fact, they looked like they hadn’t eaten in a very long time. He noticed that everyone around the table had been given chopsticks that were 3 feet long; but the people couldn’t get any of the food into their mouths. And so, the man could see that this indeed was hell.”

“Next the man went to heaven. To his surprise, he saw people seated around a table filled with the same good foods. They also had chopsticks that were three feet long! But this time the man noticed that these people looked happy, full, and satisfied.The difference was that they were using their chopsticks to feed each other!”

This Lent, we can ask ourselves what fruit will we bear before our fig trees are cut down? How will we respond to the suffering of others? And will we speak and act like Jesus, the only One who was without sin, and a perfect example for us all? Repent and turn to the good news of the gospel. Our God is a God of forgiveness and second chances, of Light and Love. Repent and return to the Lord.

 1 Corinthians 10:1-13                Luke 13:1-9


Wednesday, March 5, 2025

Ash Wednesday 2025

 

Ash Wednesday, March 5, 2025                     The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Joel 2:1-2,12-17               Isaiah 58:1-12                  Psalm 103

Almighty and everlasting God, you hate nothing you have made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of you, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

 There are times when we become more aware of our human mortality. As individuals, we may face a health scare, an accident, or a time of vulnerability and fragility when we face the prospect of our death head-on. Without such reminders of our fragile mortality, we tend to think that life just goes on until we’re faced with a hard reality that it may not. When our blissful ignorance is broken, we often turn to theological questions about life and death, about grace and goodness, about justice and mercy.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, death became real on a global scale. Fears of the virus were universal, and your age, health, and ability to access modern medicine oftentimes influenced your outcome. The value of a COVID vaccination was clear to everyone around the globe. With the flu epidemic rising precipitously in Massachusetts this year, it also became apparent that less people were being vaccinated, which contributed to the surges in illnesses. The outbreak of the measles disease in Texas, and the on-going debate about the correlation of autism with vaccinations, have also contributed to the national debate about the value of vaccinations.

Freedom to make personal choices about getting the “jabs” have entered our discourses, debates, and decisions. Moral clarity has become important and ethical decisions have been rising to the surface of our conversations. Medical injunctions to “do no harm” competed with other types of ethics. Questions about financial costs, quality of life, vulnerability, and human suffering were raised. Legal issues blossomed. Some states enacted “physician-assisted suicide laws” while some people argued that what “God has given only God can take away.” Even now, with the current Pope’s recent struggles with respiratory illness, some people have wondered aloud what his “end-of-life” directives might include. People can change their minds when faced with new realities.

What may be good for an individual (read I don’t want a vaccine) may be deadly for groups of people (read your personal choice affects our communal lives.) It may be “right” and “fair” and “just” for you to make a personal decision and yet your decisions are killing us softly, perhaps even violently. Some argue that the political leaders of various nations are doing just that, making decisions that seem “just” and “right” and “fair” but are causing greater and longer damage to their people. Do we align ourselves with just war theorists or “fight for peace” because “blessed are the peacemakers”? Which Bonhoeffer are you?

I have been reminded frequently in these past few weeks of that familiar nursery rhyme called “Ring around the Rosie.” The lyrics are “Ring around the Rosie; A pocket full of posies; Ashes! Ashes!  We all fall down!” According to Wikipedia, “the origin of the song is unknown, and there is no evidence supporting the popular 20th-century interpretation linking it to the Great Plague or earlier outbreaks of bubonic plague in England.”  It became known as a harmless and fun children’s game rather than a social commentary on a deadly disease.

What strikes me today is two-fold. Ash Wednesday is a time in our liturgical season in the Episcopal Church when we remind ourselves that we are mortal, that we are dust and it is to dust that we shall return. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Similarly, it is a time when we remember that we are all guilty of sin: individual, systemic, and spiritual. There are forces of evil and wickedness; and when we are infected by sin of any kind, our spirits become dust and ashes.

Secondly, I think of the horrific wars going on around our world and the thousands of untimely deaths that are associated with that violence. Most notably is the recent tension between the president of our country and Ukraine. Desperate cries for peace have risen with casualties and destruction; while some voices argue that aggression must be resisted at all costs. During war, we are faced with the hard reality of ashes, both human and material. We can see these ashes in the rubble at our feet and in the landscape of our lives. While all boats may rise with the water, we all fall down with war. Everyone loses.

Why would anyone want to put ashes on their foreheads?

Why would anyone want to be reminded of the multitude of our sins, how we have fallen short of our human goodness, let alone the glory of God? Why would anyone want to be reminded of our mortality when life is beautiful, and we are alive?

Perhaps it’s not a question of want but of need? Surely those who have recently endured the hurricanes in North Carolina, and the fire damage and deaths in Los Angeles need no reminders. Surely those in the wars of Ukraine and Russia, or between Israel and Hamas, need no reminders. So too the Sudan. It’s just that some of us are protected by vast oceans on either side of our country. Powerful militaries may keep us temporarily alive and blissfully insulated from the horror endured by smaller, weaker, and more vulnerable nations but the media opens our eyes. Tragedies are undeniable.

          Our Old Testament prophets are known for their dire warnings about the impending gloom for Israel when the “day of the Lord” will be upon them. As Joel proclaimed, “Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day of the Lord is coming, it is near– a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness! Like blackness spread upon the mountains a great and powerful army comes; their like has never been from of old, nor will be again after them in ages to come.” Unfortunately, Israel has endured and continues to endure invasions from all borders of its country even to the present day.

And yet these prophets have also offered hope during days of darkness. If we return to the Lord, as Joel advises, then perhaps we can also hear the promises of Isaiah. There will be a repairer of breaches in our diplomacy. There will be a restorer of peace in our nations. There will be reconciliation between the nations. “If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.”

          Hope, as our current vice-president recently said, is not a strategy. However, hope is universal, and religion is intended to “connect” us with one another and to God. Spirituality reminds us, like the movie Wicked, that forces can be both good and evil. However, when and “if we return to the Lord” we may find ourselves on a different news channel, and it’s good news. Indeed, Christians claim that Isaiah identified the Repairer, Restorer, and Reconciler in Chief for all nations to have hope. His name is Jesus.

          Our Lenten season of 40 days and 40 nights begins today. It is a time for putting down some things and taking up others. Put down the hate speech and pick up the love of God, for Christ’s sake!  Don’t be a “hater” for “God hates nothing God has made and forgives the sins of all who are penitent.” Living one day at a time, letting go and letting God, offers us a spiritual serenity and a peace that passes all understanding. We may all fall down; and yet in Christ we are raised to new and resurrected life.

          “Bless the Lord, O my soul. He remembers that we are but dust.” (Psalm 103:1,14)