Night of the Living Dead

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Sometimes I get confused. I listen to a group of people and learn that what I heard was completely different from others. Or I make assumptions and discover that they are totally wrong. I see something from a very different perspective and begin to wonder about myself. Am I out of touch with reality?

How do I find my way in times of confusion? Occasionally, I’ll plow ahead, testing my truths. I gather more information. I take some risks. I say to myself, “I’ve nothing to lose so WTF?” Other times, I’ll pull up a chair, sit down, and enter into the silence. "Okay," I ask God, “What’s Up?”

Of course, God always responds. Sometimes God booms from above, like a clap of thunder. With an encouraging cry God says, “Right. WTF!” Other times, God answers my question with the same question, “What’s up?” I guess God needs to gather more information too. 

Yesterday I told God that I was confused; and God responded with two poems. In “Fateful Days” by Hermann Hesse God told me that even though occasionally my “days turn gray and the world looks cold and unkind, (my) tentative, tender, timid trust is then thrust back on itself. When there is no further way forward and (my) old life has lost its luster, (my) faith will find new paths to new heavens never dreamt of.” What’s up? I think God told me (again!) that my faith in God is an answer to my confusing life, but that my trust is currently tentative, tender, and timid….like a new shoot on an old sycamore tree.

The poem “In Memory: Ivan Illich” by Wendell Berry provided another answer. “The creek flows full over the rocks after lightning, thunder, and heavy rain. Its constant old song rises under the still unblemished green, new leaves of old sycamores that have so far withstood the hardest flows.” “Trust God but tie your camel to a tree” said the old sycamore tree. “The creek is full of rocks on its sandy bed but you know where they lie and you remember how they got there.” I could see that the water flows full and freely after the storm. “WTF,” said God. “Jump in!”

The tender, new, and green leaves are beginning to sprout from the trunk of that old sycamore tree. I can see old life and new life integrated into one. While the tree is shedding its fall foliage into the rushing stream below, the colorful leaves cry out, “Let go and let God” with carefree abandon. Beside the tree was a freshly dug grave where the fingers of two hands were beginning to emerge from the recently tilled soil. It is the night of the living dead, and resurrection life is just beginning. And the One on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.”

Spiritual Blindness

Consecration Sunday October 25, 2015

Christ Church, Exeter, New Hampshire

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Mark 10: 46-52, Psalm 126

Dear Lord, help us to see again. Amen.

Human beings are wonderfully made. We have both material and spiritual parts to our bodies. We have eyes that can see things of this world, and eyes that see things that are other-worldly. To state the obvious, if our eyes are healthy, we can see. If we’re blind, like Bartimaeus in today’s gospel lesson, we cannot.

Now there are many reasons for blindness. Unlike ancient times, we know that blindness is not a punishment from God. Instead, we know that it is a result of many things like accidents, glaucoma, or macular degeneration. Our blindness can be immediate and irreversible, or it might be progressive, changing slowly over time.

There are two stories about blind men in the gospel of Mark. Both men are physically blind and both are healed by Jesus, one slowly, and one quickly. But Mark also tells us the story of spiritual blindness. The disciples of Jesus became increasingly blind to who Jesus was and what he was all about, despite his powerful words and actions.

On some levels, we’re all spiritually blind. We all have cataracts; we all have vision problems; and we all get infections. We’re blind to many of our own transgressions, and we’re well aware of others. Like Bartimaeus, we often cry out for God’s mercy, not only for ourselves, but also for our world.

The transformation of my own spiritual blindness has been both dramatic and slow. Like my physical eyesight it has changed over time. Sometimes I have seen Jesus from a distance, or not at all. Occasionally I need to squint, find magnifying glasses, binoculars, or rely upon the good eyesight of others. Other times, I have seen Jesus up close and personal, as if I’m sitting in the chair of my eye doctor.

