Saints in Transition

Sunday after All Saints’ Day
Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont
The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling. Theologian in Residence

I am delighted to be with you this morning at St. Paul’s Cathedral in Burlington, Vermont, although I must say, it is a hard act to follow your recent Dean Jeanne, and a Bishop with a lovely British accent. To Bishop Ely and your wardens, Lisa and Paul, as well as your Canon Precentor Mark, and Deacon Stan, I am most grateful for their invitation to be among you during this time of transition, and for your wonderful and warm welcome. To the vestry, thank you for the “oh so good” Vermont food basket. Our daughter graduated from medical school at the University of Vermont, and Megan has told me that Burlington is the best place in the whole world to live! And here I am! Loving, exploring, and serving with you today.

 I have a long and checkered past history, both with cathedral ministries and with people and places named Paul; and so it seemed a good and right and joyful thing for me to be with you at your cathedral of the same name. I am also delighted to be here on this particular Sunday morning, when we celebrate the major feast of All Saints’ Day and the recent ingathering of your stewardship offerings.

I must confess to you at the beginning of our short relationship of two months, I am a person who loves content more than process, and so I am someone who is often thanked for my “full and thoughtful” agendas, or my sermons that give you “lots to think about.” In fact, I was once accused of being like a fire hydrant on a hot summer afternoon. And so, like you and your own discernment process, I try to remember space, pace, and grace. Besides, it’s almost winter in Burlington.

In preparation for today, I started with a question for God. Oh Lord, where do I begin, and what do I say, with such a cornucopia of blessings  spread before me, with such a beautiful feast to behold in this special place, and my temptation to do too much? I decided to start, and maybe even limit myself (ha ha) to focus on the feast of All Saints; and yet I have to start with that beautiful name of Paul.

I've have been married to Paul Gossling for 44 years, and because of him, the churches in which I have served, and the author of so much of our new testament scripture, many of my sermons have involved thoughts about St. Paul. Despite his sometimes unfavorable ratings, I do love St. Paul. In his theology of the cross, he claims, along with Martin Luther of the Reformation, that we are both sinners and saints, simultaneously condemned and forgiven. Through our God named Jesus, whose home was among mortals, we become justified, that is made right with God. We are sanctified through the Holy Spirit and in baptism, we are raised to new life. In Christ, we all become saints, new creations, reclaiming the inner landscape and beauty of our goodness.

Now, there’s my “theologian-in-residence” message for the day, maybe even for the next two months, although I sincerely doubt it! So back to St. Paul and all those saints that we remember today. My particular Paul, that is my husband Paul, loves the hymn, “I sing a song of the saints of God” in which different kinds of saints are named: one was a doctor, and one was a queen, one was a shepherdess on the green, one was a soldier, one was a priest, and one was slain by a fierce wild beast.

As a doctor in the newborn intensive care unit, our daughter sees death at the very beginning of life, which is heart-wrenching, and grief-producing. Our son, who works with homeless communities in Boston, sees lives that end far too soon because of addiction, mental illness, and poor health. Both of our children attended Sandy Hook School, long before the tragic shooting in December of 2012, when so many young lives were slain by a fierce wild beast. My father, God bless and rest his soul, left a legacy of both faithfulness and humor, when nearing his own death at age 86, quipped, “Only the good die young.”

Understandably, we often console ourselves with images of saints in heaven, imagining them singing songs of joy under the able leadership of someone like your canon precentor. We console ourselves with words, saying that they’ve “gone to a better place”, and yet, why is it that no one is in a rush to get there? We describe these saints through many hymns. They are watchers and holy ones, angels and archangels, patriarchs and prophets, first-responders and martyrs, who now from their labors rest. In the wake of yet another tragic shooting in Pittsburgh, today we sing a song of the saints of God with tears streaming down our cheeks.

 People were weeping in today’s gospel. Jesus was disturbed in spirit, not only once but twice, because he loved, explored, and served with all God’s people. Grief is grief. Understandably, and realistically, we are sad when someone dies, regardless of their length of time here on earth, and most definitely with tragic endings. Often times we complain as Mary did, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." Like the Jews in today’s gospel, we might ask, "Could not he, who opened the eyes of the blind man, have kept this man from dying?"

In self-reflection or outward blame, we may ask, “Was there anything else I could have done? Or the doctors? Or the politicians? Or the schools or the faith communities or our law enforcement to help protect us from these untimely deaths? Is God just a distant king of glory, riding his horse around heaven, like a certain bare-chested president in a foreign country, aware of human suffering, and yet doing nothing about it? Or is God now here, at home among us mortals?  And if so, is God wearing a flak jacket too?

Saints have many vocations, not just doctors, priests, queens, and soldiers; and these vocations are as diverse and beautiful as our humanity. Indeed, every vocation is equally important to our health and our well-being as a society, and we need to celebrate and honor all vocations with equal voice and song. Together, as sinners and saints, we can love, explore, and serve in Christ’s name; for baptism is our primary vocation. Through discernment, we can ask, “What part will I play in this unfolding drama of life?”

Vocare: Latin, to call. When I was called to serve as the rector of St. James’ Episcopal Church in Glastonbury, Connecticut, their  #1 goal was mutual ministry. In Connecticut, Bishop Ely was known as a forerunner of collaborative ministries among small parishes there. Around the city of Hartford, we were a cluster of saints, from various church communities, who were committed to serving God in different locations and through various vocations, sharing our resources for the greater glory of God. The Cathedral Church of St. Paul is called by God to love, explore, and serve. How will you continue to do that now and into the future as an urban cathedral?

As you know from these current political and ecclesiastical times, transitions of any kind can bring out the worst and the best in ourselves. Like transitions at childbirth and at death, and every transition in between, whatever size or shape, however big or small, transitions are hard and holy work. Especially during this time in your cathedral, I encourage you to name and claim your gifts, both as individuals and as a cathedral community. During this time of stewardship ingathering and outpouring, you become a visible witness to the love and power of God. With a variety of gifts and the same Spirit, you are the saints of God past, present, and future. We are saints alive! Imagine that!

As Paul and I grow older, we are ever more aware of the fragility and shortness of this life. Long ago, I attended an adult formation offering based upon a book entitled “Ready to Live. Prepared to Die.” When we are living our lives consciously and faithfully, and fully prepared to die, we are ready to live. I recently spoke with a friend from Connecticut, who is, as she describes it, “on her way out”, because of a tumor that has spread throughout her brain. She spoke to me about the importance of her legacy to her children and grandchildren. She wants to faithfully model her transition from this life into the next with courage and grace. Despite the cruelty of this disease, and the impact on her family, I am amazed at the legacy that she is living and giving right now. I know that our memories will fade; and yet I trust that the bonds of our love, and God’s love, are stronger than death. See how Jesus loved Lazarus. See how Jesus loves us.

