November 22, 2023
Dear Friends,
My reflection letter for this week is going to be short and sweet about a computer program called TRUE KNOWLEDGE, which has been fed about 300 million facts. Actually, when you consider all the facts in the word, 300 million is NOT that much. According to this program, April 11, 1954 was the most BORING day in history. No famous person was born or died on that day----though it is possible that the fame is still in the future. No great historical event occurred. Belgium had an election and there were some sport events, but as far as this program is concerned nothing of great note happened that day. So, if you were born on April 11, 1954, you can claim that you were born on the most boring day in history!
As soon as this “fact” was made known, some scientist said, “Well April 11 is only one day but the earth had one billion years of boredom.” From about 1.8 to 800 billion years ago, very little happened on the earth in terms of evolution, geological formation, or atmospheric chemistry. I guess we could say that things were going on under the surface, because about 530 years ago the Cambrian Explosion began. This is when scientists can see from the fossil record that most major animal groups began to appear, so obviously much was going on BEFORE THIS to make earth a hospitable place for life. In perhaps as few as 10 million years, marine animals evolved most of the basic body forms that we observe in modern groups. That is quite an amazing change---anything but boring.
Let’s face it, boredom is unpleasant. Remember the long summer days, when camp was not the common option it is today, so boredom for kids could be a real challenge, especially on rainy days. Who among us does not recall saying to one’s mother, “I’m bored?” I don’t know about your mother, but mine would commonly respond, “Only boring people are bored.”
As an adult I never suffer from boredom. I can always find something to do. In fact, I often feel I have too much to do. Besides, there is always something to learn, something to read, something to dig my mind and heart into. And I hope the same is true for all of you.
It is almost impossible for me to imagine Jesus being bored, even though he had none of the distractions and amusements that engage so much of our time. I imagine Jesus as a person of great heart and mind, who spent a lot of time alone, pondering the big questions and talking to God in prayer. In the Gospels, we often see him go off to pray alone. He was most likely an introvert, and I do wonder if introverts have a tendency to be less bored than extroverts, since the latter rely more on the external world for their stimulation. But whether you are an introvert or extrovert, I hope you do not suffer from too much boredom. And who knows what a later computer program will choose as the most boring day?
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
My reflection letter for this week is going to be short and sweet about a computer program called TRUE KNOWLEDGE, which has been fed about 300 million facts. Actually, when you consider all the facts in the word, 300 million is NOT that much. According to this program, April 11, 1954 was the most BORING day in history. No famous person was born or died on that day----though it is possible that the fame is still in the future. No great historical event occurred. Belgium had an election and there were some sport events, but as far as this program is concerned nothing of great note happened that day. So, if you were born on April 11, 1954, you can claim that you were born on the most boring day in history!
As soon as this “fact” was made known, some scientist said, “Well April 11 is only one day but the earth had one billion years of boredom.” From about 1.8 to 800 billion years ago, very little happened on the earth in terms of evolution, geological formation, or atmospheric chemistry. I guess we could say that things were going on under the surface, because about 530 years ago the Cambrian Explosion began. This is when scientists can see from the fossil record that most major animal groups began to appear, so obviously much was going on BEFORE THIS to make earth a hospitable place for life. In perhaps as few as 10 million years, marine animals evolved most of the basic body forms that we observe in modern groups. That is quite an amazing change---anything but boring.
Let’s face it, boredom is unpleasant. Remember the long summer days, when camp was not the common option it is today, so boredom for kids could be a real challenge, especially on rainy days. Who among us does not recall saying to one’s mother, “I’m bored?” I don’t know about your mother, but mine would commonly respond, “Only boring people are bored.”
As an adult I never suffer from boredom. I can always find something to do. In fact, I often feel I have too much to do. Besides, there is always something to learn, something to read, something to dig my mind and heart into. And I hope the same is true for all of you.
It is almost impossible for me to imagine Jesus being bored, even though he had none of the distractions and amusements that engage so much of our time. I imagine Jesus as a person of great heart and mind, who spent a lot of time alone, pondering the big questions and talking to God in prayer. In the Gospels, we often see him go off to pray alone. He was most likely an introvert, and I do wonder if introverts have a tendency to be less bored than extroverts, since the latter rely more on the external world for their stimulation. But whether you are an introvert or extrovert, I hope you do not suffer from too much boredom. And who knows what a later computer program will choose as the most boring day?
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
GRATITUDE THAT KEEPS GROWING
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church, Unionville, CT
November 19, 2023
Psalm 100
Philippians 4: 4-9
It seems rather extraordinary that Paul while in prison should write a letter to the Christian community in the city of Philippi advising them not to worry about anything. I mean would you not think that being in a Roman prison would be cause for worry? And yet he tells the people to make their desires and needs known to God by prayer and supplication, always with thanksgiving. Be grateful. The theme for Paul was gratitude, even while he was imprisoned. We are on the cusp of Thanksgiving, and I have chosen not to read the lectionary choices for the day, but rather to lift up the theme of gratitude, which even in the darkness of prison, Paul was able to feel, to express and to celebrate.
This morning I am going to tell you two stories of gratitude. The first one I encountered some years ago, when I was working in New Haven. Periodically walking across the New Haven Green, where three churches stood, mine in the middle, I would sometimes come across this older man playing chess on one of the benches. Sometimes his partner would be another older person, but more often than not, he would be playing with a Yale student. And it was one of these students who told me the story.
Richard, the old man, was very talented at chess, and so were some of the students who came to play with him, but usually Richard would beat them. “He was not a quick player,” the student told me. “He was very deliberate and careful, thinking about every move he would make.” And he had this beautiful chess set with finely carved figures and a gorgeous board to play on. Where did you get this set, the student asked him one day. Oh, years ago, when I was about 20 or so, I was rummaging through the attic, looking for some of my high school stuff, when I came across this set. Bringing it downstairs, I asked my mother: What is this? Where did it come from? And then she told me the story. You see, Richard told the student, my father was teaching me how to play chess. I was only 8, and my father was a master, but he was willing to take the time to teach me. But then the war came, and my father went off to the South Pacific from where he never returned. I was 12 when he was killed, and I can still remember the telegram when it came.
Well, the years passed, and I did nothing about the game of chess until I came across the set in the attic. My mom had forgotten all about it---how my dad was carving all the chess pieces and making this gorgeous board. He was going to give it to me for my birthday, but the war intervened, and he did not finish it. He had a few more pieces to make and the board needed some work. Well, I took the set and found some pieces to complete it, and I took the board to a woodworker we knew, who finished it. And then I began to work on my chess game, and over the years, I continued to work, and even today, he told the student, I am working on it. And you, turning to the student, are helping me.
And then the student, whose name I have forgotten, told me something else, which is perhaps the most important part of the story. Richard told the young man that as the years went by, the gift became even more precious to him. My dad worked hard as an electrician during the day, and yet at night, after I had gone to bed, there he was, working on this gift for me. At 20, it was an incredible find, a piece of my father, but now, I am in my 80’s, and time has made the gift even more precious. My gratitude has grown, not only for this chess set, but for all the people who over the years have played with me, beginning with my father, all of them helping me to become a better player. And you are part of my gratitude, he told the Yale student. You are a fine player; you have the makings of a great one, and in my old age, you have taught me some moves. So, remember, my young friend: the most precious gifts we receive are the ones which help our gratitude to grow over time.
The second story is about my family. I have four kids, the oldest and youngest, girls and the two middle, boys. When Aaron, my second son and third child, was 14, he came to me and asked, “Mom, could we get a better piano? This piano will not do what I need it to do.” It was, after all, an inexpensive spinet, something to learn on, but Aaron had been playing for over 7 years and he was pretty good. Oh, Aaron, we have so little money right now. Alethea is at Smith and Ashley is at Cheshire Academy. We don’t have anything extra, but maybe we could go look and see what we can find second hand. And so, we went to the piano store, where Aaron fell in love with a Boston Baby Grand to the tune of $23,000. He sat down and played a Mozart piece, I think it was. Love was the only word to describe his feeling for that piano. And at 14, Aaron did realize the economics of the matter. There was a lovely upright, a very excellent second hand piano for $7,000, which I wasin favor of buying on time. He would accept it, but it was not his heart’s desire.
Two days later I was visiting one of my parishioners, Edith, who was 96 years old and at the end of her life. She was at home, not treating her breast cancer, except for comfort care. She was in very good spirits and actually doing quite well. Edith would always ask me about my children and I would go through the list of four. And when I came to Aaron, I told her about the piano.
You know, she said to me. I am an old woman, and my days are not long. But I will tell you when I look back on my life, I remember the gifts I have given and the joy those gifts brought to people. And some of those gifts grew gratitude that expanded over the years---like the garnet ring I gave to my granddaughter. At 22 she was not that impressed by the garnet; she loved emeralds, but because it was from me, she accepted the gift graciously. But now, over 20 years later, she wears that ring all the time. It has become more precious to her and more meaningful as the years have gone by.
Your son is too young to understand the sacrifice it would be for you and your husband to buy him that piano, but as the years go by, I promise you his gratitude for it will grow. And gratitude deepens life. Now, you are in the business of moving heaven, so you move it, and buy him that piano. And so, we did. We had to borrow against my husband’s retirement, and the monthly payments were very hard, but we never regretted it. Both Aaron and our younger daughter, Caitlin’s playing took off. Their teacher told me she had never seen students improve so quickly because of a new instrument.
Aaron insisted on staying home from school the day the piano was delivered. It was also the day that Edith died, and when Aaron sat down at the piano to play a Rachmaninoff piece, I said under my breath,” Edith, this one is for you.”
Thanksgiving is Thursday, and we will sit down to eat and hopefully remember to be grateful. But remember too there may be some gifts in your life that just keep growing your gratitude. And so, as Paul wrote: “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” And remember to give thanks always.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church, Unionville, CT
November 19, 2023
Psalm 100
Philippians 4: 4-9
It seems rather extraordinary that Paul while in prison should write a letter to the Christian community in the city of Philippi advising them not to worry about anything. I mean would you not think that being in a Roman prison would be cause for worry? And yet he tells the people to make their desires and needs known to God by prayer and supplication, always with thanksgiving. Be grateful. The theme for Paul was gratitude, even while he was imprisoned. We are on the cusp of Thanksgiving, and I have chosen not to read the lectionary choices for the day, but rather to lift up the theme of gratitude, which even in the darkness of prison, Paul was able to feel, to express and to celebrate.
This morning I am going to tell you two stories of gratitude. The first one I encountered some years ago, when I was working in New Haven. Periodically walking across the New Haven Green, where three churches stood, mine in the middle, I would sometimes come across this older man playing chess on one of the benches. Sometimes his partner would be another older person, but more often than not, he would be playing with a Yale student. And it was one of these students who told me the story.
Richard, the old man, was very talented at chess, and so were some of the students who came to play with him, but usually Richard would beat them. “He was not a quick player,” the student told me. “He was very deliberate and careful, thinking about every move he would make.” And he had this beautiful chess set with finely carved figures and a gorgeous board to play on. Where did you get this set, the student asked him one day. Oh, years ago, when I was about 20 or so, I was rummaging through the attic, looking for some of my high school stuff, when I came across this set. Bringing it downstairs, I asked my mother: What is this? Where did it come from? And then she told me the story. You see, Richard told the student, my father was teaching me how to play chess. I was only 8, and my father was a master, but he was willing to take the time to teach me. But then the war came, and my father went off to the South Pacific from where he never returned. I was 12 when he was killed, and I can still remember the telegram when it came.
Well, the years passed, and I did nothing about the game of chess until I came across the set in the attic. My mom had forgotten all about it---how my dad was carving all the chess pieces and making this gorgeous board. He was going to give it to me for my birthday, but the war intervened, and he did not finish it. He had a few more pieces to make and the board needed some work. Well, I took the set and found some pieces to complete it, and I took the board to a woodworker we knew, who finished it. And then I began to work on my chess game, and over the years, I continued to work, and even today, he told the student, I am working on it. And you, turning to the student, are helping me.