I’ve had many vocations throughout my life. In retail stores, I sold hosiery, body wear, and children’s clothing. As a banker, I sold money at a price. Then as a lay person and later as a priest, I offered the good news of Jesus Christ, saying with a smile that the good news is free. And yet, I’ve learned that grace is not cheap; indeed, there is a cost to discipleship.

We lived in Newtown, Connecticut for almost 20 years, and both of our children attended Sandy Hook Elementary School. The memory of a young man’s decision to kill his mother, teachers, and children will never be erased from our memories or our history; everyone was affected by that violent act. Unfortunately, as you well know, it is only one of many violent acts throughout our world today.

When our children were younger, our family worshiped at Trinity Episcopal Church in Newtown. Among many things, I  served on the vestry. During budget times, I often felt as if the rector was trying to take my money. I had this image of me holding my pocketbook and us having a tug of war over its contents. Trinity was known as the rich church on the hill; and I didn’t think this church needed my money. I didn’t have a job, we had small children, a good sized mortgage, and college bills were looming in the future. Let someone else take care of the church bills, I thought. I’m giving plenty of my time and talents, and that’s enough.

Before going to seminary, I was actively involved in our community, serving in town government to help create affordable housing, volunteering for Habitat for Humanity, and through a coalition of 5 churches, we created a transitional living facility for homeless families. During this same time, my husband Paul began to see that his use of alcohol was ruining his life; I know that it was ruining mine and our children’s.

Both from a personal perspective as well as working with the homeless, I have learned 1st hand about the suffering that comes with addictions and homelessness. I too had young children, I was without a job, and I depended upon the actions of my husband for our security. Under different circumstances, I easily could have been without a home.

The people at Trinity Church taught me about God’s amazing grace. Twenty six years ago they supported Paul, me, and our children into a life of recovery and faith. Today, after 41 years of marriage, Paul and I now practice living and loving one day at a time. Through 12-step spirituality, we’ve learned that you can’t keep it unless you give it away; and so giving generously has become part of our daily practice.

Our son and daughter were raised by the people of Trinity Church. We saw how inter-generational worship and acts of charity can make a difference. The mission trips that we took were critical to our formation. We saw how lives that are destroyed by poverty, illness, government decisions, natural disasters, and random acts of violence can be rebuilt. We saw how blind we were to the suffering of other people. We saw how blind we were to our many blessings.

Paul and I come from families who are privileged, educated, and who regularly attended church. We learned many different things about money, one being that money is good, because it provides certain kinds of freedom and choices; and this is true. But our greatest learning about money came through our own suffering, and seeing the suffering of others. We came to see that money couldn’t ultimately save any of us in the end.

Theologians call the gospel of Mark as the one with the messianic secret. Mark’s gospel shows Jesus casting out demons, healing the sick, opening the eyes of the blind, and raising the dead. And yet, for the most part, people were blind to who Jesus was. People were looking for a political king to save them, and Jesus was about to enter the capital city of Jerusalem, with disciples who wanted cabinet posts in his new administration. The crowds that followed him were calling for tax reforms.

Previous to today’s gospel passage, there is a rich man who wanted to inherit eternal life. When Jesus told him to go and sell what he owned, and give his money to the poor, the rich man could not do it. “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God”, said Jesus. His disciples cried out in fear, “Then who can be saved?”

The bad news for all of us today is that, like the rich man, we are all doomed. As my spiritual director is fond of saying, “We’re all goners.”  Whether we see death from a distance, or death up close and personal, we all face the cross eventually. And now, seeing the gospel of Mark from a distance, we know the messianic secret. We see Jesus differently, as the messiah who saves not only the people of Israel, but also the whole world. We see Jesus not as a powerful king but rather as a suffering servant. And so, the question is not, “Then who can be saved?” but rather,“How then shall we live?”

Money is a temptation for all of us. Although our dollar bills proclaim that in God we trust, we actually trust our money even more. We look to our presidents and kings, our high priests and popes, our military powers and financial markets, our medical technology, and even our human intelligence to save us; but you and I know, ultimately they will all fail us in the end.