In a meditation for young adults, Chris Roberson writes, “There’s nothing fun about pain and suffering. If we could avoid it most of us would, choosing instead to live in a world with nothing but unicorns, rainbows, and butterflies. But unfortunately, that’s not how life works. Everything belongs: good and bad, light and dark, hope and despair, heaven and hell. It’s all there, right in front of us, all around us. And so is God, which is why we have nothing to fear.” (www.d365.org 10/28/18)

"See,” explains the author of Revelation, “God will be with us. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more.” Babies are born, people get married, new clergy are called, and people will die, and yet, each day is a new beginning. Ruth Casey writes, “I’ve come to believe in the ‘Sacrament of the Moment’ which presupposes trust in the ultimate goodness of my Creator. Each breath we take is Spirit-filled. This moment and all moments are sacred.” (Each Day is a New Beginning, July 16)

On this Sunday after All Saints’ Day, it’s a time to reflect upon our own developing sainthood and the transitions in our lives. Sinners and saints of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, YOU are sacred, YOU have gifts to share, and YOU have legacies to leave. YOU are saints alive! So unbind yourselves, and let your selves go. For the One who is seated on the throne is making all things new, and did Jesus “not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”


Psalm 24: 1-10
Revelation 21:1-6a
John 11:32-44

Rocks and our Redeemer

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling Vestry, Retreat: Church of the Redeemer

How is our Church in general, and Church of the Redeemer in particular, identified today?  Are we a faithful religious witness to the Jesus Movement? Are we a spiritual Body that reveals God’s love, which is liberating, life-giving, and visible in human flesh? That moves beyond the boundaries of our skin and our church walls? Are we living stones that proclaim with joy the good news of Jesus Christ, the chief cornerstone of our Church?

The letter to the Ephesians reminds the Church that we have a purpose. We are called to equip others in the work of ministry, to build up the Body of Christ in love, until all are united. Speaking the truth in love, we can grow into the full stature of Christ, who is the head of our Body and our Church. With a diversity of gifts, we are joined together, and with each part working properly, we will promote spiritual growth in ourselves, at Redeemer, and beyond its walls. With clear identity and purpose, you will serve Christ as vestry leaders with greater balance, focus, and power.

When I left parish ministry, after serving as the rector of St. James Church in Glastonbury, Connecticut for 10 years, I felt that God was calling me to serve in new and different ways. My unexpected three year transition took me to the Cathedral Church in Dublin, Ireland for 3 months, a Spanish immersion in Barcelona, Spain for 6 weeks, and two search processes, one in South America and another in Maryland. Having finally sold our suburban home in Connecticut, my husband Paul and I purchased a condominium in East Cambridge in 2015.

We could not be happier with our personal choice; and yet initially, as a priest, I felt like an immigrant, an itinerant traveler who left home in one country and felt lost in a new land. I felt unmoored as a Christian, still identifying myself as an Episcopalian, but not anchored in any one parish. I was spiritually free but too free-floating, blown about by the winds of uncertainty and sadness. Not wanting to limit my gifts to one parish only, I claimed my identity as a missionary and evangelist. Feeling somewhat isolated, and searching for spiritual strength, comfort, and courage, I found a religious community here at Bethany House, and my spiritual life was renewed once again.

In 2016, I met with my bishop and other clergy and began to make connections. Over time, with discernment in community, I became involved with our new mission strategy in this diocese. I love our headlines which are based upon scripture passages: to embrace brave change, to reimagine our congregations, build our relationships, and engage our world. Based upon the letter to the Ephesians, we wrote: “Blessed by the manifold charism of all of our diverse members and congregations, we will strengthen the bonding ligaments between individuals, congregations and diocesan bodies. Honoring the contributions of every generation and working across differences to build each other up in love, we will share our varied gifts with one another and our world.”

In my first meditation today, I invited you to focus on your personal identity as a Christian leader, using the analogy of the Body of Christ. Now I’d like to shift that focus to your communal identity as vestry leaders of Church of the Redeemer, using rocks or stones as a symbol for your reflections. Stones, like those in St. Anne’s Chapel, hold memories, and memories speak to us. Let me begin with a memory that I bring with me today.

During the summer of 2016, when I had not yet been appointed as the co-chair of our mission strategy team or as acting dean of our Cathedral Church, I found myself with more time on my hands than I like. I am an Enneagram #3, an achiever, a high energy person who seeks meaningful work, and wants to get the job done! I am too much content and not enough process. Paul and I have a family home on the Cape to which I retreated that summer. Looking for things to do, I decided to make a small pathway around our outside shower with stones from the beach.

Every day, I would walk down to the beach with cloth bags, pick up heavy stones from the beach, and carry them back to the house. I picked them up and put them down, along with my thoughts and my prayers. It took me all summer to finish the walkway, and today, I am very proud of my efforts and the result. It is a memory of a time when I was sad and empty, as well as a time in which I was literally laying down a pathway for God. I still yearned for new opportunities to serve, and yet with tears, I realized that God cannot fill that which is already full.

As I mentioned before, I served at Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin, Ireland for three months as a consultant. There, I found the Celtic Way of spirituality to be alive, not only in the people but also in their land. In a book called Sacred Spaces, Margaret Silf, describes us as islands of disconnection which are created by our desire for self-sufficiency. And yet, as Thomas Merton once said, “No man is an island unto itself.” Rather, Margaret Silf writes that underneath all of our islands is a bedrock that connects us all, where all creation is held in unity, and reminds us that there is something and someone greater than us all. As a Christian, that bedrock for me is Jesus, and all else is shifting sand. As a member of the human race, that bedrock reminds me that I am a beloved child of God, on a pathway to new life.

You know how stones can be used for good things as well as harm, right? A woman caught in adultery was going to be stoned until Jesus intervened. In some parts of our world, women are killed today with this very same method. Jesus also intervened when the demoniac was hurting himself with stones, and on his way into Jerusalem, Jesus accused the people of stoning the prophets. How we use our stones today is important. In the letter of 1st Peter, the author invites us to come to Jesus as “living stones, and let ourselves be built into a spiritual house acceptable to God.”

Stones can speak to us in various ways. As Jesus marched triumphantly into the city on the back of a donkey, the people’s cries of Hosanna could not be stopped. For as Jesus said, even the very stones would cry out with joy and hope. In the letter to the Ephesians, the author reminds us that the Church is built upon the foundation of apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone.

Margaret Silf devotes a chapter of her book to The High Cross, the Touchstones of Eternity. She writes, “in Celtic times the standing stones and high crosses were the village’s library, its pulpit and its art gallery, just as they were the sentinels of the high places, watching over the community, focusing the people’s gaze always to something beyond themselves.”

She reminds us of listening stones, in which we return to God in silence in order to reorient our lives. She mentions the stones of scripture: the silent witness of stones that remind us of our lost ways and future hopes. Stones used as pillows for dreams, struggles with God, and knowledge of God’s presence. Touchstones remind us of sacred moments and sacred spaces; weeping stones allow us to grieve our losses, and singing stones help us to reclaim our joy and our hope. Above all, Margaret Silf connects the stones of the high crosses to the call and vision of every community - to be its library, it’s pulpit, and its art. The stones of the high cross point us to God and the call to serve beyond our stone walls.

In his first letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul reminds the Church about our purpose as a community. He writes, “The one who plants and the one who waters have a common purpose. For we are God’s servants, working together; you are God’s building. Each builder must choose with care how to build on that foundation which is Jesus Christ. Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?  For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple.”