And then the student, whose name I have forgotten, told me something else, which is perhaps the most important part of the story. Richard told the young man that as the years went by, the gift became even more precious to him. My dad worked hard as an electrician during the day, and yet at night, after I had gone to bed, there he was, working on this gift for me. At 20, it was an incredible find, a piece of my father, but now, I am in my 80’s, and time has made the gift even more precious. My gratitude has grown, not only for this chess set, but for all the people who over the years have played with me, beginning with my father, all of them helping me to become a better player. And you are part of my gratitude, he told the Yale student. You are a fine player; you have the makings of a great one, and in my old age, you have taught me some moves. So, remember, my young friend: the most precious gifts we receive are the ones which help our gratitude to grow over time.
The second story is about my family. I have four kids, the oldest and youngest, girls and the two middle, boys. When Aaron, my second son and third child, was 14, he came to me and asked, “Mom, could we get a better piano? This piano will not do what I need it to do.” It was, after all, an inexpensive spinet, something to learn on, but Aaron had been playing for over 7 years and he was pretty good. Oh, Aaron, we have so little money right now. Alethea is at Smith and Ashley is at Cheshire Academy. We don’t have anything extra, but maybe we could go look and see what we can find second hand. And so, we went to the piano store, where Aaron fell in love with a Boston Baby Grand to the tune of $23,000. He sat down and played a Mozart piece, I think it was. Love was the only word to describe his feeling for that piano. And at 14, Aaron did realize the economics of the matter. There was a lovely upright, a very excellent second hand piano for $7,000, which I wasin favor of buying on time. He would accept it, but it was not his heart’s desire.
Two days later I was visiting one of my parishioners, Edith, who was 96 years old and at the end of her life. She was at home, not treating her breast cancer, except for comfort care. She was in very good spirits and actually doing quite well. Edith would always ask me about my children and I would go through the list of four. And when I came to Aaron, I told her about the piano.
You know, she said to me. I am an old woman, and my days are not long. But I will tell you when I look back on my life, I remember the gifts I have given and the joy those gifts brought to people. And some of those gifts grew gratitude that expanded over the years---like the garnet ring I gave to my granddaughter. At 22 she was not that impressed by the garnet; she loved emeralds, but because it was from me, she accepted the gift graciously. But now, over 20 years later, she wears that ring all the time. It has become more precious to her and more meaningful as the years have gone by.
Your son is too young to understand the sacrifice it would be for you and your husband to buy him that piano, but as the years go by, I promise you his gratitude for it will grow. And gratitude deepens life. Now, you are in the business of moving heaven, so you move it, and buy him that piano. And so, we did. We had to borrow against my husband’s retirement, and the monthly payments were very hard, but we never regretted it. Both Aaron and our younger daughter, Caitlin’s playing took off. Their teacher told me she had never seen students improve so quickly because of a new instrument.
Aaron insisted on staying home from school the day the piano was delivered. It was also the day that Edith died, and when Aaron sat down at the piano to play a Rachmaninoff piece, I said under my breath,” Edith, this one is for you.”
Thanksgiving is Thursday, and we will sit down to eat and hopefully remember to be grateful. But remember too there may be some gifts in your life that just keep growing your gratitude. And so, as Paul wrote: “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” And remember to give thanks always.
November 15, 2023
Dear Friends,
Robyn Sue Fisher loved ice cream, and so she made it her work with the establishment of Smitten Ice Cream in the Mission District of San Francisco. Robyn graduated from Williams College in Williamstown, MA and then went to Stanford Business School, where she discovered she was a “maker.” She wanted to make something that would bring joy to people, and ice cream certainly has that potential. She patented the Brr Machine, which makes ice cream from scratch in 90 seconds. At first, she pulled and pushed her machine around San Francisco, and then she found a permanent home for her business. She loved her work, and she enjoyed seeing people delighted by how quickly her machine made delicious ice cream. And then sadness struck!
We all know about the recent antisemitism that has been encircling the globe. One day Robyn received a call from an employee who told her that her front windows were smashed and messages scrawled across the front of the building: Free Palestien (Palestine was misspelled) and Out the Mission. Robyn was heartbroken. She boarded up her shop and announced that she was closing it. First, she felt fear, then anger and then deep sorrow, which finally moved into empathy. “And from empathy,” she said,” I got to love.” “I’m not closing the shop,” she insisted. “As soon as the new windows arrive, I will reopen.”
Now Robyn is doing more than making ice cream. She is creating a new line of t-shirts and sweatshirts that say, “In the spirit of ice cream, I choose love.” All proceeds from sales will go to benefit The Courage Museum, set to open in 2025, and will sit in the Presidio, the Army base turned park near the Golden Gate Bridge. The Museum will focus on ending the public health crisis caused by violence and the hate that fuels it.
Someone asked Robyn what she would say to the person or persons who trashed her shop. “I would invite the person to have ice cream with me.” And who knows what might happen then? By the way, Robyn has two other ice cream stores, one in Las Vegas, and the other in San Jose.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Robyn Sue Fisher loved ice cream, and so she made it her work with the establishment of Smitten Ice Cream in the Mission District of San Francisco. Robyn graduated from Williams College in Williamstown, MA and then went to Stanford Business School, where she discovered she was a “maker.” She wanted to make something that would bring joy to people, and ice cream certainly has that potential. She patented the Brr Machine, which makes ice cream from scratch in 90 seconds. At first, she pulled and pushed her machine around San Francisco, and then she found a permanent home for her business. She loved her work, and she enjoyed seeing people delighted by how quickly her machine made delicious ice cream. And then sadness struck!
We all know about the recent antisemitism that has been encircling the globe. One day Robyn received a call from an employee who told her that her front windows were smashed and messages scrawled across the front of the building: Free Palestien (Palestine was misspelled) and Out the Mission. Robyn was heartbroken. She boarded up her shop and announced that she was closing it. First, she felt fear, then anger and then deep sorrow, which finally moved into empathy. “And from empathy,” she said,” I got to love.” “I’m not closing the shop,” she insisted. “As soon as the new windows arrive, I will reopen.”
Now Robyn is doing more than making ice cream. She is creating a new line of t-shirts and sweatshirts that say, “In the spirit of ice cream, I choose love.” All proceeds from sales will go to benefit The Courage Museum, set to open in 2025, and will sit in the Presidio, the Army base turned park near the Golden Gate Bridge. The Museum will focus on ending the public health crisis caused by violence and the hate that fuels it.
Someone asked Robyn what she would say to the person or persons who trashed her shop. “I would invite the person to have ice cream with me.” And who knows what might happen then? By the way, Robyn has two other ice cream stores, one in Las Vegas, and the other in San Jose.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
THE GREATEST COMMANDMENT
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
November 12, 2023
Matthew 22: 34-40
2 Samuel 18: 1-16; 24-33
So here we find Jesus in the 22nd chapter of Matthew being put ONCE MORE to the test. Which commandment, the lawyer asks, is the greatest? Perhaps to our ears this question sounds like a legitimate one, but as was said in the introduction, this question is part of an intentional effort to entrap Jesus. All the authorities were going after him—the priests and the scribes, who were part of the aristocratic class known as the Sadducees, as well as the Pharisees, who though not of the upper classes, were yet conversant on the law. The Pharisees, by the way, also had a skilled occupation, like a lawyer or a tentmaker. Undoubtedly, they were all suspicious of Jesus’ popularity and charismatic power, and so they were constantly testing him, trying to find out if he could be cornered and made to look foolish or dangerous. Now right before today’s lesson Jesus had been asked a question by the Sadducees. If a woman marries seven brothers in succession, because all her husbands had died, leaving her childless, in the resurrection whose wife shall she be? Jesus not only told them that in heaven there will be no marrying, but he also said that God is the God of the living, not of the dead. And so, the next sentence begins our text for today: When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question: Which commandment is the greatest.
Now you should understand that the Pharisees and Sadducees did not like each other. They were not only of different socio-economic classes, but they also had different religious ideas. The Sadducees believed neither in a resurrection of the dead nor in the oral interpretation of the law, while the Pharisees taught both these things. Jesus also taught those things, which is why some scholars believe that at one time Jesus had been a Pharisee. And so, when the Pharisees heard that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, they were probably pretty happy that their religious enemies had been put in their place.
And now they are going to see if they could outwit this very clever Jesus, so they decide to ask Jesus a question about which commandment is the greatest---the greatest of the 613 commandments that are part of the law. And here Jesus did not say anything new or radical. He simply repeated what is known as the Shema from Deuteronomy, which calls for complete devotion to God with heart, soul and might. In other words, one’s whole being is to be actively involved in loving God. Loving God is the starting point for everything else a human being is called to do. Then Jesus went on to refer to a second commandment that is like the first, and here he again quoted from the law, this time from Leviticus 19:18, which reads, “You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” When these two commandments are put together, we understand that love for God and love for neighbor and self are interdependent. We love God by showing love to others as well as ourselves, and in loving others and ourselves in the right way, we show love for God. Makes sense, doesn’t it?
But the real challenge with the commandment is trying to figure out what exactly is the loving thing to do in particular situations. When we consider international relations, for example, how should the ethic of love rule when we are dealing with conflict like that between Israel and Hamas or Ukraine and Russia? What does it mean to love the enemy, when the enemy is Hamas against Israel or Putin’s Russian forces against Ukraine? What is the loving thing to do about immigration, when we clearly need more workers for jobs and yet lack the infrastructure, including judges, caseworkers, and affordable housing? Reinhold Niebuhr, whose words opened our worship service, was a minister in Detroit, very supportive of unions, as well as a social ethicist, who taught for years at Union Theological Seminary in New York. He said that in politics love cannot be the ruling ethic. The best we can hope and work for is justice. But even justice can be very hard to come by. What is the just thing to do in Israel, in Gaza, in Ukraine and on our southern border? The answers are hardly obvious.
If we forget politics and move into the personal, we all face ethical dilemmas in our families and our friendships. What is the loving thing to do when you have been betrayed by your spouse with your best friend? What is the loving thing to do if your son walks out on his wife and leaves three kids behind? People whom we deeply love sometimes do things, which are an affront to our ethics. My husband told me about a neighbor of his, who in 1969 went to Canada rather than serve in Viet Nam. The father, a decorated hero from World War II, who supported the war in Viet Nam, disowned his son, while the mother, who opposed the war, thought her son a hero. Each parent had a response to both the war and their son as well as to each other. What then was the loving thing for them to do?
And so, we arrive at this incredible story about David and his son, Absalom, which mixes politics with the personal. If you ever are discouraged about what seems like the dysfunction of your family, consider David’s. There was rape of a sister, Tamar by one of her brothers, Amnon, and when David found out he was very angry, but he said nothing, for the text tells us, he loved his first born son. We may well wonder, if David loved his daughter, Tamar. She became a desolate woman, and later, Absalom, another brother takes vengeance upon Tamar by killing Amnon. And David along with his servants and other sons wept for Amnon.
Absalom fled and for three years stayed away, and the text tells us how David mourned for his son’s absence; he yearned for him, because he loved Absalom, who was beautiful. From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head, there was no blemish on him, at least no physical blemish. Absalom finally returned to Jerusalem, but for two years did not come into the king’s presence. Finally, he came before his father, prostrated himself and David kissed his son. But the healing did not last. Absalom rebelled against his father and in time a battle ensued, and you heard the story. Even in the midst of Absalom’s rebellion, David continued to love his son, and he asked that no harm come to Absalom, But another commander killed Absalom as the traitor he surely was. And David grieved, O Absalom, my son, Absalom. Would that I had died instead of you. O my son, Absalom, my son, my son.”
The story should grab your heart and squeeze it until it hurts. The tragedy is palpable, and part of the tragedy is the limits of human love to heal. David loved his son, but what power did that love have to heal? The whole situation was a mess, beginning with the rape of Tamar right down to the rebellion against David. Surely David could have/should have spoken out earlier, but no matter what he said or did, there is yet the inevitability of overwhelming pain.
And isn’t this the way life often is? It should not be and yet it is. We have commandments and are told that some ways to live are better ways than others. And yes, we know this. But we also know something else, especially if we have lived long enough. We hear of people trying to help another family member, who has a major illness or addiction or some other problem, and yet they cannot heal the malady. Human love does have its limits. It cannot repair everything, even if it sometimes it must bear everything.