As St. Paul said to the church in Corinth, we see now only through a mirror dimly. Our spiritual blindness remains. We still need other people to help us see God’s mercy and grace. We still need magnifying glasses to help us see what may be right in front of our eyes.

Today, I see the Church differently. I see the Church as a place where I can see God in real time, with real people, and through real events. Church is a place where I can throw off my own cloak of fear, knowing that God has the power to forgive me, to heal me, and ultimately to save me. The Church is a place where I can meet Jesus face to face. I see His Body and Blood on my outstretched hands, remembering that he stretched out His arms of love on the hard wood of the cross so that everyone might come within the reach of His saving embrace.

Today, whether you are a newcomer, a long-timer, or a visitor like me, together we represent the Body of Christ. We are the head, the heart, the hands, and the feet of Jesus. We have been called by God for a purpose: to provide fuel for God’s mission of love.

I believe that giving money to Christ’s Church is important because it’s like transfusing some of my own blood into Christ’s Body. It’s like giving that nutrient drink called Boost to strengthen Christ’s arms and Christ’s feet for service. I think of giving money to the Church as if I’m buying corrective lenses for us all. And finally, I give to the Church because I believe in Jesus, who in the words of Samuel Wells said, "Jesus walked slowly, purposefully, intentionally into the eye of the storm, because only through the storm would he find what he was truly looking for; and what he was looking for was us.”

So here we are, us, sitting on the side of the road in Exeter, New Hampshire, blind as bats, and begging for mercy. Here we are, us, wanting to know that we’re not goners after all.

Given this good news, how then shall we live? You say in your mission statement that you will live joyfully, connect with God and one another, and serve the local and global community. I say, “Then give faithfully, give gratefully, and give generously for “the Lord has done great things for us, and we are glad indeed.” Amen.

Holy Discontent

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

I thought I was at peace, finally. Content with life and the way things are. Then I sat down for prayer. In a trusted community. In a circle of wisdom. In a place where I felt safe. Eagerly turning to the written materials provided, I started with the familiar ones, before turning to the new day's offerings. I began with John O'Donohue's poem, For Longing.

Tears welled up immediately. What? I was content, happy, at peace, even excited for life's unfolding today. And now this, that old familiar feeling of discontent. At first, I was shocked, even a little angry. Will there ever be any peace? Peace for my heart which is still "haunted by ghost-structures of old damage"? Must I find courage once again so that I don't "settle for something safe"? Will God provide that wisdom today so that I might once again "enter generously into my unease to discover the new direction my longing wants to take"? Is my longing an old and familiar discontent, or is it  "divine urgency"?

And then I remembered the wise words of an old friend, "Nancy, maybe God wants you to have this discontent for a reason. Perhaps your prayer is not for peace, and for the discontent to go away, but rather for you to embrace it, even love it. Call it your ‘holy discontent’." And so, sitting still, I began reading the new offerings for today's contemplation. And there it was: the invitation by Steve Garnaas-Holmes in his poem, A Cup of Tea.  Now with a cup of tea in my hand, in another room, I invited my Beloveds to make eyes at me and at each other. I asked my Beloveds to make peace with my wandering and wondering heart once again. Blessed be the longing that brought me there.

For Longing

Blessed be the longing that brought you here

and quickens your soul with wonder.

May you have the courage to listen to the voice of desire

that disturbs you when you have settled for something safe.

May you have the wisdom to enter generously into your unease

to discover the new direction your longing wants to take.

May the forms of your belonging--in love, creativity,

and friendship--

be equal to the call of your soul.

May your heart never be haunted by ghost-structures of

old damage.

May you come to accept your longing as divine urgency.

May you know the urgency with which God longs for you.

~adapted from John O’Donohue

To Bless the Space Between Us  

A Cup of Tea

by Steve Garnaas-Holmes

The Beloved beside me

and the Beloved within

call out to one another.

Which is the Holy One?

and which is the wanderer?

Ah, I will make them both 

a cup of tea,

and we will sit,

the three of us,

without words

while they

make eyes at each other.