Perhaps you know the story of The Stone Soup. In it, a traveler passes through a village with no food or shelter. When he asks villagers for something to eat, they decline for various reasons. And so, the traveler goes to a river, takes a large stone, and begins to cook it in a large pot. When villagers pass by and ask him what he is doing, he tells them that he is making stone soup, and how much better it would taste if it had a potato, or some meat, or a vegetable. Soon enough, villagers were bringing one thing or another, and then together they all enjoyed a very different kind of stone soup.

You have a variety of gifts to offer, not only to Church of the Redeemer, but also beyond your stone walls. I’m curious, what does your neighbor think about you, and what is God up to in your neighborhood? At our diocesan convention last year, our mission strategy team recommended 3 action items. Today I mention two:  #1: to launch an indaba type process next year throughout our diocese, connecting us with other parishes and action item #2 is a way of mapping the gifts that our communities have to offer. I encourage you to consider and explore these opportunities, if you have not done so already, before this year’s convention in November, and I have provided some information for you to take with you.

There is a bike trail on Cape Cod that I often use for prayer and exercise. On it, I found a box with stones in it, each painted with a word or a phrase, and a sign inviting us to pick one up or drop one off. I took one that said, “Pray for Peace.” Today, I invite you to reflect in two small groups upon the gifts that Church of the Redeemer has to offer beyond its walls. As living stones, remember, that you are a building dedicated to God, with a variety of gifts and the Holy Spirit, who can point to Jesus, the chief cornerstone of Christ’s Church, and the bedrock of our faith. Remember that Jesus is our Redeemer, who offered himself with sacrificial acts of kindness, whose feet pounded the stone pavements for justice, and whose voice cried out in the wilderness and upon the cross for our sakes. Remember that God is Love and Love has a Body and a Building, and both of these are you.

Weeping and Gnashing

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling                       St. Cyprian's, Roxbury       
Job 23:1-9, 16-17         Psalm 22: 1-15         Hebrews 4: 12-16          Mark 10: 17-31

        My father, God bless and rest his soul, was a man of faith all his life. He often quoted scripture, although I didn’t know it when I was a child; and one of his favorite quotes was about being cast into the outer darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. He always said “gnashing” with a hard G. (gah-nashing) and his quoting to me was occasionally after I had misbehaved as an adult, when I could see the twinkle in his eye and the smile on his lips. Apparently Jesus said these words during his life as well, warning others that those who disobeyed God, would be thrown into the outer darkness, and in that place there would be weeping and gnashing of teeth. There in that darkness, their cries of sorrow, regret, and fear could be heard.
There has been a lot of weeping and gnashing of teeth lately in our country, and today’s lessons from scripture echo these very same sentiments. Indeed, we often mention Job as someone who embodies great despair, who was tempted and tormented by Satan in a game of proof - that Job would only praise God when life was good. If everything, and I mean everything - family, livestock, shelter, and health - was taken away from Job, then surely he would not remain faithful to God! Or so Satan argued. And his friends piled on. Certainly you must have done something wrong, they said to Job.
         And yet, Job remained adamant about his innocence. He demanded to know what he had done or left undone, what he had said or left unsaid, what laws and commandments he had broken. He remained faithful to God to the very bitter end, even asking God to take away his life and put him out of his misery, rather than deny God’s goodness. Surely, Job was in a dark place, weeping and gnashing his teeth.
Job’s complaint is bitter. We hear Job groan under the weight of God’s heavy hand. He wants a hearing with God in order to get some explanations. He is angry with God for being absent, for being missing in action. Despite Job’s cries to God for help, he hears only crickets from his Creator. Finally, after everything was lost, Job gets the opportunity to appear before God, and with his mouth filled with arguments, Job presents his case before God.
          At first, God didn’t argue with Job, but only listened to his plea and his complaints. “Where were you?” Job demanded. “And why didn’t you help me? If I am not innocent then tell me now, so that I can make amends. And If I am innocent, then defend me and help me against these false accusations by my friends and others. Take away the plagues on my body and in my life. Restore me to health,” Job said to God.
          Job was sure that he had been upright in his behavior, and he thought that he was being reasonable in presenting his case to God. He still trusted God as his judge, and despite all that he had endured, Job is confident that he will be acquitted. Unfortunately, it is when Job hit rock bottom, that God responded; and only then did Job understand more fully about his life as a creature, and his relationship with God and all creation. Sometimes, like Job, I too wonder about the games people play, the reality of evil spirits, and why God doesn’t intervene sooner. But then, I don’t have the perspective or knowledge of God.
           If you can temporarily imagine Job as both masculine and feminine, and each of them presenting their cases before God, I suspect that Justice Kavanaugh and Dr. Ford may have felt and may continue to feel these very same sentiments. Although Justice Kavanaugh claims he is not bitter, and we haven’t heard from Dr. Ford since the hearings, we can assume that both of their lives have been living hells. We also know that there are plenty of people on both sides that are bitter about the process and even the result.
           Like Jesus, who quoted psalm 22 from the cross, perhaps each of them felt forsaken by God, unjustly accused, deserted by friends, betrayed by their leaders, and innocent of all allegations. In their times of need, many people abandoned them, and seemed “far from their cries and words of distress.” In the public squares, people raised their voices in protest, or were silent in their defense. Perhaps they trusted in the Lord, if not their own judicial system and team of lawyers. I wonder if they heard only crickets from God, and began to waver in their faith.
          Like Job, I imagine they both fervently hoped to be rescued from their trials, from people who did not believe them, from harsh words and death threats, from unjust and merciless people. I imagine that there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth in their homes, and that they prayed for relief from their misery. I imagine they hoped and prayed that God would deliver them.
Psalm 22 acknowledges the desperate cries of people, who often turn to God for help, especially when all else fails. Our human pleas are often not answered in the daytime, nor do they offer us any rest at night. We look to our past and people who we trusted and now see only betrayal. We fight back with anger and bitterness. We weep and gnash our teeth, shaking our heads in disbelief, and beating our breasts with grief. And perhaps we hear only crickets from our Creator, while God’s creation responds with gale force winds and flooding waters.
          People are laughing us to scorn, curling their lips and wagging their heads, and saying, they trusted in the political system, or the judicial system, or the health care system, or the religious system, indeed even in the civil system, to deliver them and look what happened to them? In time likes these, like the psalmist and Job, we feel despised, poured out like water, with bones out of joint, hearts melting like wax, and mouths dried out from endless personal prayers that seemingly result in nothing. We hear only crickets from our Creator.
          Jesus said to the man who knelt before him, “You know the commandments. ‘You shall not bear false witness. You shall not defraud. You shall not murder.’” And although this man, unlike me, had kept all these things from his youth, he couldn’t respond to his request - to give up everything and follow Jesus. Truth be told, like Job, most if not all of us, would be like this man, unless of course, like Job, or the people in the wake of hurricane Michael, everything was taken away from us unwillingly.
           In his letter to the Hebrews, the author says that God’s word is “living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow. It is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” Oh, that God would make sure that no creature is hidden from our sight. Oh, that God would speak to us now, living and active, with judicial clarity. Oh, that God, to whom we must all one day render an account, would show us mercy. Oh, that to God and others, our hearts would reveal only love.”
Our human words to each other are often sharper than two-edged swords, cutting people and political parties into pieces, dividing our houses, destroying our relationships, and undermining the trust we have between us all. To enter into the kingdom of God seems far easier to me than to run for public office, or to be believed as a survivor of sexual assault, or to be a faithful follower of Jesus. It’s a hard journey to walk the way of the cross, and to enter through that narrow gate. Oh, that Jesus would come again and show us the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Clearly, according to scripture, Jesus is able to understand and sympathize with our weakness, not to mention our choices. He knows full well what we have done and left undone, what we have said and left unsaid, what our true intentions are. He too was tested in every respect, as Job was, and as we are; and yet Jesus did not sin. He did not lie. He did not falsely accuse. He did not assault anyone, neither in his words nor in his actions; rather he pointed to God, and assured everyone of God’s forgiveness and our salvation. He remained faithful, like Job, to the bitter end.
  Surprisingly, when Jesus was called “Good Teacher,” even Jesus denied his own goodness. For we believe that everything and everyone that God created is good. We just make poor choices from time to time. And yet, Jesus told this man that “only God is good.” And as we claim today, even in the midst of our own tragedies, God is good all the time. Therefore, if we are to enter into God’s kingdom, and inherit eternal life, it will not be because of our good names, our innocent testimonies, or even our good works. Rather, our eternal inheritance is a supreme court decision, and it remains solely up to God, who is our one and only Judge. With justice and mercy, God is good and God is good all the time.
            In truth, we are a people and a country of great wealth and yet there seems to be a spiritual deficit, bordering on bankruptcy at this time. Our house is divided and falling, and our scales of justice and mercy are tipping. We speak truth, and yet it is without the softening blows of love. Our voices spew hatred when they should be like crickets. It will be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than political opponents to treat each other with dignity and respect.
In the opening collect, we begin our liturgy by praying to God - to “you our hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid. Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit that we may perfectly love you and worthily magnify your holy name.” Today I add my prayers. Please God, make it so. Answer us and be not far from us in this time of trouble. Save us from ourselves for what is impossible for mortals, Jesus tells us that it is possible with God. For what seemed total destruction to Job became resurrection and new life.
Jesus has joined God on the bench, and the author of Hebrews reminds us that Jesus became our great high priest, who was sacrificed for the sins of the whole world, who forgives and saves us, once and for all. In Him, we have a treasure in heaven; and through Him, we can know the everlasting mercy and grace of God. In Him, there is no more weeping and gnashing of teeth, and no more despair; for Jesus embodies faith, hope, and love, and the promise that God will save us.
           Jesus shows us the goodness of God, and that God is good all the time. He is our mediator, chief advocate, and Savior; for the dwelling place of God was among mortals, and in the high courts of heaven, we are acquitted forever. Therefore we can approach God’s throne with boldness and hope. The crickets are no longer silent, they are only singing a new song.