At the end of today’s Gospel Jesus asks the Pharisees a question which they cannot answer, and from that day on, the text tells us that they dared not ask Jesus any more questions. Jesus had silenced the Sadducees and now he silenced the Pharisees. Nothing more could be asked by them. They were at the end of their questions, but not at the end of the story. They were clever, but cleverness does not solve everything any more than human love does. Yet faith tells us that God’s love has no limits----and that assurance is what we can cling to in the most difficult and challenging of times. We may not be able to see how or if God’s love solves everything, but there is hope that finally it will.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
November 12, 2023
Matthew 22: 34-40
2 Samuel 18: 1-16; 24-33
So here we find Jesus in the 22nd chapter of Matthew being put ONCE MORE to the test. Which commandment, the lawyer asks, is the greatest? Perhaps to our ears this question sounds like a legitimate one, but as was said in the introduction, this question is part of an intentional effort to entrap Jesus. All the authorities were going after him—the priests and the scribes, who were part of the aristocratic class known as the Sadducees, as well as the Pharisees, who though not of the upper classes, were yet conversant on the law. The Pharisees, by the way, also had a skilled occupation, like a lawyer or a tentmaker. Undoubtedly, they were all suspicious of Jesus’ popularity and charismatic power, and so they were constantly testing him, trying to find out if he could be cornered and made to look foolish or dangerous. Now right before today’s lesson Jesus had been asked a question by the Sadducees. If a woman marries seven brothers in succession, because all her husbands had died, leaving her childless, in the resurrection whose wife shall she be? Jesus not only told them that in heaven there will be no marrying, but he also said that God is the God of the living, not of the dead. And so, the next sentence begins our text for today: When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question: Which commandment is the greatest.
Now you should understand that the Pharisees and Sadducees did not like each other. They were not only of different socio-economic classes, but they also had different religious ideas. The Sadducees believed neither in a resurrection of the dead nor in the oral interpretation of the law, while the Pharisees taught both these things. Jesus also taught those things, which is why some scholars believe that at one time Jesus had been a Pharisee. And so, when the Pharisees heard that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, they were probably pretty happy that their religious enemies had been put in their place.
And now they are going to see if they could outwit this very clever Jesus, so they decide to ask Jesus a question about which commandment is the greatest---the greatest of the 613 commandments that are part of the law. And here Jesus did not say anything new or radical. He simply repeated what is known as the Shema from Deuteronomy, which calls for complete devotion to God with heart, soul and might. In other words, one’s whole being is to be actively involved in loving God. Loving God is the starting point for everything else a human being is called to do. Then Jesus went on to refer to a second commandment that is like the first, and here he again quoted from the law, this time from Leviticus 19:18, which reads, “You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” When these two commandments are put together, we understand that love for God and love for neighbor and self are interdependent. We love God by showing love to others as well as ourselves, and in loving others and ourselves in the right way, we show love for God. Makes sense, doesn’t it?
But the real challenge with the commandment is trying to figure out what exactly is the loving thing to do in particular situations. When we consider international relations, for example, how should the ethic of love rule when we are dealing with conflict like that between Israel and Hamas or Ukraine and Russia? What does it mean to love the enemy, when the enemy is Hamas against Israel or Putin’s Russian forces against Ukraine? What is the loving thing to do about immigration, when we clearly need more workers for jobs and yet lack the infrastructure, including judges, caseworkers, and affordable housing? Reinhold Niebuhr, whose words opened our worship service, was a minister in Detroit, very supportive of unions, as well as a social ethicist, who taught for years at Union Theological Seminary in New York. He said that in politics love cannot be the ruling ethic. The best we can hope and work for is justice. But even justice can be very hard to come by. What is the just thing to do in Israel, in Gaza, in Ukraine and on our southern border? The answers are hardly obvious.
If we forget politics and move into the personal, we all face ethical dilemmas in our families and our friendships. What is the loving thing to do when you have been betrayed by your spouse with your best friend? What is the loving thing to do if your son walks out on his wife and leaves three kids behind? People whom we deeply love sometimes do things, which are an affront to our ethics. My husband told me about a neighbor of his, who in 1969 went to Canada rather than serve in Viet Nam. The father, a decorated hero from World War II, who supported the war in Viet Nam, disowned his son, while the mother, who opposed the war, thought her son a hero. Each parent had a response to both the war and their son as well as to each other. What then was the loving thing for them to do?
And so, we arrive at this incredible story about David and his son, Absalom, which mixes politics with the personal. If you ever are discouraged about what seems like the dysfunction of your family, consider David’s. There was rape of a sister, Tamar by one of her brothers, Amnon, and when David found out he was very angry, but he said nothing, for the text tells us, he loved his first born son. We may well wonder, if David loved his daughter, Tamar. She became a desolate woman, and later, Absalom, another brother takes vengeance upon Tamar by killing Amnon. And David along with his servants and other sons wept for Amnon.
Absalom fled and for three years stayed away, and the text tells us how David mourned for his son’s absence; he yearned for him, because he loved Absalom, who was beautiful. From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head, there was no blemish on him, at least no physical blemish. Absalom finally returned to Jerusalem, but for two years did not come into the king’s presence. Finally, he came before his father, prostrated himself and David kissed his son. But the healing did not last. Absalom rebelled against his father and in time a battle ensued, and you heard the story. Even in the midst of Absalom’s rebellion, David continued to love his son, and he asked that no harm come to Absalom, But another commander killed Absalom as the traitor he surely was. And David grieved, O Absalom, my son, Absalom. Would that I had died instead of you. O my son, Absalom, my son, my son.”
The story should grab your heart and squeeze it until it hurts. The tragedy is palpable, and part of the tragedy is the limits of human love to heal. David loved his son, but what power did that love have to heal? The whole situation was a mess, beginning with the rape of Tamar right down to the rebellion against David. Surely David could have/should have spoken out earlier, but no matter what he said or did, there is yet the inevitability of overwhelming pain.
And isn’t this the way life often is? It should not be and yet it is. We have commandments and are told that some ways to live are better ways than others. And yes, we know this. But we also know something else, especially if we have lived long enough. We hear of people trying to help another family member, who has a major illness or addiction or some other problem, and yet they cannot heal the malady. Human love does have its limits. It cannot repair everything, even if it sometimes it must bear everything.
At the end of today’s Gospel Jesus asks the Pharisees a question which they cannot answer, and from that day on, the text tells us that they dared not ask Jesus any more questions. Jesus had silenced the Sadducees and now he silenced the Pharisees. Nothing more could be asked by them. They were at the end of their questions, but not at the end of the story. They were clever, but cleverness does not solve everything any more than human love does. Yet faith tells us that God’s love has no limits----and that assurance is what we can cling to in the most difficult and challenging of times. We may not be able to see how or if God’s love solves everything, but there is hope that finally it will.
November 8, 2023
Dear Friends,
The news can sometimes be hard to take, so The Washington Post has a section called “The Optimist,” which in the midst of tough times tells some uplifting stories, like the one about Grandma Peggy. It all began on Wednesdays, a day the high school began later, so Sam Crowe had breakfast at a local diner with a group of his friends. ‘You know,” he told his friends, “my grandma makes a great breakfast, even better than this one,” and so in October, 2021, a group of kids began to eat breakfast at Peggy Winchowski’s house every Wednesday. She loved cooking for them---pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, oatmeal, whatever the kids wanted. She always looked forward to Wednesdays. She said it was the best day of the week for her. And then sadness struck in July, 2022, when Sam was killed in a car accident.
On the day Sam died, kids came to her house to grieve with her and to make sure she was o.k. They came every single day of that first grief stricken week and after that they continued to show up to check up on her. When school began in September, Grandma Peggy, as they called her, told them they were welcome to continue to come to her house on Wednesdays for breakfast. And so, they did---except even more kids began to show up. Now every Wednesday about 30 high school students come to her house. Sometimes Sam’s parents show up, and they all eat breakfast together, but they do more than eat. They talk about Sam, sharing all kinds of memories and stories about him. They remember his humor, his kindness, his love of life, and when they talk about Sam this way, they say they can actually feel his presence among them. “He is right here with us,” one of his friends said. And indeed, Grandma Peggy agrees.
Grandma Peggy is 69 years old, and she has lived long enough to realize that life can be hard---that bad things happen to good people. “But,” she said, “these people are so young, and to lose a friend when you are 14, 15 or 16, that is so hard. They don’t understand why such things happen.”
Actually no one understands WHY such things happen. It is just that when you live long enough you learn that such things do happen. That is simply the way life sometimes is. And so, Grandma Peggy can give these kids something significant as they give something significant to her. They each are living though their grief, and as they live it, they learn. Wisdom comes through living.
I am reminded of one of my favorite novels, War & Peace by Leo Tolstoy. There is this one character, Pierre, an aristocrat and intellectual, who is always trying to discover the meaning of life. He tries so many different paths, but it all comes to nothing---until Napoleon invades Russia and Pierre becomes a prisoner of war. And it is then that he meets another prisoner, Platon Karataev, a simple peasant, who tells Pierre, “Life is the minute by minute living of it.” And it is in those minutes that one finds meaning.
The young people who come to Grandma Peggy for breakfast are finding that the time they spend with Peggy and each other while eating and talking are making their way through life, deepening their understanding and their wisdom as they face head on their grief. And Peggy is doing the same. After all, young people show us life renewing itself, and Peggy is undoubtedly helped by the energy of young lives. Such mutuality in relationships is life giving. We can even call it grace.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
The news can sometimes be hard to take, so The Washington Post has a section called “The Optimist,” which in the midst of tough times tells some uplifting stories, like the one about Grandma Peggy. It all began on Wednesdays, a day the high school began later, so Sam Crowe had breakfast at a local diner with a group of his friends. ‘You know,” he told his friends, “my grandma makes a great breakfast, even better than this one,” and so in October, 2021, a group of kids began to eat breakfast at Peggy Winchowski’s house every Wednesday. She loved cooking for them---pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, oatmeal, whatever the kids wanted. She always looked forward to Wednesdays. She said it was the best day of the week for her. And then sadness struck in July, 2022, when Sam was killed in a car accident.
On the day Sam died, kids came to her house to grieve with her and to make sure she was o.k. They came every single day of that first grief stricken week and after that they continued to show up to check up on her. When school began in September, Grandma Peggy, as they called her, told them they were welcome to continue to come to her house on Wednesdays for breakfast. And so, they did---except even more kids began to show up. Now every Wednesday about 30 high school students come to her house. Sometimes Sam’s parents show up, and they all eat breakfast together, but they do more than eat. They talk about Sam, sharing all kinds of memories and stories about him. They remember his humor, his kindness, his love of life, and when they talk about Sam this way, they say they can actually feel his presence among them. “He is right here with us,” one of his friends said. And indeed, Grandma Peggy agrees.
Grandma Peggy is 69 years old, and she has lived long enough to realize that life can be hard---that bad things happen to good people. “But,” she said, “these people are so young, and to lose a friend when you are 14, 15 or 16, that is so hard. They don’t understand why such things happen.”
Actually no one understands WHY such things happen. It is just that when you live long enough you learn that such things do happen. That is simply the way life sometimes is. And so, Grandma Peggy can give these kids something significant as they give something significant to her. They each are living though their grief, and as they live it, they learn. Wisdom comes through living.
I am reminded of one of my favorite novels, War & Peace by Leo Tolstoy. There is this one character, Pierre, an aristocrat and intellectual, who is always trying to discover the meaning of life. He tries so many different paths, but it all comes to nothing---until Napoleon invades Russia and Pierre becomes a prisoner of war. And it is then that he meets another prisoner, Platon Karataev, a simple peasant, who tells Pierre, “Life is the minute by minute living of it.” And it is in those minutes that one finds meaning.
The young people who come to Grandma Peggy for breakfast are finding that the time they spend with Peggy and each other while eating and talking are making their way through life, deepening their understanding and their wisdom as they face head on their grief. And Peggy is doing the same. After all, young people show us life renewing itself, and Peggy is undoubtedly helped by the energy of young lives. Such mutuality in relationships is life giving. We can even call it grace.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
October 31, 2023
Dear Friends,
This past week someone said to me, “I am having a very hard time being hopeful right now.” We all know exactly what he means. “The world is too much with us as a line from a Wordsworth poem declares. Lately Ukraine has been “eclipsed” by the war between Israel and Gaza. It is unbearable to see the pictures coming from Gaza. We are horrified by what Hamas did to Israel and now we feel the horror of innocent civilians dying, many of them children. 8500 Palestinian deaths are too much, just as 1400 Israeli deaths were too much. We do not know how the mayhem will end, but we pray that it will soon end.