St. Francis and the Sow

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Thanks to Galway Kinnell, a Scottish poet, who wrote this stunningly beautiful poem entitled St. Francis and the Sow. Thanks to our Creator who made buds, sows, and us. Thanks to all those people who put their hands to the plows and don't look back, who put their hand on feverish brows, cooling and smoothing them for healing, for the blossoming of inner self-blessing, for the reclaiming of our loveliness as beloved children of God. Thanks to sows who remember all of it, the groveling, slopping, and snorting, perhaps in their great broken-heartedness. Thanks to the long perfect loveliness of sows who reclaim their spiny hardness and rejoice in their spiritual curly tails, who continue to offer themselves to others, suckling them with the blue milken dreaminess that spurts and shudders from the Dream of God onto all of creation. Thanks to our Creator, Mother Earth, brother wind and sister moon, and to all of God's Creation for the creativity that never ends. Thanks to St. Francis for putting his hand upon this old sow's forehead, and for Galway Kinnell making him come alive for me once again.

St. Francis and the Sow

The bud stands for all things,
even those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to retreach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within,
of self-blessing;
as St. Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead
of the sow,
and told her in words and in tocuh
blessings of earth on the sow,
and the sow
began remembering
all down her thick length,
from the earthen sbout all the way
through the fodder
and slops
to the spiritual curl of the tail,
from the hard spininess
spiked out from the spine
down through the great broken heart
to the blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
from the fourtenn teats
into the fourteen mouths sucking
and blowing beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of sow.
                    ~ Galway Kinnell

Salt and Fire

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Jesus said, “For everyone will be salted with fire. Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.”

There are many ways in which we can use salt. For instance we can use it to improve the taste of our food or use it as a preservative. Salt can be used to put out fires and to kill slugs. It will extract moisture from eggplant and retain fluids in our bodies. Superstitious people will throw it over their shoulders to ward off evil spirits and to cast out demons, sometimes even in the name of Christ!

Now fires can also be used in various ways. We heat with them, we cook with them, and we use them for light or creating romantic environments. Fires can also burn you very badly, even kill you, and as the people of California will testify, they can wipe out whole villages and buildings. So salt and fire can be used for both good and evil purposes.

What I love about today’s scripture lessons is that they portray real human beings, like me and you. In today’s Old Testament reading, the rabble had strong cravings, and so do I, but it’s not for salt or for fire, or even for meat! The Israelites wept and said, “If only” we had meat to eat. They even demanded it from Moses. Nikki Finkelstein-Blair (an ordained Baptist minister) said “Often, when life isn’t working out the way we imagined or hoped, our impulse is to pray for God to change things. We think ‘if only’ things were different, ‘if only’ people were better, ‘if only’ our needs were met, ‘if only’ the pain went away, ‘if only’ the choices were simple, ‘if only’ temptation disappeared, ‘if only, if only’......  

Now God was angry and Moses was displeased. So Moses asked God “Why? Why are you doing this to me?” The Israelites whined and complained, Moses blamed God, shifted responsibility, and then he asked God for death rather than seeing his misery.

These are all stumbling blocks in our paths to the promised land and they prevent our ways forward as faithful people. They create barriers between us and our relationships with God and with one another. And they are all self-imposed. If I want, I can take these stumbling blocks away from me. Like a millstone around my neck, a hand, a foot, or an eye that prevents me from seeing and knowing God’s goodness and grace, I can cut them off. I can throw them into the unquenchable fire, which is where they belong, so that I can follow Jesus. And how do I do this? By praying and by fishing, and by fishing and by praying.

My husband Paul has been fishing in saltwater off Cape Cod for most of his life and loves to fish. Last weekend we gathered together with 12 of our friends from our home parish in Connecticut. Since we’re now scattered all over the country, we gather as an intentional community once a year at the home of our friends, who live on a pond in the Adirondacks. We catch up with each other’s stories, we share our walks with Christ, we encourage each other’s journeys, and we try to discern God’s will for our lives. We eat meat; we break bread; and we drink water and wine. In the beauty of nature, and our community, God restores our souls.