The Body

Vestry Retreat, Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Meditation # 1: The Body

In my meditations today, I’d like to focus on our identities, first individually as Christian leaders, and then secondly as the Body of Christ. A  current question these days is “How do you identify yourself?” Our answers will vary with the day and the context. For instance, today, I’m speaking as a retreat leader for Church of the Redeemer, and I identify myself as a friend of Bethany House of Prayer. Tomorrow, I’ll preach and celebrate as a supply priest at St. Cyprian’s Church in Roxbury; whereas last weekend, I was Megan’s Mom, visiting her in Minnesota. This past Thursday, I was a team member for “Transforming Conflict” in the diocese of Connecticut, and next month I’ll be  “Theologian-in-Residence” at the Cathedral Church of St. Paul in Burlington, Vermont. I identify as a missionary and evangelist rather than as a parochial priest. Many different communities, and yet I always retain my fundamental identity, the bedrock of my faith, as a baptized Christian, and a beloved child of God.

            I’ve never much liked politics and I like it even less today. I used to be a registered Republican because that’s what my parents were, and I married into a family with the same political identity. I always voted my conscience and so my changing views once caused a temporary rift with my father-in-law. We argued one night over religion and politics, about men and women’s leadership, about issues of privilege and race, and our meal together ended abruptly with all of us quickly leaving the restaurant. It took months of letter-writing to repair and reconcile our broken relationship. And yet we still identified ourselves as members of the same family.

When my husband Paul and I moved to Massachusetts, I became a registered Independent because I did not want to be identified with any one particular party. I believe that identity politics has increasingly united us and divided us at the same time. We are creating more and more camps, and drawing lines in the sand, as we become more polarized with escalating emotions. So too have our religious identities fragmented us as well. We gather with like-minded folks, with whom we can identify. Or we no longer want to be identified with any one church or religion, and so we claim no affiliation at all, or we call ourselves “spiritual but not religious.”

In today’s world, identity is important. There are cases of mistaken identity, and stolen identities. We over-identify with some roles and under-identify with others. We have caller ID and protect our identities from others by choosing to remain anonymous in some cases. People’s identities are multi-layered and varied, and there is plenty of reason for having them. We need not nor do we want to be defined or confined by any one identity. Our priorities are different.

Proudly we claim that we are Americans, with multiple identities, a melting pot of diversity. With increasing numbers of interracial and intercultural marriages, we are not black or white, but many shades of gray and various colors. Each individual makes their own right choices for religious, moral, and spiritual strength or for political and civil engagement, for defining ourselves . Gender identity is no longer considered a binary choice, but rather a fluid and emerging identity, formed over a lifetime of experiences and knowledge. We are a rainbow people with a variety of gifts and the same Spirit.

Quite frankly, the “spiritual but not religious identity” drives me bonkers. It makes me wonder about the loss of commitment to our religious communities. I am a card-carrying Christian, baptized into the Body of Christ as an infant, and part of the Jesus movement today. I was confirmed at the age of 33 in the Episcopal Church, and served as a lay leader in many and various ministries throughout my life. I was ordained to the priesthood after two other vocations in retail clothing and banking. Having served in ecumenical and interfaith ministries, on boards and in a local government, I can identify with many people on a variety of issues. With a commitment to my Christian communities, I am both spiritual and religious, and I believe that there is a need for both of these in our life together. As I Christian, I identify with Jesus, whose Body is found in community. As a Christian, I can still serve in many ways and various places.

I identify myself with the Episcopal tradition in paticular because it is a world-wide Body, that follows the middle way, between the Roman Catholic and Protestant traditions. We are a big tent in a three ring circus! We are Christ’s Church in Chestnut Hill and throughout the world, and we discipline our lives through worship, study, and action. When making moral choices, we stand on the three-legged stool of scripture, tradition, and reason, with our experiences heavily influencing all three. As disciples of Christ, we ask, “What would Jesus do?” or “What would Jesus say?” and then we listen for the variety and diversity of our responses. The sacraments of baptism and Eucharist are central to our lives. We feed ourselves with Christ’s body and blood; we wash away our foolishness with water and the Spirit. Christian community is important to our identity.

Personally, I have served Christ in all sizes and shapes of churches in many dioceses. My ministry as a lay person included coordinating coffee hour, serving on a pastoral care team, teaching Sunday school, and chairing the outreach committee for our vestry. I also served beyond the walls of our stone Church, high on the hill of Newtown, Connecticut, where we are now identified with the Sandy Hook School shooting. During our time of living in Sandy Hook, my primary identity was as a parent, but I offered my gifts not only in our Church but at Sandy Hook School, in homeless shelters, prisons, non-profit organizations, and youth services, first identifying myself as a volunteer, and then only later as a lay minister.