There was also the mass murder in Maine, when a 40 year old man named Robert Card, who was suffering from mental illness, killed 18 people and wounded another 13. His youngest victim was a 14 year old bowling star. He and his father were both killed. A six year old Palestinian-American boy was stabbed to death by the landlord, and in Texas a female pediatrician, who was Arab, was stabbed to death by a 24 year old neighbor. Jewish students at Cornell University have been told to stay away from Hillel House on campus, because of antisemitic threats made against Jewish students. “Slit their throats,” was the horrifying command. The FBI has been called in to help the University cope with the threats. Indeed, “the world is too much with us.”
Some people will simply turn off, refusing to engage with the news. For me that option does not work since ignorance does not truly buy peace of mind. At best, it is a false kind of peace—at least to me. Knowledge is power and understanding what is going on is a first step to understanding why it is going on. And then perhaps a way to change it will emerge. Furthermore, understanding is a tool that can nurture compassion.
We human beings are tribal creatures, and throughout our history, we have had much trouble dealing with difference and the Other. But we do learn, and we have learned, and though our learning is incomplete, when we see examples of it, we are uplifted. Who is not encouraged by the story of the Good Samaritan? Jews and Samaritans hated each other, and yet Jesus told a story that showed the hated enemy being a good neighbor to the beaten Jew, left by the roadside to die. It is more than a story because such behaviors are replicated all over the world in real time. Consider the righteous gentiles who hid Jews during the dark years of the Holocaust, and there are many examples of friendships between Palestinians and Jews. Hatred and violence do grab the headlines, but there are other stories as well. And we would do well to heed them.
Last Sunday was Reformation Sunday when we remembered how a group of Reformers actually changed the course of history. It was a difficult, chaotic time. The Church was broken apart, and people must have felt that the end was coming. And yet, room was made for another approach to spirituality and faith. There is indeed something inviolate about the individual conscience. No one can make you believe what you simply do not believe.
The story of the Reformation also reminds us that as much as we think we are at the center of the story God is a major actor in history’s unfolding. Luther was shaken to the depths of his being by the fear that he could be wrong, but he also took great comfort in his faith that told him, whether right or wrong, he was under God’s care. God is truth, Luther believed, and though he thought himself a witness to God’s truth, he also held firm to the conviction that God would finally take care of error. The arc of history is long, and though we cannot see the whole length, we can be sustained and uplifted by the faith that history’s arc is under God’s care, love, and mercy. This does not suggest that everything which happens, is part of God’s plan. Human beings are free agents, who often act outside of God’s Word and Law. Yet God always has a response to human activity and agency. God’s love will not be stymied, and though we often find ourselves discouraged and even depressed by a world that seems so out of control, we can take comfort in the advice that St. Augustine gave so long ago: “Work as if everything depends upon you but pray as if everything depends upon God”. I think Luther took that advice and it allowed him to weather his doubts and the storms he faced. May that same advice be of some help and comfort to us in these challenging days.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
This past week someone said to me, “I am having a very hard time being hopeful right now.” We all know exactly what he means. “The world is too much with us as a line from a Wordsworth poem declares. Lately Ukraine has been “eclipsed” by the war between Israel and Gaza. It is unbearable to see the pictures coming from Gaza. We are horrified by what Hamas did to Israel and now we feel the horror of innocent civilians dying, many of them children. 8500 Palestinian deaths are too much, just as 1400 Israeli deaths were too much. We do not know how the mayhem will end, but we pray that it will soon end.
There was also the mass murder in Maine, when a 40 year old man named Robert Card, who was suffering from mental illness, killed 18 people and wounded another 13. His youngest victim was a 14 year old bowling star. He and his father were both killed. A six year old Palestinian-American boy was stabbed to death by the landlord, and in Texas a female pediatrician, who was Arab, was stabbed to death by a 24 year old neighbor. Jewish students at Cornell University have been told to stay away from Hillel House on campus, because of antisemitic threats made against Jewish students. “Slit their throats,” was the horrifying command. The FBI has been called in to help the University cope with the threats. Indeed, “the world is too much with us.”
Some people will simply turn off, refusing to engage with the news. For me that option does not work since ignorance does not truly buy peace of mind. At best, it is a false kind of peace—at least to me. Knowledge is power and understanding what is going on is a first step to understanding why it is going on. And then perhaps a way to change it will emerge. Furthermore, understanding is a tool that can nurture compassion.
We human beings are tribal creatures, and throughout our history, we have had much trouble dealing with difference and the Other. But we do learn, and we have learned, and though our learning is incomplete, when we see examples of it, we are uplifted. Who is not encouraged by the story of the Good Samaritan? Jews and Samaritans hated each other, and yet Jesus told a story that showed the hated enemy being a good neighbor to the beaten Jew, left by the roadside to die. It is more than a story because such behaviors are replicated all over the world in real time. Consider the righteous gentiles who hid Jews during the dark years of the Holocaust, and there are many examples of friendships between Palestinians and Jews. Hatred and violence do grab the headlines, but there are other stories as well. And we would do well to heed them.
Last Sunday was Reformation Sunday when we remembered how a group of Reformers actually changed the course of history. It was a difficult, chaotic time. The Church was broken apart, and people must have felt that the end was coming. And yet, room was made for another approach to spirituality and faith. There is indeed something inviolate about the individual conscience. No one can make you believe what you simply do not believe.
The story of the Reformation also reminds us that as much as we think we are at the center of the story God is a major actor in history’s unfolding. Luther was shaken to the depths of his being by the fear that he could be wrong, but he also took great comfort in his faith that told him, whether right or wrong, he was under God’s care. God is truth, Luther believed, and though he thought himself a witness to God’s truth, he also held firm to the conviction that God would finally take care of error. The arc of history is long, and though we cannot see the whole length, we can be sustained and uplifted by the faith that history’s arc is under God’s care, love, and mercy. This does not suggest that everything which happens, is part of God’s plan. Human beings are free agents, who often act outside of God’s Word and Law. Yet God always has a response to human activity and agency. God’s love will not be stymied, and though we often find ourselves discouraged and even depressed by a world that seems so out of control, we can take comfort in the advice that St. Augustine gave so long ago: “Work as if everything depends upon you but pray as if everything depends upon God”. I think Luther took that advice and it allowed him to weather his doubts and the storms he faced. May that same advice be of some help and comfort to us in these challenging days.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
A VISIT FROM MARTIN LUTHER: PRAYING FOR THE CHURCH
Reformation Sunday
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 29, 2023
I know how hard church can be. You live in a world of change as did I, and change has never been easy for us or for the church. Church (almost by definition) clings to tradition, and I suppose that is how it has to be. The Bible is tradition, taking us far back before any of our lives began, and to many people (in my day as well as in yours) the bible was a fixed mark, telling people the truth it had always told them. So why should there be change? Why, indeed? Even now after all these 500 years I do not really understand it---except that with the hindsight of history, I can see certain things like the invention of the printing press which changed everything.
Information suddenly became available to a wide range of people. And though literacy was not widespread, it had been increasing. More and more people could read, not Latin, of course, but their native tongue. And so, when I translated the Bible into German, I helped to foment a revolution. You know when I was hiding in Wartburg Castle, I used to go out in the day, disguised as a peasant, just so I could hear the words ordinary people used. I wanted to make the Bible come alive with the language of the people, so they could really hear God’s Word in their own tongue John Wycliffe had done the same in the mid 1300’s, when he translated the bible into English. He too was a reformer as was Jan Hus, burned at the stake for his so called heresies---like wanting to give the communion cup to the laity. Hus was tricked, guaranteed safe passage, but when he arrived to give answer for his views, it was not a debate he was invited to, but an inquisition that had already decided to burn him. After his death his followers symbolized themselves by the flaming chalice. These were men of great vision and great courage and above all, great faith---but the time was not yet ripe for them. All in God’s time, we would say, all in God’s time.
And so, it became ---God’s time. Of course, the temptation is to see it as our time. We have this habit of putting ourselves at the center of the story like my father, a successful miner, who had risen from the peasantry and was determined to see me rise even further to become a lawyer. It was our time, he insisted. But in the summer of 1505 in the middle of a terrible thunderstorm, when I was sure I would die, I cried out, “St. Anne, help me, and I shall become a monk.” Well, she did help me; I was saved, and a promise is a promise, so despite my father’s severe objections, I left law school and entered the monastery in Erfurt.
Monastic life was hard, physically as well as emotionally and spiritually. Tortured I was by the feeling that God hated me, condemned me for all my sins. No matter how hard I tried to discipline my wayward soul, there were always more sins to accuse my conscience. My spiritual advisor, Johann von Staupitz used to say to me, “Martin, God is not angry with you, but you are angry with God.” It was true. Sometimes I hated God, and even now I think it was not love for God but my hatred that finally drove me to the understanding that it is not our good works which save us, but the grace of God. God declares us righteous even though we are sinners. The irony of God; that he would use my hatred of him to foment a revolution, for revolution it certainly was.
You see, it was not PRIMARILY about the abuses---though there were many, to be sure, like all that nonsense about indulgences buying off time in purgatory. Pope Leo wanted a magnificent church built in Rome, and for that he needed money, a lot of it. So, the selling of indulgences was a way to fill papal coffers. “Into the coffers a penny rings, so out of purgatory a soul springs.” Silly it was, trivial theology---except that it is not so trivial when people, who did not know any better, were spiritually harmed. Then there was the pathetic ignorance of too many clergy, some who could not even recite the Lord’s Prayer. And the greed of the papacy for not only wealth but also power. The Pope was claiming for himself a power he simply did not have---the Vicar of Christ. But no human being can claim that authority. And in the end with all the ink and blood spilt---this is what it came down to---a question of authority. By whose authority do you say or do these things? On what basis do you claim your authority?
An old question, it is. Jesus Christ had to deal with it. The religious leaders of his day asked him, “By whose authority do you cast out demons? Is it by the power of Satan or the power of God? And he would not answer them, for he knew they were incapable of recognizing the truth. Well, I confess that I was not nearly so humble or so wise. When I was asked on what authority I claimed my understanding of scripture, I told them it was from the authority of my study, my education, my doctorate. My authority did not derive from my ordination, but from my study of scripture. And then do you know what that perfidious Eck said to me, that toady of a man, doing the bidding of the Pope. He charged, ”Martin, this is a virus, a heresy we seek to root out---this desire to attach more weight to one’s own interpretation of scripture than to that of the popes and councils and doctors and universities. Are you, Martin, the only one who knows anything? Except for you is all the Church in error?”
A good question, it was, and I confess that it was the only question that made my soul tremble. For how did I really know? And yet I answered: “Remember that God once spoke through the mouth of Balaam’s ass. I will tell you what I think. I am a Christian theologian, and I am bound to not only assert but to defend the truth with my blood and my death. I want to believe freely and be a slave to the authority of no one, whether council, university, or pope. I will confidently confess what appears to me true, whether it has been asserted by a Catholic or a heretic, whether it has been approved or reproved by a council.”
Well, that got me to the city of Worms, where once again I faced Eck, who repeated that I had no right to call into question the most holy catholic church, instituted by Christ, proclaimed by the apostles, sealed by the blood of the martyrs, confirmed by the councils. Straight into my eyes he gazed, “Do you or do you not, Martin, repudiate your books and the errors they contain?” And I answered, looking first straight into his eyes and then gazing at all those in attendance, their necks protruding out, straining to hear what I was about to declare. “Since you ask for a reply,” I said, “I will give you one without horns and without teeth. Unless I am convinced by Scripture and plain reason, I do not accept the authority of popes or councils, for they have contradicted each other. My conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. God help me, amen.”
So long ago that was, and how much the world has changed. The church, which in my day stood at the forefront of revolution, now is threatened if not with extinction than with benign irrelevance. Easily ignored you are, empty pews and all. But the truth is, we cannot see around the corner---the corner of history. We do not know what God is up to. I didn’t know in my time, and you don’t know in yours.