This year a guide from the Adirondacks taught Paul, and some of the others, how to fly fish on the pond. Paul loved it. He said that it was much harder than salt water fishing; it took small moves and a lot of patience. And, like any kind of fishing, Paul and his friends hooked plenty of things other than fish!

I, on the other hand, am not a fisher person, at least of fish; and I don’t want to learn how either. I like to pray, and so I also learned something new on the pond in the Adirondacks: I learned how to do centering prayer, with my eyes closed, in the fog, in a kayak. And let me tell you, praying in this way is a very different experience from sitting in a chair at home by myself, or in a group at church. When we began our prayers on the pond, the three of us were within arm’s reach of each other. Twenty minutes later, when I opened my eyes, I was alone on the pond with none of my prayer partners in sight. Like Paul’s fishing, this way of praying was harder for me than my usual ways. It took small moves and a lot of patience. And while I didn’t catch any fish, I do think that the Big Fish hooked me.  

Now both Paul and I delighted in our new experiences. Despite our initial disorientation and discomfort, God quickly reoriented us to God’s presence right where we were. You might say that we were like Eldad and Medad; we were outside our familiar tents but still in the camp of God, where the spirit rested upon us. You might say that God was seasoning our souls with salt, except on a freshwater pond. You might say that God was restoring the fire in our spirits. For we’ve all been called for a purpose which is to reflect the glory of God by being human beings who are fully alive.

Transitions can be both difficult and energizing. I can totally relate to the story of Moses and the Israelites as they traveled through the wilderness. To be honest, I’ve done my fair share of grumbling, whining, and complaining. Sometimes, instead of prayer, I indulged in self-pity. I felt as if I were fishing and catching nothing, as if I were floating in a fog with no purpose.

During this time of transition, I learned how to fish and how to pray in different ways than before. I fished for new possibilities and opportunities. I enlarged my pond. I prayed in the traditional tents of meeting and in God’s city camps. I did the same things I had done before, only a little bit differently. And I learned to be still, to try new things, and to trust in God’s grace. I learned patience from my suffering and my searching, and God blessed my journey every day with fire and salt. As St. Paul said in his letter to the Philippians, I learned how to be grateful in all circumstances.

Jesus said that everyone is salted with fire. Our call then is to discern how we, as faithful Christians, can use our saltiness and our fire for good. And when we lose our saltiness or the fire in our spirits, we need to pray and to fish; and then to fish and to pray.

Jesus calls all of us for a purpose. We are to be fishers of people, and people of prayer, and everyone has been salted with fire. As members of the Body of Christ, we have choices to make. We can be for Jesus or we can be against Him. We can be stumbling blocks or we can be footstools. Here on the coastline of the Atlantic ocean, we can be God’s salty servants, with fires in our spirits, ready to do good deeds of power in the name of Christ. The choice is ours to make every day.

And so today, pray and then go fishing. Fish and then pray. For as Nikki Finkelstein-Blair said, “God doesn’t only change us; God changes the world through us. When our attitudes are transformed, God can transform the people and situations we encounter. If only we choose wisely when options are hard. If only we respond kindly when people are cruel. If only we act boldly when people are hurt. May God use us to answer the ‘if only’ prayers of our world.”      

So go, pray and fish, and fish and pray today. You have been salted with fire by Jesus and the Holy Spirit, and you have been called for a purpose. Amen.

                                   

                                   

Let the Children Come

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Who among us has not seen the picture of the 3 year old boy, either face down in the sand on the beach in Greece, or being carried by a Greek soldier in his arms. In the pictures that capture the Syrian crisis, we see infants like this one, or sleeping in their parents arms, unaware of the danger around them. It is especially heart-breaking when one sees images of children dead, or crying in fear as they’re being pushed back by soldiers, or sleeping on the sidewalk of a railway station, or even being handed over, lifted up to safety, out of an inflatable boat in which their family members and others reside. They are fleeing from one country to the next in perilous journeys to freedom, 20 million refugees, half of whom are children. What choices do these people have? Whether or not they stay or whether or not they leave their country, they are at risk. And while the issues and solutions may be complex, the heartbreak is not.