I have come to see that the Church is both a business organization and a spiritual Body; and yet we often lose sight of the spiritual world because of the pressing demands on our physical lives. Our “to-do” lists are visible, and we forget to tap into the invisible ways of God who guides us. We lose sight of the spiritual in the physical structures of our religious, or business, or family, or board work. We press on in our daily lives with urgency, responding to the dings of our cell phones and the emails which demand our response. Daily news feeds our minds and our fears but not our faith and our souls.

When vestry leaders and clergy are clear about their identity and purpose as the Church, the Body of Christ, and not just as a business, or a board, or the voice of a particular party, or as a social service agency but rather as a Spiritual Body, as a visible manifestation of the love of God in Jesus Christ, it is a powerful and visible witness to others. You become known as the Body of Christ. You are blown with purposeful direction by the Spirit of God and not by the prevailing winds of our culture. You are proud to be part of the Jesus Movement, which is a particular Way to reveal God’s love to others. God is Love and Love has a Body and You are Christ’s Body.

·         We are all members of Christ’s Body. We have heads, hearts, feet, hands, and many other visible and invisible parts to our Body. What part of the Body are you today? How do you identify with Christ’s Body?

·         As parts of the Body, we are connected by blood, ligaments, skin, and systems that circulate and sustain our lives. How can we keep these parts moving, healthy, strong, and free from blockage?

·         We are all equally important members of Christ’s Body, regardless of our size and function, regardless of what we wear around our necks. When one part of our Body suffers, or when one part rejoices, we all suffer, and we all rejoice. When parts of us are missing we are not whole.

·         We assume different postures at different times: we kneel to confess and pray, we stand to speak and walk, we sit down to be quiet and listen, and then we lie down and rest.

·         We are each unique members and yet we share a common humanity and a divine Spirit that transcends and unites us all, and moves us beyond the walls that we create.

The letter to the Ephesians reminds the Church that we are joined together, and with each part working properly, we will promote spiritual growth in ourselves, in our Church, and beyond. Today, we pay attention to our self-care, balancing our actions and productivity, with listening to God’s Spirit in the silence, and to each other in conversation.

If you can lay down all of your identities for just a moment this morning, like those rocks, I’d like you to focus specifically today on your identity as a beloved child of God, as a baptized Christian, as a disciple of Jesus Christ, and as a leader in Christ’s Body. Your context and community are clear and it is shared: you serve on the vestry at Church of the Redeemer in Chestnut Hill. In the silence, listen to the Spirit’s invitation for you to go deeper, wider, and higher. What Body part are you? What gifts do you have to share? What holds you back or blocks your way? What do you need for spiritual growth?

Craving Help

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling,                                             St. Paul's Lynnfield

It’s good to be with you all again this morning, in yet another season of the year. A Sunday in February, another one in April, then June, and now September, with gratitude to Rob for his invitations, and to all of you for your warm welcomes, like a bad habit, I am back! You may remember that I love the Celtics basketball team, and right now I am excited about three teams. The Celtics season starts tonight at TD Garden, and I can’t wait! The Patriots are off to a slow start in football, but there’s no panic yet. And, yesterday, Paul and I were at Fenway, watching the Red Sox play the Yankees, and during which I caught a ball, then gave it to two boys, a Yankees fan and a Red Sox fan. Let them fight over it! Today, I wonder about our red and blue teams. Are we a divided house?  With sports teams and their fans, I think there is always a craving to win.

Unlike its name, the book of Numbers isn’t only about counting the Israelites who had escaped from Egypt, or gathered in their tents for a meeting, a political vote, or Sabbath worship. The book of Numbers has some great stories about our Judeo-Christian team and our long history together. It has stories about our journeys, our leaders, and our people. It records our wins and losses in battles along the way. Written with unfailing honesty, the author talks about our human tendencies to whine and complain, and acknowledges our strong human cravings. We weep with our losses and unfulfilled desires. We are jealous of each other’s gifts. We use power for the wrong reasons. We get fed up, displeased, and outright angry because we want certain things and we can’t get them.

Now the Israelites had escaped from slavery in Egypt, crossed the Red Sea, received the 10 commandments of God, and are now wandering in the desert of Sinai. Moses is leading them towards the Promised Land, and they are all tired from their long and difficult journey. There is no end in sight, and the people and their families begin to complain, first among themselves, and then to Moses.They remember the good times; and they demand relief from their suffering.

I love the descriptive language in today’s lesson. The crowd is called “the rabble” which means “a mixed group of people who were not Israelites.” They were a bunch of rabble rousers, people who had joined the Israelites’ journey for different reasons, adding their voices to a swelling number of people along the way. There is power when large groups of people gather; people often divide into camps, according to their families, or their interests, or for manageability and crowd control. Needs aren’t met, voices rise, and conflict erupts; sometimes things turn ugly, even violent. It has been said that the first casualty of war is truth; and when peace is destroyed; it’s a long journey back to reconciliation.

Scripture tells us that the rabble among the Israelites had a strong craving. Like people addicted to opiods, our cravings can be so strong that we will do anything, or say anything, to satisfy our need for relief. We want our team to win, and so we play dirty. We crave support for our beliefs and are angry when others disagree. We have real experiences that people neither understand or don’t believe. We rightly demand to be treated with respect and dignity; and yet our political and church leaders, not to mention our fellow human beings, continue to fail us with unfailing consistency. We all end up being losers when vitriol and uncivil discourse rule our land.

We are people on a journey from one land to the next, living in a country, some would even call the Promised Land. We come from diverse ancestors, in a land which was conceived out of religious and political conflict, and is dedicated to providing liberty and justice for all. We have human laws, based upon God’s perfect laws, to protect our civil, religious, and human rights. We want the scales of justice and mercy to hang in balance.

We crave certain things, sometimes doing harm to ourselves and to others, with angry outbursts, undignified behavior, deception, disrespect, and even death threats. We whine and complain, raising our collective voices of discontent, and begin to make demands of others. We say, “I’m sick and tired of this; and I want that.” We blame others for our suffering. “It’s all your fault that we’re stuck here in this desert. And if you weren’t like that, I wouldn’t be here now.” In the heat of our craving and our conflict, we demand relief. “Give us some meat,” said the Israelites to Moses!

The Israelites are tired and weak from their journey. They are hungry and sick of the daily bread that God has been providing, and their memories are short and selective. Now, safely on the other side of the Red Sea, with forks and knives in their hands, they recall only the good life in Egypt. With mouths salivating, they remember “the fish we used to eat in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic.”

Have you ever been around children or adults whose whining, complaining, and incessant demands start to get under your skin?  Perhaps in a moment of frustration, you will say, “Just stop it!” When I am hungry, angry, lonely, or tired, I remember that acronym HALT. When I begin to whine, complain, and demand relief from others, I tell myself to stop it and get back to basics. Basics, like self-assessment. Basics, like rational analysis and listening to other perspectives. Like remembering the dignity and equality of all human beings, even if I disagree or dislike them. Above all, basics that include asking God for help.