It is so easy to lose heart, to be discouraged. But remember the call is not to be successful but to be faithful, and faith tells us that God is up to something, even if we do not know what it is. Take heart, my friends, God is not yet finished with the Church. The Reformation continues
Reformation Sunday
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 29, 2023
I know how hard church can be. You live in a world of change as did I, and change has never been easy for us or for the church. Church (almost by definition) clings to tradition, and I suppose that is how it has to be. The Bible is tradition, taking us far back before any of our lives began, and to many people (in my day as well as in yours) the bible was a fixed mark, telling people the truth it had always told them. So why should there be change? Why, indeed? Even now after all these 500 years I do not really understand it---except that with the hindsight of history, I can see certain things like the invention of the printing press which changed everything.
Information suddenly became available to a wide range of people. And though literacy was not widespread, it had been increasing. More and more people could read, not Latin, of course, but their native tongue. And so, when I translated the Bible into German, I helped to foment a revolution. You know when I was hiding in Wartburg Castle, I used to go out in the day, disguised as a peasant, just so I could hear the words ordinary people used. I wanted to make the Bible come alive with the language of the people, so they could really hear God’s Word in their own tongue John Wycliffe had done the same in the mid 1300’s, when he translated the bible into English. He too was a reformer as was Jan Hus, burned at the stake for his so called heresies---like wanting to give the communion cup to the laity. Hus was tricked, guaranteed safe passage, but when he arrived to give answer for his views, it was not a debate he was invited to, but an inquisition that had already decided to burn him. After his death his followers symbolized themselves by the flaming chalice. These were men of great vision and great courage and above all, great faith---but the time was not yet ripe for them. All in God’s time, we would say, all in God’s time.
And so, it became ---God’s time. Of course, the temptation is to see it as our time. We have this habit of putting ourselves at the center of the story like my father, a successful miner, who had risen from the peasantry and was determined to see me rise even further to become a lawyer. It was our time, he insisted. But in the summer of 1505 in the middle of a terrible thunderstorm, when I was sure I would die, I cried out, “St. Anne, help me, and I shall become a monk.” Well, she did help me; I was saved, and a promise is a promise, so despite my father’s severe objections, I left law school and entered the monastery in Erfurt.
Monastic life was hard, physically as well as emotionally and spiritually. Tortured I was by the feeling that God hated me, condemned me for all my sins. No matter how hard I tried to discipline my wayward soul, there were always more sins to accuse my conscience. My spiritual advisor, Johann von Staupitz used to say to me, “Martin, God is not angry with you, but you are angry with God.” It was true. Sometimes I hated God, and even now I think it was not love for God but my hatred that finally drove me to the understanding that it is not our good works which save us, but the grace of God. God declares us righteous even though we are sinners. The irony of God; that he would use my hatred of him to foment a revolution, for revolution it certainly was.
You see, it was not PRIMARILY about the abuses---though there were many, to be sure, like all that nonsense about indulgences buying off time in purgatory. Pope Leo wanted a magnificent church built in Rome, and for that he needed money, a lot of it. So, the selling of indulgences was a way to fill papal coffers. “Into the coffers a penny rings, so out of purgatory a soul springs.” Silly it was, trivial theology---except that it is not so trivial when people, who did not know any better, were spiritually harmed. Then there was the pathetic ignorance of too many clergy, some who could not even recite the Lord’s Prayer. And the greed of the papacy for not only wealth but also power. The Pope was claiming for himself a power he simply did not have---the Vicar of Christ. But no human being can claim that authority. And in the end with all the ink and blood spilt---this is what it came down to---a question of authority. By whose authority do you say or do these things? On what basis do you claim your authority?
An old question, it is. Jesus Christ had to deal with it. The religious leaders of his day asked him, “By whose authority do you cast out demons? Is it by the power of Satan or the power of God? And he would not answer them, for he knew they were incapable of recognizing the truth. Well, I confess that I was not nearly so humble or so wise. When I was asked on what authority I claimed my understanding of scripture, I told them it was from the authority of my study, my education, my doctorate. My authority did not derive from my ordination, but from my study of scripture. And then do you know what that perfidious Eck said to me, that toady of a man, doing the bidding of the Pope. He charged, ”Martin, this is a virus, a heresy we seek to root out---this desire to attach more weight to one’s own interpretation of scripture than to that of the popes and councils and doctors and universities. Are you, Martin, the only one who knows anything? Except for you is all the Church in error?”
A good question, it was, and I confess that it was the only question that made my soul tremble. For how did I really know? And yet I answered: “Remember that God once spoke through the mouth of Balaam’s ass. I will tell you what I think. I am a Christian theologian, and I am bound to not only assert but to defend the truth with my blood and my death. I want to believe freely and be a slave to the authority of no one, whether council, university, or pope. I will confidently confess what appears to me true, whether it has been asserted by a Catholic or a heretic, whether it has been approved or reproved by a council.”
Well, that got me to the city of Worms, where once again I faced Eck, who repeated that I had no right to call into question the most holy catholic church, instituted by Christ, proclaimed by the apostles, sealed by the blood of the martyrs, confirmed by the councils. Straight into my eyes he gazed, “Do you or do you not, Martin, repudiate your books and the errors they contain?” And I answered, looking first straight into his eyes and then gazing at all those in attendance, their necks protruding out, straining to hear what I was about to declare. “Since you ask for a reply,” I said, “I will give you one without horns and without teeth. Unless I am convinced by Scripture and plain reason, I do not accept the authority of popes or councils, for they have contradicted each other. My conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. God help me, amen.”
So long ago that was, and how much the world has changed. The church, which in my day stood at the forefront of revolution, now is threatened if not with extinction than with benign irrelevance. Easily ignored you are, empty pews and all. But the truth is, we cannot see around the corner---the corner of history. We do not know what God is up to. I didn’t know in my time, and you don’t know in yours.
It is so easy to lose heart, to be discouraged. But remember the call is not to be successful but to be faithful, and faith tells us that God is up to something, even if we do not know what it is. Take heart, my friends, God is not yet finished with the Church. The Reformation continues
WHAT WE OWE TO GOD AND WHAT WE OWE TO CAESAR
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 22, 2023
Exodus 33: 12-23
Matthew 22: 15-22
Moses wanted a sign from God, and can we really blame him? If he were successfully going to lead his people out of Egypt, assuring them that this divinity was the real thing, not some fake or poor imitation , a sign would have been important. And God said, “O.K., but you can only see my backside; you cannot see my glory directly.
I wonder if some of the religious leadership who came to Jesus were interested in the same thing. I mean isn’t it possible that at least some of them were trying to ascertain if God’s glory was truly reflected in Jesus? They had heard him teach; they had witnessed his healings, and so surely their curiosity was aroused. Who is this guy? Now this is not how Matthew’s gospel portrays the Jewish religious leadership. Matthew doesn’t give them any credit at all, which is unfortunate, and probably has helped to fuel some of the anti-Jewish thinking and behavior that has infected Christianity throughout its long history. When Matthew wrote, it was tough going for Jews who were trying to follow Christ. The Temple had been destroyed and the synagogues, founded and run by the Pharisees, were springing up and giving new, vital life to the Jews. And Jewish Christians were being expelled from these synagogues. They were told they were no longer Jews. This is the context in which Matthew wrote, so by the time we arrive at chapter 22, Matthew gives us a Jewish leadership totally intent on killing Jesus.
So, this very important question about paying taxes doesn’t really get answered in a satisfactory way. Jesus’ answer is very clever and it puts the leadership in its place. But the answer does not encourage dialogue, because according to Matthew the religious leadership was not interested in getting at truth. They were only interested in setting a trap for Jesus. They were not fools. They knew what they were asking. If Jesus had said that the Jews (as an occupied people) should not pay taxes, the Herodians would have had evidence to charge him with sedition. But if he said, “Yes, taxes are owed,” the Pharisees would be furious, since they saw the tax policy as completely unjust, which in so many ways, it was.
Note where Jesus is: He is in the Temple, sacred space, and a coin with the age of Caesar’s head on it, is essentially a desecration of this sacred space. You see, temple taxes could only be paid in Jewish money, which is why there were money changers in the Temple courtyard. Jews came from all over the empire, and they had to change their money. So, Jesus asked to see a Roman coin, which not only had an image of the Roman emperor on it, but it also bore this inscription, Tiberius Caesar, august son of the divine Augustus, high priest. To the Jews this violated the commandments---to worship no other God but God and to abstain from making graven images. Jesus, however, did not get involved in any discussion of these issues. He simply said, “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s and give to God what is God’s.” A clever response if someone is trying to entrap you, but it doesn’t help anyone to figure out what exactly is owed to government and what is owed to God.
Most of us acknowledge that we have an obligation to pay taxes to the government. After all, we do receive benefits like security, roads and public education and mail. It does not matter if you drive a car or not, because you still receive benefits of food and other deliveries made to stores and warehouses where you shop. And whether or not you have children or grandchildren in the public schools is not the point, because we all have an obligation to care about the education of the young. So, we are obligated to pay, though how much is the question and the challenge.
Now there are Christians and very faithful ones, who see Christ as being so against the dominant culture that they refuse to vote, because they see all politics under the rule of money and violence. Some Christian pacifists will refrain from paying a portion of their federal income taxes that would go to support the military. Remember, in the early days of Christianity, no Christian was permitted to be a member of the army. Loyalty to Christ can mean taking a radical stand against the culture. So, while Jesus did not answer the question about what we owe to Caesar and what we owe to God, there is no doubt that this is no trivial question.
In the third century, when Rome was the dominant power and Christians were being persecuted. the emperor Valerian in the year 258 commanded his Imperial treasury to confiscate all money and possessions belonging to the Christian church. Responding to this threat, the pope put a young man named Lawrence in charge of the church’s riches, and he also gave him responsibility for the church’s outreach to the poor.
The Roman emperor demanded that Lawrence turn over all the riches of the church and gave him three days to comply. Lawrence quickly sold all the church’s valuables, which in those days was nothing like it would come to be later centuries) and gave the money to widows and to the sick. He then distributed all the church’s property to the poor.
On the third day, the emperor summoned Lawrence to his palace and asked for the wealth of the church. With great fanfare, Lawrence entered the palace, stopped, and then gestured back to the door. Streaming in behind him were crowds of poor, crippled, blind and suffering people. He proclaimed, “These are the true treasures of the church.” The Emperor did not know what to do or say.
What do we owe to God, and what do we owe to Caesar? When I was a first year student in seminary, one of my professors told a story he had heard from one of his professors, who at age 22 had parachuted into Normandy on D-Day. Wandering around the French countryside in a group of three other young American soldiers, they suddenly came upon a young German soldier, so young in fact, he had no facial hair. Hitler was desperate at this point; boys of 14 and 15 were being drafted into the army. What to do with him? They weren’t looking to take any prisoners. They were in no position to hold any prisoners. Should they let him go, which is really what they wanted to do, but what if he sounded an alert and then what if they were captured or even killed? And so regretfully, they drew lots to determine who would shoot him in the back, because they did not want him to see what was coming, and this young man of 22 was the chosen executioner.
He did the deed, and then struggled with it until the day he died. He became a professor of theological ethics, and spent his life asking himself and his students, “What do we owe God and what do we owe Caesar?” Many days he thought he had done the wrong thing. The image of the crucified Christ means, he taught, that one’s own death is preferable to inflicting unjust death on another. The awful decision, he knew, was made out of fear and Christ said, “Love casts out fear.” But he also knew that war is not about love; it never is and never will be. A very imperfect justice is the most we can hope for while we live on this earth.
What do we owe to Caesar and what do we owe to God? The answer is not straightforward and clear. We struggle to answer, and yes, Christians come out with different answers and take different sides. What do we owe God and what do we owe Caesar? The question haunts us, and indeed, it should haunt and trouble us. Sometimes that is how God speaks to us---in our troubled and haunted hearts and minds.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 22, 2023
Exodus 33: 12-23
Matthew 22: 15-22
Moses wanted a sign from God, and can we really blame him? If he were successfully going to lead his people out of Egypt, assuring them that this divinity was the real thing, not some fake or poor imitation , a sign would have been important. And God said, “O.K., but you can only see my backside; you cannot see my glory directly.