Jesus was teaching his disciples and found them arguing about who was going to be the greatest among them. They had all left family and jobs to follow Jesus, and they expected some benefits; unfortunately, Jesus broke their revolutionary bubble. Whoever follows me, follows me to death, he said. Whoever follows me carries the crosses of human pain and suffering, even if it is not their own. Whoever follows me welcomes children with open arms, which means they are welcoming God.

I don’t think Jesus meant for his disciples to welcome children with open arms into our churches, synagogues, mosques, or temples, although that’s a good thing to do. I don’t think he meant that we should all sit down and get on eye level with children who inhabit our holy places. I don’t think Jesus meant that we are especially great when we wrap our arms of love around our own children or those who look just like us. I think Jesus meant something far more dangerous, far more risky, and far more courageous.

I think Jesus was calling us to prophetic action - that the greatest people are people who serve the least by being vulnerable themselves, who challenge their own institutional systems, and protect the children of God regardless of their age. I think Jesus was calling us to be willing to destabilize our lives, our churches, and our countries in thoughtful, just, and merciful ways in order to help God’s children.

I won’t presume to wrestle with the complicated issues of migration and immigration which are happening for various reasons throughout our world. People and animals are shifting, moving, and fleeing from one place to another in search of a better life, or just plain life. I don’t presume to offer any answers or solutions, for there are many; although Episcopal Migration Ministries is one resource to consult.

What I do know is that we must first start with ourselves, breaking down the borders of fear in our own hearts by breaking down the boundaries between human and divine Love. Prayer helps us to do that; and for Christians that border crossing came in the person of Jesus. As St. James’ said in his letter, “The wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. Those who make peace sow the seeds of justice by their peaceful acts.” (James 3: 17-18)

The children of our world, the generations that are with us now, will take their lessons from our responses to human suffering and need.  Boundaries and borders are important, and fences make good neighbors; but many of our systems need to be fixed, perhaps even rebuilt. Destabilization and disorientation can help us see solutions from fresh perspectives.

Remembering that Jesus was a Jew of Aramaic descent helps us to see the arms of Jesus as someone who came from many countries and cultures, perhaps different from ours. Remembering that we are all beloved children of God helps us get into the inflatable boat with others. Remembering that Jesus was the Light of the World can help us to navigate our rubber rafts and rescue boats in that mission to overcome darkness and death.

Will we choose paths of dispute, conflict, and self-protection , or will we open our arms of welcome to the children of God? to the least of these, regardless of their age? to their tribe, regardless of their practices? to their language, even if we don’t understand it? and to their nation, even if we disagree with their politics? Jesus “stretched out his arms of love on the cross so that everyone might come within the reach of his saving embrace.” For the sake of our souls and our world, let the children come.

Teachers, Students, and Tongues

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

This Sunday’s lectionary (September 13, 2015) has scripture lessons from Isaiah and the letter of James. Both lessons speak about teachers.

The Life Together program claims that it is a learning community in which we are all teachers and we are all students. Isaiah tells us that we are given the tongues of teachers in order to sustain the weary and that God will help us. And yet, in order to be good teachers, Isaiah reminds us that we must first listen. We must be good students before we can become good teachers. We must open our ears to those who are suffering, sick, weary, oppressed, and imprisoned so that we might stand together in community and speak with the tongues of teachers.

As a listening student and a prophetic and pastoral teacher, as a new member to this particular learning community called Life Together, I especially loved certain parts of the intensive orientation. I liked listening to the public narratives of staff members and some of the fellows; they taught me alot! They spoke of painful experiences and moments of personal decision. They taught me how they became students of human Life and godly Love despite beard-pulling, spitting, and insults. They taught me how they chose not to turn their backs but rather how they set their faces like flint in order to become teachers in prophetic and pastoral ways.