After its loss to the Detroit Lions last Sunday, quarterback Tom Brady said, “The process has been the same. It’s just not getting done on the field. And we have to get it corrected soon. It’s about hard work. It’s about being disciplined. We all (have) to look at ourselves and figure out what we can do to help.” And teammate Devin McCourty added , “We (have) to show character, keep working, and believe in our process and how we can get better.” (Tara Sullivan, the Globe, Sept. 24, 2018)

With great fear and trepidation, I raise the current Judge Kavanaugh situation. Today, I know it is tempting to take sides, to root for our team to win, to crave justice for one person, to complain about the process, and to demand that someone do something to make it right. Many of us are sick and tired of how the political games are being played, and the news that feeds us daily. Many of us are displeased, discontent, and like God, we are very angry.

Moses had been a faithful leader of his people, and throughout their journey together, he had often interceded for them through prayers and conversations with God. This time, however, he too was frustrated with the situation; and so he complained to God about how God was treating him. “Why have you treated your servant so badly? Why have I not found favor in your sight, that you lay the burden of all these people on me?  If this is the way you are going to treat me, put me to death at once—and do not let me see my misery.” Moses was demanding relief from God; and so can we.

“These are your people,” Moses told God, as if God didn’t already know. In a moment of pique, he said, “You created them; and so you should take care of them.” Scripture says that God was very angry. Had they forgotten all the good things that God had done? Had they forgotten that God provides? That God is always present, all powerful, and all knowing. That God would continue to liberate them, save them, and lead them?

Sometimes I wonder if anything good can ever come out of Washington, just as the people once asked that about Nazareth and Jesus. Today, Jesus talks about salt, and how when salt has lost its saltiness, it’s no longer good. When we get so worn out, hungry, lonely, angry, and tired, we lose our salt. We crave; we complain; we whine; and we demand things from others. We put up stumbling blocks. We remember only partial truths. We are jealous, suspicious, deceitful, and demanding. We forget to stop and ask God for help.

“Are any among you suffering?” asks the author of James. “They should pray.” I believe that we are all hungry for justice; that we are all angry about the uses and abuses of power; that we may feel lonely in our fight for justice, and I think it is safe to say that we are all tired of the way things are. HALT. News flash. We are all suffering. Even God.

Jesus proclaimed that “Whoever is for the goodness of God is not against God and so, do not stop them. Indeed remove the stumbling blocks or the parts of your Body that get in the way of the kingdom of God.” On this day when the Celtics season begins at home, I remember that there is no “I” in “team.” I remember that we are all equal and important members of the Body of Christ, with feet that stumble, hands that harm, and eyes that are blind. Today, I call a “time-out” in the games that people play. I call a recess in our House in order to pray and ask God for help.

“Moses, you need help?” God asked. “Call 70 elders and I will give them my Spirit” which blows everywhere, and gives wisdom to everyone. The Spirit is in this House today. Aside from our daily bread, God gives us the meat, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world. God’s never-ending mission of reconciliation can unite us, bringing health and salvation to our broken and hurting world.

In the words of Jesus, ”Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.” In praying for these things, we are all winners. Amen.

Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29
Psalm 19:7-14
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50

Book of Common Prayer, p.461: “This is another day, O Lord. I know not what it will bring forth, but make me ready, Lord, for whatever it may be. If I am to stand up, help me to stand bravely. If I am to sit still, help me to sit quietly. If I am to lie low, help me to do it patiently. And if I am to do nothing, let me do it gallantly. Make these words more than words, and give me the Spirit of Jesus. Amen.

From Fear to Faith

SHE - A Women’s Retreat                                        The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Trinity Episcopal Church                                                     From Fear to Faith

Newtown, Connecticut                                                                     Herstory

Camp Washington, September 22-23, 2018

                       

In the beginning, I was created in the image of God, but I didn’t know it. What I did know was that I was the middle child, with an older brother and a younger sister, and that I grew up in a family steeped in fear, with histories of mental illness and addictions. Like many people, and for different reasons, I was afraid that I was not loveable; and so I sought various ways to find love. My best places were school, sports, and church. It was there that I could be fun-loving, social, and free. It was there that I could be me.

It is impossible for me to speak about how I moved from fear to faith without talking about my husband Paul’s decision to seek treatment for his disease of alcoholism. For addicts and their families, fear is daily bread. And at that time in our lives, I often felt vulnerable, alone, and terrified. Our family had been living in Sandy Hook and attending Trinity Church for about 5 years at that point. Our daughter Megan was in 4th grade, Brian was in 2nd grade, and I was doing a lot of volunteer work with Youth Services in Newtown and the Girl Scouts.

On Sundays, we would have breakfast at My Place and then go to church. Like eating vegetables, Paul and I felt Church was important for our children’s health, despite the drinking and smoking that went on at home. When we sat in the pews - our lovely, intact, blonde, and faithful family of four - I wanted to post a sign behind our backs. It said: Don’t let images fool you. We are not what we look like.

In December of 1989, when Paul left for the Hazelden/Betty Ford treatment center in Minnesota, I was invited to attend the family program. There I began to discover the benefits of 12 step spirituality for everyone. One al-anon book, called “Courage to Change,” writes, “Fear was a daily part of my experience of alcoholism, and I learned certain ways to cope with it. I often catch myself reacting to my fears in the same way today, even though my circumstances have changed.” I realized then in 1989, as I realize today and every day, that I do not want to live with fear controlling my life. I want courage to change. I want to live faithfully.

If you’ve ever struggled in your relationship with someone suffering from any kind of disease, or have one yourself, you can live in constant fear. Because we are not “at ease” with our “dis-eases”, we keep secrets, deny the truth, or become anxious and frozen in fear, waiting for we know not what, or the next shoe to drop. There are many types of fear: the fear of abandonment, the fear of failure, the fear of rejection, the fear of the unknown, the fear of harm, illness, death and loss. A therapist writes about the fear of scarcity, of us not having enough - not enough self-esteem, not enough confidence, not enough happiness, or not enough love. As if any one of these is a zero sum game. (Forward Day by Day, Aug. 22, Charles D. Thomas)

Fear pops up all round us. We worry about where our country is headed and if our world is doomed for destruction. Many of us are beginning to wonder about our safety in what seems to be an increasingly chaotic and violent world. We worry about economic security and how our health care will be managed. We wonder about the costs of our decisions, and what effect they will have on ourselves, our children, and future generations. For those of us in the later years of our lives, we might begin to wonder about death. It all begs the question: how much control do we actually have?

During that particular time in our lives, I worried all the time. My mind lived in a world of “what-ifs.” What if he died? What if he left me? What if someone found out? My fear colored all my relationships. I lived in an unrealistic world, in which I imagined everyone else had it “all together.” I went to Church but my spiritual life remained unknown and untapped. Anxiety and depression were my secret companions -that is, until I could no longer deny the truth. Identifying our fears is a first step toward faith.

 This bottom for me was one of many new beginnings. I knew that I needed help and I was ready and willing to find it. My move from fear to faith began with single steps, small groups, and simple actions; and the people of Trinity Church played a major role in that rescue mission. When we first moved into our neighborhood, Amy Dent had come to our door, with brownies in hand, and told me that we should attend Trinity Church, and not St. John’s, because ‘they don’t like women there.’ In Church, I realized that when I was in the sanctuary, a safe place for me, I could talk to God privately, and pray for my family secretly.