I wonder if some of the religious leadership who came to Jesus were interested in the same thing. I mean isn’t it possible that at least some of them were trying to ascertain if God’s glory was truly reflected in Jesus? They had heard him teach; they had witnessed his healings, and so surely their curiosity was aroused. Who is this guy? Now this is not how Matthew’s gospel portrays the Jewish religious leadership. Matthew doesn’t give them any credit at all, which is unfortunate, and probably has helped to fuel some of the anti-Jewish thinking and behavior that has infected Christianity throughout its long history. When Matthew wrote, it was tough going for Jews who were trying to follow Christ. The Temple had been destroyed and the synagogues, founded and run by the Pharisees, were springing up and giving new, vital life to the Jews. And Jewish Christians were being expelled from these synagogues. They were told they were no longer Jews. This is the context in which Matthew wrote, so by the time we arrive at chapter 22, Matthew gives us a Jewish leadership totally intent on killing Jesus.
So, this very important question about paying taxes doesn’t really get answered in a satisfactory way. Jesus’ answer is very clever and it puts the leadership in its place. But the answer does not encourage dialogue, because according to Matthew the religious leadership was not interested in getting at truth. They were only interested in setting a trap for Jesus. They were not fools. They knew what they were asking. If Jesus had said that the Jews (as an occupied people) should not pay taxes, the Herodians would have had evidence to charge him with sedition. But if he said, “Yes, taxes are owed,” the Pharisees would be furious, since they saw the tax policy as completely unjust, which in so many ways, it was.
Note where Jesus is: He is in the Temple, sacred space, and a coin with the age of Caesar’s head on it, is essentially a desecration of this sacred space. You see, temple taxes could only be paid in Jewish money, which is why there were money changers in the Temple courtyard. Jews came from all over the empire, and they had to change their money. So, Jesus asked to see a Roman coin, which not only had an image of the Roman emperor on it, but it also bore this inscription, Tiberius Caesar, august son of the divine Augustus, high priest. To the Jews this violated the commandments---to worship no other God but God and to abstain from making graven images. Jesus, however, did not get involved in any discussion of these issues. He simply said, “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s and give to God what is God’s.” A clever response if someone is trying to entrap you, but it doesn’t help anyone to figure out what exactly is owed to government and what is owed to God.
Most of us acknowledge that we have an obligation to pay taxes to the government. After all, we do receive benefits like security, roads and public education and mail. It does not matter if you drive a car or not, because you still receive benefits of food and other deliveries made to stores and warehouses where you shop. And whether or not you have children or grandchildren in the public schools is not the point, because we all have an obligation to care about the education of the young. So, we are obligated to pay, though how much is the question and the challenge.
Now there are Christians and very faithful ones, who see Christ as being so against the dominant culture that they refuse to vote, because they see all politics under the rule of money and violence. Some Christian pacifists will refrain from paying a portion of their federal income taxes that would go to support the military. Remember, in the early days of Christianity, no Christian was permitted to be a member of the army. Loyalty to Christ can mean taking a radical stand against the culture. So, while Jesus did not answer the question about what we owe to Caesar and what we owe to God, there is no doubt that this is no trivial question.
In the third century, when Rome was the dominant power and Christians were being persecuted. the emperor Valerian in the year 258 commanded his Imperial treasury to confiscate all money and possessions belonging to the Christian church. Responding to this threat, the pope put a young man named Lawrence in charge of the church’s riches, and he also gave him responsibility for the church’s outreach to the poor.
The Roman emperor demanded that Lawrence turn over all the riches of the church and gave him three days to comply. Lawrence quickly sold all the church’s valuables, which in those days was nothing like it would come to be later centuries) and gave the money to widows and to the sick. He then distributed all the church’s property to the poor.
On the third day, the emperor summoned Lawrence to his palace and asked for the wealth of the church. With great fanfare, Lawrence entered the palace, stopped, and then gestured back to the door. Streaming in behind him were crowds of poor, crippled, blind and suffering people. He proclaimed, “These are the true treasures of the church.” The Emperor did not know what to do or say.
What do we owe to God, and what do we owe to Caesar? When I was a first year student in seminary, one of my professors told a story he had heard from one of his professors, who at age 22 had parachuted into Normandy on D-Day. Wandering around the French countryside in a group of three other young American soldiers, they suddenly came upon a young German soldier, so young in fact, he had no facial hair. Hitler was desperate at this point; boys of 14 and 15 were being drafted into the army. What to do with him? They weren’t looking to take any prisoners. They were in no position to hold any prisoners. Should they let him go, which is really what they wanted to do, but what if he sounded an alert and then what if they were captured or even killed? And so regretfully, they drew lots to determine who would shoot him in the back, because they did not want him to see what was coming, and this young man of 22 was the chosen executioner.
He did the deed, and then struggled with it until the day he died. He became a professor of theological ethics, and spent his life asking himself and his students, “What do we owe God and what do we owe Caesar?” Many days he thought he had done the wrong thing. The image of the crucified Christ means, he taught, that one’s own death is preferable to inflicting unjust death on another. The awful decision, he knew, was made out of fear and Christ said, “Love casts out fear.” But he also knew that war is not about love; it never is and never will be. A very imperfect justice is the most we can hope for while we live on this earth.
What do we owe to Caesar and what do we owe to God? The answer is not straightforward and clear. We struggle to answer, and yes, Christians come out with different answers and take different sides. What do we owe God and what do we owe Caesar? The question haunts us, and indeed, it should haunt and trouble us. Sometimes that is how God speaks to us---in our troubled and haunted hearts and minds.
October 25, 2023
Dear Friends,
When I was a college freshman, my humanities class was assigned Leo Tolstoy’s great masterpiece, War and Peace. This was during the Viet Nam War, and the novel had great relevance for everyone---no matter what you thought about the war in Southeast Asia. I loved the novel when I was 18, and since then I have read it an additional two times, the last time about 15 years ago for a course I took at Wesleyan University in which a careful reading of the novel was the sole reading assignment.
The novel tells the story of Napoleon’s invasion of Russia in 1812 and the cast of characters, whose lives unfold both in war and in peace. There is this one scene, where the aristocratic Prince Andrei, who had been wounded fighting Napoleon’s army at Austerlitz, presents his view about war and in his mind the insanity of trying to legislate rules of war. “They talk to us of the rules of war, of chivalry, of flags of true, of mercy to the unfortunate and so on. It’s all rubbish. If there was none of this magnanimity in war, we should go to war only when it was worthwhile gong to certain death.” In other words, Andrei believed that humanizing war was a way to make war acceptable---and perhaps more common. I clearly remember Professor Williams asking us to consider Andrei’s argument. Do you think, he asked our class, if humanizing war makes it easier to justify war?
It is a very profound question. The Viet Nam War was one that actually came into our living rooms in vivid color. We saw what war looked like, including the dead bodies of combatants as well as the bodies of people we were assured were Viet Cong, though many of them looked like children. And then there was that famous photo of a naked young girl, crying and running away from an attack of napalm. No one could succeed in making her into anyone but who she was: an innocent victim of war.
Last week I wrote about the international efforts to humanize war by making laws about how it can be fought. Proportionality is the central concept. One cannot wage war, even against military targets, if an unproportionable number of civilians will be harmed. This is what the updating of the Geneva Convention rules of 1977 laid out. The earlier rules had covered the treatment of prisoners and the sick and wounded and had tried to limit the use of civilians as human shields.
If one considers how earlier wars were fought the policy was really one of total war. Consider what the United States did on March 9, 1945, when a fleet of B-29’s headed for Tokyo carrying a load of napalm because the civilian population lived in wooden houses. The raid ignited a firestorm whose orange glow could be spotted for 150 miles. Major General Curtis LeMay, who was the architect of the raid, said that 150,000 civilians were “scorched, boiled and baked to death.” He also later acknowledged that if we lost the war, we would go on trial as war criminals. He knew of what he spoke.
Total war was hardly the invention of World War ll. In the ancient days of Rome and Carthage, the first two Punic Wars were fought outside the population centers. But in the third Punic War Rome laid siege to Carthage and slaughtered its inhabitants. The result was that there was no fourth war. Perhaps some of you recall the name of the Prussian military leader, Clausewitz, who was not only a fighter but also a theorist of war. He said the point of fighting was not simply to repel the enemy but to destroy the enemy. His war theory was one without limits.
Think back to your high school days when you learned about the American Civil War. General Sherman was the Union general who set fire to Atlanta, and for this he was considered a barbarian. Abraham Lincoln’s wife, Mary Todd Lincoln, called the Union General, Grant, a butcher, because he was willing to fight total war. Both Sherman and Grant wanted to make the South howl, so they would NEVER again go to war against the Union. And yet at the war’s end, both generals were in favor of lenient terms for the surrender, which is why very few southern fighters were punished. In the history of civil wars, most losers were hanged or shot. Yet this was not the case in the American Civil War.
Most of us probably consider humanitarian laws about war as a good thing. Yet recently I came across a review of a book by a Yale professor of history and jurisprudence at Yale, Samuel Moyn. Moyn’s contention is that we have far less to celebrate that we might think. His fear is that the humanizing of war has led to wars of longer duration and frequency. There is no denying that fewer people die in the present era, but this is not simply due to the rules of war. It is also because of greater technological precision. The drone is designed to hit certain military targets, and although there is no denying the mistakes that have certainly killed innocent civilians, it is also true that we have nothing like the firebombing of Tokyo, Dresden, and Hamburg.
We are now witnesses to two terrible conflicts. We see what is happening in Ukraine, where Russia has targeted civilians and has not followed the rules of modern warfare. Ukrainian children have been kidnapped and taken to Russia, which is against the 1977 Geneva Convention Rules. And look what is now happening in Gaza. One million people from northern Gaza were ordered to move south or be considered part of a terrorist Hamas network. But where are these people to go? Is this command at all proportional to the terrible loss of Israeli life and the detestable cruelty of Hamas’ invasion into Israel? How can a land invasion of Gaza be fought when Hamas is embedded into the civilian population? The modern rules of war would say it cannot be done and therefore should not be done. Perhaps Ukraine and Gaza cannot be called total wars, but there is no doubt that civilians are suffering in disproportionate ways. And that is a terrible crime against humanity.
The argument that making rules for war only makes war more acceptable and longer may be true. But who wants to return to firebombing cities and napalming civilians? War is terrible, indeed, and we should not fool ourselves into believing that we can make it civilized. But is it not possible to make it less horrible for the innocents, who did not make the decision to invade a country and murder its citizens or bomb a land into the stone age?
Christ may not look upon our efforts to humanize with any favor, but until we are able to love others as we do ourselves, which is what Christ commanded us to do; we are left with our meager efforts to humanize something (war), which in so many ways is beyond humanization. And yet we try, and I would add, we must try. Because we are at such a great distance from perfection, can we at least not attempt some measure of the good? And does not the good demand that we do everything in our power to protect the innocents? But when we look at what is going on in Gaza now, do we really believe that innocent civilians are being protected?
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
When I was a college freshman, my humanities class was assigned Leo Tolstoy’s great masterpiece, War and Peace. This was during the Viet Nam War, and the novel had great relevance for everyone---no matter what you thought about the war in Southeast Asia. I loved the novel when I was 18, and since then I have read it an additional two times, the last time about 15 years ago for a course I took at Wesleyan University in which a careful reading of the novel was the sole reading assignment.
The novel tells the story of Napoleon’s invasion of Russia in 1812 and the cast of characters, whose lives unfold both in war and in peace. There is this one scene, where the aristocratic Prince Andrei, who had been wounded fighting Napoleon’s army at Austerlitz, presents his view about war and in his mind the insanity of trying to legislate rules of war. “They talk to us of the rules of war, of chivalry, of flags of true, of mercy to the unfortunate and so on. It’s all rubbish. If there was none of this magnanimity in war, we should go to war only when it was worthwhile gong to certain death.” In other words, Andrei believed that humanizing war was a way to make war acceptable---and perhaps more common. I clearly remember Professor Williams asking us to consider Andrei’s argument. Do you think, he asked our class, if humanizing war makes it easier to justify war?