I found the conversations on Mattering and Marginalizing, taught by Lori Lobenstine, helpful. We reflected upon times when we felt that we mattered to God, our family, our friends, our Church, and to our society. Similarly, we shared experiences when we felt marginalized, pushed out, excluded, isolated, judged, even condemned. The wounds of our pain mingled with the salt of our tears. We learned how we had even marginalized others. We felt the ocean of God’s love in those people who reminded us that we mattered. God reminded us that we all matter.

St. James reminds us that no one is perfect, that we all need bits for our mouths and bridles for our bodies, which contain both fresh and brackish water. The letter of James also reminds us that from our mouths come both blessing and cursing. Our tongues can become “restless evils, full of deadly poisons.” So too, our tongues can bless God, uphold others, and provide comfort.They can set communities and souls on fire with blazes both large and small, for good and for evil. With the Lord’s help, our tongues will guide our ships and boast of great exploits. Especially, when they are joined together, our tongues become prophetic voices, standing against people and systems that are oppressive, marginalizing, and unjust. At Life Together, we made some covenants about non violent communication because Life Together is a mattering community called to work with the marginalized.

The Rev. Alexia Salvatierra taught us about this “prophetic way.” People from Life Together, the Leadership Development Initiative, Episcopal City Mission, Episcopal Divinity School, the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts, and the Mission Initiative came to listen because this is what the Church is made for: faith-rooted organizing through partnerships, collaborations, networking, and Life Together as learning communities who matter and are called to work with the marginalized.

Individually and together we reflected on some questions. How does the world break our hearts because of unjust and unnecessary suffering? How are our hearts broken because of tongues that have wagged maliciously or carelessly, and waged war on God’s people and God’s creation? What are the lies, told by human tongues, that fuel and feed these forest fires? “Never forgetting that a broken heart may be the greatest gift that God gives to you” how has God’s Holy Spirit been kindled and set blazes of righteous anger burning in your own heart?

Where are the springs of fresh water that can cool the flames of adversity, turn the salty waters of our tears into living springs of new life? How can we, united by Love, stand together in prophetic ways to give fish to those who are hungry, teach people how to fish for themselves, fish together as a community, and break down those firewalls that prevent God’s Spirit from burning brightly, justly, and mercifully to all of God’s Creation?

As good students, we are called to listen to the voices of the marginalized, within ourselves and within others. As good teachers, we are called to walk in the prophetic way, humbly with our God, lifting up the lowly by speaking words of comfort to the weary, and words of power both to the oppressors and the oppressed. As disciplined wagging tongues, we can be a blessing to all of God’s creatures and creation. For, by God’s grace, we are in this Life Together.

Isaiah 50:4-9a

The Lord GOD has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word. Morning by morning he wakens--wakens my ear to listen as those who are taught. The Lord GOD has opened my ear, and I was not rebellious, I did not turn backward. I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I did not hide my face from insult and spitting.

The Lord GOD helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame; he who vindicates me is near. Who will contend with me? Let us stand up together. Who are my adversaries? Let them confront me. It is the Lord GOD who helps me; who will declare me guilty?

James 3:1-12

Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness. For all of us make many mistakes. Anyone who makes no mistakes in speaking is perfect, able to keep the whole body in check with a bridle. If we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, we guide their whole bodies. Or look at ships: though they are so large that it takes strong winds to drive them, yet they are guided by a very small rudder wherever the will of the pilot directs. So also the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great exploits.

How great a forest is set ablaze by a small fire! And the tongue is a fire. The tongue is placed among our members as a world of iniquity; it stains the whole body, sets on fire the cycle of nature, and is itself set on fire by hell. For every species of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by the human species, but no one can tame the tongue-- a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so. Does a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and brackish water? Can a fig tree, my brothers and sisters, yield olives, or a grapevine figs? No more can salt water yield fresh.