 In my very first month at Trinity, listening to a sermon, I heard myself say, “I want to do that.” It was an absurd thought and I immediately rejected it. Instead, when no one signed up for coffee hour, and we had nothing to drink that morning, I became its coordinator. I can do that, I said to myself. Besides, how can you have coffee hour without coffee? Like, how can you be a Christian without Jesus?

I needed pastoral care desperately, but I didn’t know it. After all, I had been raised in a culture of “fierce independence.” And so I was not only reluctant but a little bit resentful when Connie Weatherup invited me to be a part of a team. I was struggling with my own dinner time witching hours, with two toddlers and an absent husband, but who knew? Why can’t these people just order take-out, I wondered. They have husbands at home. Why is it that women are always the ones who provide the meals?  Clearly, my inner “She” was fuming and “She” was resistant.

I didn’t realize then, as I do now, how mutually beneficial it is to care for one another. Feeding other people is as old as the story of Adam and Eve. In one 12 step meditation book, the author writes, “Fear has a smell. So does love.” (WWDTM, Dec. 23) For me, love smells like home-cooking on Thanksgiving Day. It smells like cupcakes, chocolate, coffee, and champagne, like Breakfast Sundays, like candles and incense, like bread and wine at the Eucharistic feast.

 I went on my first silent retreat to Holy Cross Monastery with people from Trinity. Although I had never been to a monastery before, I was excited to spend a weekend away from my family, and going to a monastery with a Church group was a socially acceptable activity. I cried the whole time. I realized how much I was hurting and how scared I had become. For me, this was the beginning of the end of my denial. In silence, I faced some ugly truths. I dropped my bags and my baggage and asked God for help. The Cross is the Medicine of the World.

Little by little, my sense of self and power had eroded over time, and with the storm of this particular disease in our lives, I discovered that my house was not built on a rock, but rather on shifting sand. And I was sinking. I also learned that “fear is only an illusion, which creates the feeling of separateness - the false sense of isolation that exists only in our imagination. We are one. We are connected, and as we come to understand our connectedness, our fears will die.” (Each Day, Jan. 11)

Fortunately, I became connected to many people as I moved from fear to faith. It began with the 12 step community, with the single steps of 1, 2, and 3, in which I realized I was powerless over others, that a Power greater than me could restore me to sanity, and that I was willing to give God a “try.” It began with small groups at Trinity for Christian education, like EFM, Bible study, pastoral care, and prayers. It began with simple actions like attending the midweek healing Eucharist, finding a therapist, and bringing a meal to someone in need.

My small steps seemed enormous to me; and so I prayed for courage. Courage is faith who has said her prayers; and our courage helps us to take risks, and to try new things. (Dec 6, WWDTM)  When I first became a lector in Church, or opened my mouth at a meeting, my voice quivered so much that it didn’t matter what my audience looked like. Naked or not, I just knew that I was scared. And I still kept trying.

To help me find my “She voice”, I created a mantra. No matter how small the group, and how trusted the audience, I would pray a passage from Isaiah to steady my nerves. “O God, you will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are fixed on you; for in returning and rest we shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be our strength.”  With trust in God, I could move from fear to faith; I could go from strength to strength. I could “let go and let God.”

My faith journey continued to expand and deepen. I offered to serve on the vestry, as the outreach chair. Being involved with Amos House, Habitat for Humanity, the Local Housing Partnership in Newtown, and a prison ministry was a time of enormous spiritual growth for me. Teaching high school kids on Sunday mornings and going on mission trips to various places throughout our country was always a spiritual high. “Shifting our focus, from self-centered fears to another person’s needs, offers us a perspective on our own life. It also offers us a chance to let God work through us. Our own faith is strengthened each time we offer our services to God and to a friend in need.” (Each Day, April 17)

Matthew’s gospel, Chapter 6: 25-34, is one of my favorite gospel passages. It encourages us to orient ourselves towards God. In it, I hear Jesus say, “No worries,” and then counsels me to live one day at a time. He tells me that I am loved, that God will provide my basic needs, clothing for the lilies of the field and food for the birds of the air, and that I need not worry about my life or the future. Besides, “today’s troubles are enough,” Jesus says. “So, seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all else will be given unto you.” With God, there is no fear of scarcity, there is always enough. With God, there is no fear for safety; for Jesus said, “I am Resurrection and I am Life.”

There is a 12 step phrase that says we “come to believe” in a Power greater than us. We come to believe by taking single steps, like showing up - for a meeting or for Church or for a women’s retreat. We come to believe through small groups, where we hear each other’s stories, share our struggles, our fears, and our faith. We come to believe that we are connected, and that spirituality is essential  for our recovery. We come to believe in a Power that will heal us - trusting in that Power to guide us forward in faith, one step at a time.

Yes, before Hazelden and Trinity, I kind of believed in God, but my God was distant, and Paul’s God was a “gotcha God.” At that time in our lives, we knew only one kind of spirit, which came in a bottle; and as for Jesus, well only “other people” talked about him and that was embarrassing. It was through single steps, small groups, and simple actions that I came to believe in a God that was close, loving, and real. I came to believe in a God that had a name and a face. I came to believe that I was made in the image of God and that I was loved unconditionally.

I have researched the word “fear” in scripture so many times that it astonishes me. Despite my fear of abandonment, I came to believe that I am never alone, even when I feel lonely. Poems like “Footprints in the Sand” remind me that even if my house is built on sinking sand, there is a Rock beneath it, and that Someone will carry me. Even today, especially in the silence, I can hear, Jesus speak to me. “Why are you still afraid?” Jesus asks me, “O, you of little faith. It is I and I am here. Not just then,” Jesus says. “I am here with you now.”

Scripture reminds me that perfect love casts out fear. And there are plenty of love stories in the Bible. When we are brave and strong, like Mary, when we are loyal and generous, like Ruth, when we are prayerful and prophetic like Hannah, we reveal God’s love. Like Jesus, through our bodies, minds, and hearts, through our hands, feet, and voices, we are She together. United in a community, connected to God, we are incredible women, moving forward in faith, hope, and love. We are caring, creative, and compassionate. We are prayerful, passionate, and purposeful. Small groups, single steps, and simple actions can make a difference.

 Yes, fear is real, and fear is also realistic; indeed, it can teach us many things. And so prayer is critical. The serenity prayer still anchors me, accepting things I cannot change (like death and taxes), courage to change the things I can (like me and not Paul or our children), and having the wisdom to know the difference. Wisdom: She is Holy Spirit. She is experience. She is you! She is us!

The prophet Isaiah reminds me, “Surely it is God who saves me. I will trust in God and not be afraid.” In Women Who Do Too Much, the author writes, “As we face our fears, we will find a level of courage that we never knew existed, and everyday courage is all that we need. It takes courage to germinate and put forth new ideas. It takes courage to stand up for what we know in our hearts is right. Sometimes it even takes courage to take a nap.” (WWDTM.  Dec, 6)

It was through the grace of God, Jesus, and the power of the Holy Spirit that my journey began at birth; but it was set on fire at Trinity, in that community of love. For it is in the Church, that we are joined together and connected as the Body of Christ, and we are set free from our fears. Free to serve God. Faithfully, we can step up and step out, offering our gifts wherever we go and whatever we do. You and me. We are She. We are incredible women and we have stories to tell. Amen.