It is a very profound question. The Viet Nam War was one that actually came into our living rooms in vivid color. We saw what war looked like, including the dead bodies of combatants as well as the bodies of people we were assured were Viet Cong, though many of them looked like children. And then there was that famous photo of a naked young girl, crying and running away from an attack of napalm. No one could succeed in making her into anyone but who she was: an innocent victim of war.
Last week I wrote about the international efforts to humanize war by making laws about how it can be fought. Proportionality is the central concept. One cannot wage war, even against military targets, if an unproportionable number of civilians will be harmed. This is what the updating of the Geneva Convention rules of 1977 laid out. The earlier rules had covered the treatment of prisoners and the sick and wounded and had tried to limit the use of civilians as human shields.
If one considers how earlier wars were fought the policy was really one of total war. Consider what the United States did on March 9, 1945, when a fleet of B-29’s headed for Tokyo carrying a load of napalm because the civilian population lived in wooden houses. The raid ignited a firestorm whose orange glow could be spotted for 150 miles. Major General Curtis LeMay, who was the architect of the raid, said that 150,000 civilians were “scorched, boiled and baked to death.” He also later acknowledged that if we lost the war, we would go on trial as war criminals. He knew of what he spoke.
Total war was hardly the invention of World War ll. In the ancient days of Rome and Carthage, the first two Punic Wars were fought outside the population centers. But in the third Punic War Rome laid siege to Carthage and slaughtered its inhabitants. The result was that there was no fourth war. Perhaps some of you recall the name of the Prussian military leader, Clausewitz, who was not only a fighter but also a theorist of war. He said the point of fighting was not simply to repel the enemy but to destroy the enemy. His war theory was one without limits.
Think back to your high school days when you learned about the American Civil War. General Sherman was the Union general who set fire to Atlanta, and for this he was considered a barbarian. Abraham Lincoln’s wife, Mary Todd Lincoln, called the Union General, Grant, a butcher, because he was willing to fight total war. Both Sherman and Grant wanted to make the South howl, so they would NEVER again go to war against the Union. And yet at the war’s end, both generals were in favor of lenient terms for the surrender, which is why very few southern fighters were punished. In the history of civil wars, most losers were hanged or shot. Yet this was not the case in the American Civil War.
Most of us probably consider humanitarian laws about war as a good thing. Yet recently I came across a review of a book by a Yale professor of history and jurisprudence at Yale, Samuel Moyn. Moyn’s contention is that we have far less to celebrate that we might think. His fear is that the humanizing of war has led to wars of longer duration and frequency. There is no denying that fewer people die in the present era, but this is not simply due to the rules of war. It is also because of greater technological precision. The drone is designed to hit certain military targets, and although there is no denying the mistakes that have certainly killed innocent civilians, it is also true that we have nothing like the firebombing of Tokyo, Dresden, and Hamburg.
We are now witnesses to two terrible conflicts. We see what is happening in Ukraine, where Russia has targeted civilians and has not followed the rules of modern warfare. Ukrainian children have been kidnapped and taken to Russia, which is against the 1977 Geneva Convention Rules. And look what is now happening in Gaza. One million people from northern Gaza were ordered to move south or be considered part of a terrorist Hamas network. But where are these people to go? Is this command at all proportional to the terrible loss of Israeli life and the detestable cruelty of Hamas’ invasion into Israel? How can a land invasion of Gaza be fought when Hamas is embedded into the civilian population? The modern rules of war would say it cannot be done and therefore should not be done. Perhaps Ukraine and Gaza cannot be called total wars, but there is no doubt that civilians are suffering in disproportionate ways. And that is a terrible crime against humanity.
The argument that making rules for war only makes war more acceptable and longer may be true. But who wants to return to firebombing cities and napalming civilians? War is terrible, indeed, and we should not fool ourselves into believing that we can make it civilized. But is it not possible to make it less horrible for the innocents, who did not make the decision to invade a country and murder its citizens or bomb a land into the stone age?
Christ may not look upon our efforts to humanize with any favor, but until we are able to love others as we do ourselves, which is what Christ commanded us to do; we are left with our meager efforts to humanize something (war), which in so many ways is beyond humanization. And yet we try, and I would add, we must try. Because we are at such a great distance from perfection, can we at least not attempt some measure of the good? And does not the good demand that we do everything in our power to protect the innocents? But when we look at what is going on in Gaza now, do we really believe that innocent civilians are being protected?
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
WHERE ARE YOU?
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 15, 2023
Exodus 32: 1-14
Matthew 22: 1-14
There is this question from God that runs throughout the entire bible, sometimes explicitly and sometimes implicitly. God wants to know where the people are. The question begins well, at the beginning, when the primal parents, Adam and Eve, were in the Garden of Eden, where they had everything they needed. One command they were given: Do not eat from the tree of knowledge of Good and Evil, or you shall die. And what did they do? They ate because the temptation to be like God was too much for them to reject. And suddenly they saw. They understood what they had not known before. They saw their nakedness, and they were afraid, afraid of God. And so they hid. And the result of it all was expulsion from the Garden. Now we can ask ourselves if this disobedience was not essentially necessary, for what would human beings be without knowledge of Good and Evil? We would be little more than automatons with obedience based not on knowledge and choice, but on ignorance and compulsion. Without the freedom to choose, what are we, really? And so, the story goes that Adam and Eve made their choice, but it did not really lead to freedom, but rather to a new kind of slavery. Now, they were enslaved to sin.
Where are you? God asked the question time and time again. God wanted to know where Abel was, after Cain murdered him out of jealousy. God called out to Abraham, when he commanded him to go on a journey where a sacrifice was to be made---the sacrifice of his son, Isaac, though Abraham did not know it at the time. He answered God, Here I am. He was not trying to hide, though if he had, who would have blamed him? All throughout the biblical story, God has this habit of calling on his people, wanting to know where they are, and often, their response is one of hiding. Remember, Jonah, who refused to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh, because he was afraid that God, being merciful, would not destroy these wicked, wayward people. The prophet, Jeremiah, tried to hide from God’s call, and when God found Jeremiah anyway, the prophet accused God in very explicit language of rape. He forced God-self on me, was his accusatory rant.
Sometimes, however, the question of the people’s whereabouts is not explicitly asked by God. Oh, the question is yet there, implicitly, hidden in the details. And this is how it is in today’s story from Exodus. Moses has been leading the people through the wilderness and things were not going smoothly. The people whined and complained. They wanted to return to Egypt, where they were well fed, the fleshpots of Egypt, they called them. This wandering in the desert was far more than they bargained for, and now their leader, Moses, had gone up to the mountain top to receive the Commandments, which would bind God and the people together in a covenant. But consider what happened. Moses had been gone far too long, and so the people, impatient and fearful, asked Aaron, Moses’ brother, to fashion for them a new God, a God who could be depended upon to give the people what they wanted and needed. So, where were these people NOW? God had thought the people were with him. I shall be your God and you shall be my people---that is what God had said. And God thought, perhaps foolishly and naively, that the people would be with him. But no, that is not where the people were. They were somewhere else, caught in an idolatry of their own making. For that is what idolatry is: it is the making of an idol, a dream, a god in our own image. God was furious, and Moses had the challenging job of talking God out of God’s fury. It is ironic that Moses turned the question back onto God. Where are you, God? Where are you to be found---in fury or mercy?
There is pathos in this story because the people did not really know where they were. To them fashioning a golden calf out of their jewels was an act of faith. They wanted a God they could see and touch, and for them, this was worship. It did not seem to occur to them that the idol they had made was exactly what God would command them not to do. I suppose we could argue that God could cut the people some slack, because they did this before Moses came down with the Ten Commandments, which would forbid the making of any graven images. God’s mystery and majesty cannot be contained in the works of human hands. But perhaps they did not understand that---just as many people do not know where they truly are, do not understand what it is they are truly doing.
My youngest daughter, Caitlin, was furloughed for a month from her job with the native Americans in Maine because of a glitch in the hiring process, and so, because she is a fanatic about climbing mountains, she decided to go off to Nepal, where three years ago, she almost died due to pulmonary edema. She has hired a sherpa and is hiking in the Himalayas, in places not too many westerners have been. I think she is nuts and so do her siblings. My husband is far more tolerant than the rest of us.
My oldest daughter, Alethea, told Caitlin that she thought this obsession of hers was way off balance. And then she repeated a story she read about a woman, who has broken records in the Himalayas. Well, her team came across a sherpa, who had fallen from the mountain, and was hanging upside down. He was dying---unless someone helped. But though the team gave him some oxygen for a while, they did not rescue him, hoping that some other team would come along and render aid. When they eventually returned, the man was still hanging there, dead. Alethea told Caitlin this was sociopathic behavior---when the goal of setting records became more important than a human being’s actual life. A religious perspective would call it idolatry---when the goal becomes the god. “You don’t understand,” Caitlin insisted. “You don’t understand the call of the mountains.”
"You’re damn right, I don’t understand,”came the response. “And I don’t want to understand how somebody can care more about breaking a record than she does about an actual breathing, living human being. The climber later said, “No regrets and no guilt.” Well, she should have regrets and guilt, and if she does not, it is because she is in a place no human being should desire to be. Where are you? In the quagmire of your own self importance that you care very little for the fate of another human being that you will leave then hanging him upside down, to die? Where are you? Where are you hiding---hiding not only from God but also from the most basic ethical code that demands we care about the suffering of other human beings.
Where are you? Where are you hiding? So often people do not know. They think they are in one place, only to be in another. They are like the scribes and the pharisees, who in Matthew’s gospel consider themselves the high and the mighty, the worthy ones, who actually refuse the invitation while the lowly accept the invitation to the feast. The story reminds us that sometimes what seems trivial to us---the proper wedding attire, for example, is really code language for what is serious business, that is, something to reflect upon and deeply ponder. The implication here is that there is choice, the chance to turn around and move in a different direction, toward the one who desires for us and for all full and abundant life. The man hanging at the end of a rope was a real human being. He offered a choice and I daresay God’s heart was broken at the choice the hiking group made.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 15, 2023
Exodus 32: 1-14
Matthew 22: 1-14
There is this question from God that runs throughout the entire bible, sometimes explicitly and sometimes implicitly. God wants to know where the people are. The question begins well, at the beginning, when the primal parents, Adam and Eve, were in the Garden of Eden, where they had everything they needed. One command they were given: Do not eat from the tree of knowledge of Good and Evil, or you shall die. And what did they do? They ate because the temptation to be like God was too much for them to reject. And suddenly they saw. They understood what they had not known before. They saw their nakedness, and they were afraid, afraid of God. And so they hid. And the result of it all was expulsion from the Garden. Now we can ask ourselves if this disobedience was not essentially necessary, for what would human beings be without knowledge of Good and Evil? We would be little more than automatons with obedience based not on knowledge and choice, but on ignorance and compulsion. Without the freedom to choose, what are we, really? And so, the story goes that Adam and Eve made their choice, but it did not really lead to freedom, but rather to a new kind of slavery. Now, they were enslaved to sin.
Where are you? God asked the question time and time again. God wanted to know where Abel was, after Cain murdered him out of jealousy. God called out to Abraham, when he commanded him to go on a journey where a sacrifice was to be made---the sacrifice of his son, Isaac, though Abraham did not know it at the time. He answered God, Here I am. He was not trying to hide, though if he had, who would have blamed him? All throughout the biblical story, God has this habit of calling on his people, wanting to know where they are, and often, their response is one of hiding. Remember, Jonah, who refused to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh, because he was afraid that God, being merciful, would not destroy these wicked, wayward people. The prophet, Jeremiah, tried to hide from God’s call, and when God found Jeremiah anyway, the prophet accused God in very explicit language of rape. He forced God-self on me, was his accusatory rant.
Sometimes, however, the question of the people’s whereabouts is not explicitly asked by God. Oh, the question is yet there, implicitly, hidden in the details. And this is how it is in today’s story from Exodus. Moses has been leading the people through the wilderness and things were not going smoothly. The people whined and complained. They wanted to return to Egypt, where they were well fed, the fleshpots of Egypt, they called them. This wandering in the desert was far more than they bargained for, and now their leader, Moses, had gone up to the mountain top to receive the Commandments, which would bind God and the people together in a covenant. But consider what happened. Moses had been gone far too long, and so the people, impatient and fearful, asked Aaron, Moses’ brother, to fashion for them a new God, a God who could be depended upon to give the people what they wanted and needed. So, where were these people NOW? God had thought the people were with him. I shall be your God and you shall be my people---that is what God had said. And God thought, perhaps foolishly and naively, that the people would be with him. But no, that is not where the people were. They were somewhere else, caught in an idolatry of their own making. For that is what idolatry is: it is the making of an idol, a dream, a god in our own image. God was furious, and Moses had the challenging job of talking God out of God’s fury. It is ironic that Moses turned the question back onto God. Where are you, God? Where are you to be found---in fury or mercy?