Come to Believe

Epiphany Church, Winchester, MA                                                The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

           

I’ve worshipped a lot of things in my life, most of the time not even realizing it. When I first began my vocation as a priest, I was horrified by an article in the local newspaper introducing me. The headline read, “Clothes and money held her fancy before Christ.” At first I was taken aback because I’ve never been much of a ‘clothes horse’ and while I love to shop for food, not so much for clothing. My first full-time job, however, was as an assistant buyer for Filene’s in Boston. (Not in the basement!) I was “into” buying clothes for other people, and selling those clothes to make money for the store.

            As for money, I grew up in a family of financial conservatism; in fact, my mother, proudly called herself, ‘Miss Pinch Penny.’ Similarly, my father was diligent in counting the costs of everything, and so I became not only reluctant to spend money but anxious to save it. Naturally, when I found my job working in retail clothing to be tiresome, I switched careers to banking. I figured I could help people save their money and help them to spend it wisely. No wonder the headline said that “clothes and money” held my fancy before Christ. No fake news there!

            I’ve also worshipped a lot of people in my life, again most of the time not even realizing it. Before ordination, a friend of mine liked to remind me of a statement I made in a Bible study long ago. I had decided to make Jesus first in my life and proudly told the small group about my decision. Number 1, numero Uno, top of the family tree, church hierarchy, and the corporate ladder, Christ would now hold my fancy. At the time, I’m sure my parish priest was thrilled, a man that I worshipped right alongside of Jesus. My husband Paul, however, was a little nervous; and so, I remember the words of my daughter, who said, “That’s OK Mom. Why don’t you just love us all the same?”

I have come to realize over the years that there is a difference between love and worship. You see, over the many years of my life, unknowingly, I had slowly become more absorbed with people and things as the source of my happiness and salvation. It was not in God that I trusted but rather in our back account. Increasingly, I looked to things of this world rather than to Christ for true freedom, unconditional love, and ultimate security. No human being nor any material thing can ever bear such an unreasonable expectation or burden.

At some point, probably because of a growing unhappiness with my life, and a realization that I was barking up the wrong tree, my soul became hungry and thirsty for something else, for something immaterial, intangible, and not of this world. Perhaps coincidentally, I was beginning to see that my idols had clay feet. I remember a neighbor of mine also challenging me, saying, “Nancy, you can’t keep riding the fence. At some point you need to decide.” And so, I decided to follow Jesus.

Jesus said, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.” Even now, my most immediate response, even as a priest, is to say “Ew, gross. Who would want to do that?” No wonder the Jews were offended by Jesus’ words and complained about Him. No wonder the early church critics accused Christians of being cannibals. No wonder there was confusion about who Jesus was and what He was saying.

My own faith journey began very early in life, although I didn’t know it or understand it at the time. Fascinated by things that are holy and mysterious, and different from but similar to my own real-world experiences, I was drawn to stories about people.The Bible, I discovered, had plenty of them. From the very beginning, these stories told me about human drama and divine love, journeys about lost ways and liberation, death and life, and of families just like mine. In my high school yearbook, underneath my picture, I was quoted as saying that I lived in “East Jesus.” I lived on Journey’s End Road.

When I felt called to leave parish ministry five years ago as a full-time rector, and serve Christ in a different way, the road to me was unclear; indeed it remains filled with twists and turns even now. At first I reclaimed my fundamental identity as a beloved child of God, and then I began calling myself a “free agent in Christ.” Like Jesus and St. Paul, I became a missionary and evangelist. Two years ago, I attended a conference called Evangelism Matters because I thought, if I’m going to be a missionary and evangelist, I need to know how to proclaim my fancy for Christ, without feeling awkward and embarrassed.

I relish the words in today’s letter to the Ephesians. When feeling unclear about where I’m going and what I’m doing, and feeling that my flesh is useless, I am reminded to “be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power.” Walking has become a spiritual discipline and a form of prayer for me. It is a time when my thoughts and feelings rise to the surface, and I do battle with many people and things: you know those rulers, authorities, and forces of evil that seek to corrupt and destroy the creatures and creation of God. I am often encouraged by God when I remember stories about real people. I see Jesus walking on the streets and riding on the subways. I hear the Word of God spoken.

Recently I traveled to Charleston, South Carolina; and while sitting on a bench in the shade, and taking a break from the strong South Carolina sun, a young girl approached me. She was accompanied by a man and two other young girls. Stretching out her hand, she offered me a business card, and asked me if I already had one. Thinking she was selling me a product, I looked down and saw a black card with the letters DZHENOU. Not wanting to be rude, and feeling a bit cornered, silently berating myself for sitting down and becoming an easy target, I said, “No, I had not.” And then I got ready to say, “No, thank you” while getting up, and returning to my walk.

What she said next, however, shocked me. “Do you know Jesus?” she asked. Laughing, and recovering from my misguided expectation, I responded, “Yes, matter of fact, I do.” I also thought to myself, “Great. I’ll tell her I’m a priest and then we’ll all move on.” What followed next was a delightful and mutual conversation in which we talked about our lives, our faith journeys, and why Jesus was important to us. Baptists from Oklahoma, these young folks were on a mission trip. Not pounding nails or painting houses, as I have done, they just engaged people in conversations as they walked the streets in various cities throughout the south.

Now you and I both know that South Carolina is different from these New England states. And so, handing out cards and talking to strangers on the street, isn’t part of our culture. Which is why I like those three simple words of Simon Peter in today’s gospel lesson: “Come to believe.” I know that we must come to something, perhaps a brick wall, a failed relationship, a fork in the road, a park bench in the shade, a 12 step meeting, a church, an illness, or even our journey’s end before something or someone comes to us. First we come, and then we come to, and then we decide. Do I turn back, or do I come to believe in a power greater than me?

God understood our human predicament. God knew that we needed something more, something material, something real like human flesh and blood to speak to us directly and to show us the Way of God’s Love. And so the Word of God became flesh and dwelt among us. See me, Jesus said, and you will know God. Listen to me, Jesus said, and you will hear God. Believe in me, He said, and you will have eternal life with God.

When we come to know Jesus, and come to believe in Him, we begin to see God everywhere. Like Simon Peter, we will confess, “Lord to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life, and I have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.” No matter where we go on our journey, we can stand firm in our faith because we know that God is our beginning and our journey’s end. We know that Jesus is resurrection and life, and that our spirits can ascend and descend like Jesus, returning us to where we began long ago, and fast forwarding us into a future beyond our imagination.

DZHENOU means “Does He know You.” And I can answer, “Yes, He knows you, and He knows me.” But a more critical question remains, “Do You Know Him?” Do you know Jesus?

Evangelism Matters. Get to know Jesus, and then find your own way to tell the story of God’s unfailing, unconditional, and eternal love. Fancy Christ more than clothes or money. Like St. Paul, put on the whole armor of God; pray fervently, persevere, and speak boldly. In so doing, you may save a life. Perhaps even your own.

Kings 8: 22-30, 41-43
Psalm 84 or 84:1-6
Ephesians 6:10-20
John 6:56-69