There is pathos in this story because the people did not really know where they were. To them fashioning a golden calf out of their jewels was an act of faith. They wanted a God they could see and touch, and for them, this was worship. It did not seem to occur to them that the idol they had made was exactly what God would command them not to do. I suppose we could argue that God could cut the people some slack, because they did this before Moses came down with the Ten Commandments, which would forbid the making of any graven images. God’s mystery and majesty cannot be contained in the works of human hands. But perhaps they did not understand that---just as many people do not know where they truly are, do not understand what it is they are truly doing.
My youngest daughter, Caitlin, was furloughed for a month from her job with the native Americans in Maine because of a glitch in the hiring process, and so, because she is a fanatic about climbing mountains, she decided to go off to Nepal, where three years ago, she almost died due to pulmonary edema. She has hired a sherpa and is hiking in the Himalayas, in places not too many westerners have been. I think she is nuts and so do her siblings. My husband is far more tolerant than the rest of us.
My oldest daughter, Alethea, told Caitlin that she thought this obsession of hers was way off balance. And then she repeated a story she read about a woman, who has broken records in the Himalayas. Well, her team came across a sherpa, who had fallen from the mountain, and was hanging upside down. He was dying---unless someone helped. But though the team gave him some oxygen for a while, they did not rescue him, hoping that some other team would come along and render aid. When they eventually returned, the man was still hanging there, dead. Alethea told Caitlin this was sociopathic behavior---when the goal of setting records became more important than a human being’s actual life. A religious perspective would call it idolatry---when the goal becomes the god. “You don’t understand,” Caitlin insisted. “You don’t understand the call of the mountains.”
"You’re damn right, I don’t understand,”came the response. “And I don’t want to understand how somebody can care more about breaking a record than she does about an actual breathing, living human being. The climber later said, “No regrets and no guilt.” Well, she should have regrets and guilt, and if she does not, it is because she is in a place no human being should desire to be. Where are you? In the quagmire of your own self importance that you care very little for the fate of another human being that you will leave then hanging him upside down, to die? Where are you? Where are you hiding---hiding not only from God but also from the most basic ethical code that demands we care about the suffering of other human beings.
Where are you? Where are you hiding? So often people do not know. They think they are in one place, only to be in another. They are like the scribes and the pharisees, who in Matthew’s gospel consider themselves the high and the mighty, the worthy ones, who actually refuse the invitation while the lowly accept the invitation to the feast. The story reminds us that sometimes what seems trivial to us---the proper wedding attire, for example, is really code language for what is serious business, that is, something to reflect upon and deeply ponder. The implication here is that there is choice, the chance to turn around and move in a different direction, toward the one who desires for us and for all full and abundant life. The man hanging at the end of a rope was a real human being. He offered a choice and I daresay God’s heart was broken at the choice the hiking group made.
October 16, 2023
Dear Friends,
The Fog of War was a 2003 documentary, showing Robert McNamara, Secretary of Defense under JFK and Lyndon Johnson, reflecting on The Viet Nam War. Acknowledging that the war was a mistake, he spoke very movingly of “the fog of war,” which distorts perceptions about what is really going on. Once you enter into war, you fail to see other options, McNamara admitted. You can become blinded by the fog.
As we sit here, anxiously waiting to see what will happen in Israel and Gaza, it is all too easy to become confused by the fog of war. Emotions run deep, and when we attempt to think ethically about war, those very emotions can compromise our ability to be rational. Listening to the heart does not always lay out the best path to follow, especially in those situations like this one, where great injustice has been done to Israel even as we must acknowledge the pain and injustice that the Palestinian people have suffered and are still suffering.
Yet there are laws, which are supposed to govern the conduct of any war, and the first rule is to separate the WHY of the conflict from the HOW. In this particular case, the immediate conflict began when Hamas broke through Israel’s defense system and wantonly murdered soldiers and civilians, while taking around 150 persons for hostages. This behavior is against ALL international law, no matter what the behavior of Israel was and is toward the Palestinians. It must be acknowledged that Gaza is a place of great suffering. It is a prison from which Gazans cannot leave, Unemployment and poverty are rampant. Though Hamas is the government, it does not always govern in a way that helps the people. Rather than building more infrastructure, it will use money to build tunnels and purchase missiles and guns, while vowing to destroy Israel and kill Jews. But while Hamas’ failure of its people is evident and its attack on Israel is against all norms of international law, Israel must fight the war within certain boundaries. No matter how the war began, (the WHY of the war), Israel still has the responsibility to fight in a certain way, (the HOW of the war), even if its enemy does not abide by the same rules. Hamas issued a statement, claiming it always abides by the rules of law, and Israel said the same thing. Clearly, there are violations on both sides. The taking of hostages is strictly forbidden, and the cutting off of food, water and electricity is also forbidden. Israel has given an order to evacuate the northern part of Gaza, but there are hospitals with critically ill patients and to move them would be a death sentence. And where are one million people to go? The southern portion of Gaza is already pushed beyond the limit. The United Nations has stated its objection to this evacuation order. It wants Israel to rescind it, but so far Israel has not.
We do know that Hamas has used civilians as human shields, hiding their fighters among the populace. So, what is Israel supposed to do? There are those who would argue that Israel is justified in bombing these places or using some other form of force, but international law is firm on this point. Infractions, even when severe, by one side do not give the other side the warrant to commit war crimes. My good friend, Seth, who is a rabbi, told me the other day that this will always place Israel at a disadvantage. Hamas will do whatever it needs to do to make Israel look bad. And yes, there is truth to this, yet the killing of innocent civilians is a crime that must be avoided.
International law acknowledges that sometimes military targets do involve the killing of innocent civilians. Sometimes, this cannot be avoided, but then the question of proportionality is raised. How many civilians will die when a military target is attacked? Usually, this cannot be answered with great confidence, but if there is overwhelming evidence that large masses of civilians will die, the action is not legal. By this standard, the dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki are war crimes Those killed were overwhelmingly civilian: women, children, and old men. The argument that such an action will shorten the war is not a legally defensible one, since no one knows for sure what will shorten a conflict.
How and why did people try to legislate rules about war? While the tradition goes back many centuries, it is the modern world that has tried to make international rules about the conduct of war. In 1928 the Kellogg-Briand Act attempted to make war a rarity by declaring it illegal in most instances, and then in 1945 the UN Charter tried to ban war. In 1949 and 1977 the Geneva Convention made more rules about war with many countries signing on. The establishment of the International Criminal Court in 2003 furthered the attempt to legislate rules about war. Our own country has not signed it, because it objects to its citizens being tried before another tribunal. And yet, we are perfectly comfortable with other nation’s people being so tried. This makes us look like hypocrites.
In the early centuries of Christianity’s life, Christians were forbidden to take part in any war. No person could be a member of the military. Christianity was a pacifist religion. But when Constantine conquered in the name of Christ in 312, pacifism went on the defensive. And then the great St. Augustine would later offer his defense of a just war. And though there are pacifist strains in Christianity today, such as the Quakers and the Amish, most Christians find themselves defending the idea of a just war.
War is a terrible thing, to be avoided in nearly all instances. But when it is not avoided, or cannot be avoided, it is well that we think long and hard about the conditions under which people fight. Yet we should not fool ourselves into believing that Christ approves of our just wars. Perhaps in a fallen world, this is the best we can do. Sadly, this is the kind of world we have made. And it is tragic that too many innocents suffer the consequences.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
The Fog of War was a 2003 documentary, showing Robert McNamara, Secretary of Defense under JFK and Lyndon Johnson, reflecting on The Viet Nam War. Acknowledging that the war was a mistake, he spoke very movingly of “the fog of war,” which distorts perceptions about what is really going on. Once you enter into war, you fail to see other options, McNamara admitted. You can become blinded by the fog.
As we sit here, anxiously waiting to see what will happen in Israel and Gaza, it is all too easy to become confused by the fog of war. Emotions run deep, and when we attempt to think ethically about war, those very emotions can compromise our ability to be rational. Listening to the heart does not always lay out the best path to follow, especially in those situations like this one, where great injustice has been done to Israel even as we must acknowledge the pain and injustice that the Palestinian people have suffered and are still suffering.
Yet there are laws, which are supposed to govern the conduct of any war, and the first rule is to separate the WHY of the conflict from the HOW. In this particular case, the immediate conflict began when Hamas broke through Israel’s defense system and wantonly murdered soldiers and civilians, while taking around 150 persons for hostages. This behavior is against ALL international law, no matter what the behavior of Israel was and is toward the Palestinians. It must be acknowledged that Gaza is a place of great suffering. It is a prison from which Gazans cannot leave, Unemployment and poverty are rampant. Though Hamas is the government, it does not always govern in a way that helps the people. Rather than building more infrastructure, it will use money to build tunnels and purchase missiles and guns, while vowing to destroy Israel and kill Jews. But while Hamas’ failure of its people is evident and its attack on Israel is against all norms of international law, Israel must fight the war within certain boundaries. No matter how the war began, (the WHY of the war), Israel still has the responsibility to fight in a certain way, (the HOW of the war), even if its enemy does not abide by the same rules. Hamas issued a statement, claiming it always abides by the rules of law, and Israel said the same thing. Clearly, there are violations on both sides. The taking of hostages is strictly forbidden, and the cutting off of food, water and electricity is also forbidden. Israel has given an order to evacuate the northern part of Gaza, but there are hospitals with critically ill patients and to move them would be a death sentence. And where are one million people to go? The southern portion of Gaza is already pushed beyond the limit. The United Nations has stated its objection to this evacuation order. It wants Israel to rescind it, but so far Israel has not.
We do know that Hamas has used civilians as human shields, hiding their fighters among the populace. So, what is Israel supposed to do? There are those who would argue that Israel is justified in bombing these places or using some other form of force, but international law is firm on this point. Infractions, even when severe, by one side do not give the other side the warrant to commit war crimes. My good friend, Seth, who is a rabbi, told me the other day that this will always place Israel at a disadvantage. Hamas will do whatever it needs to do to make Israel look bad. And yes, there is truth to this, yet the killing of innocent civilians is a crime that must be avoided.
International law acknowledges that sometimes military targets do involve the killing of innocent civilians. Sometimes, this cannot be avoided, but then the question of proportionality is raised. How many civilians will die when a military target is attacked? Usually, this cannot be answered with great confidence, but if there is overwhelming evidence that large masses of civilians will die, the action is not legal. By this standard, the dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki are war crimes Those killed were overwhelmingly civilian: women, children, and old men. The argument that such an action will shorten the war is not a legally defensible one, since no one knows for sure what will shorten a conflict.
How and why did people try to legislate rules about war? While the tradition goes back many centuries, it is the modern world that has tried to make international rules about the conduct of war. In 1928 the Kellogg-Briand Act attempted to make war a rarity by declaring it illegal in most instances, and then in 1945 the UN Charter tried to ban war. In 1949 and 1977 the Geneva Convention made more rules about war with many countries signing on. The establishment of the International Criminal Court in 2003 furthered the attempt to legislate rules about war. Our own country has not signed it, because it objects to its citizens being tried before another tribunal. And yet, we are perfectly comfortable with other nation’s people being so tried. This makes us look like hypocrites.
In the early centuries of Christianity’s life, Christians were forbidden to take part in any war. No person could be a member of the military. Christianity was a pacifist religion. But when Constantine conquered in the name of Christ in 312, pacifism went on the defensive. And then the great St. Augustine would later offer his defense of a just war. And though there are pacifist strains in Christianity today, such as the Quakers and the Amish, most Christians find themselves defending the idea of a just war.
War is a terrible thing, to be avoided in nearly all instances. But when it is not avoided, or cannot be avoided, it is well that we think long and hard about the conditions under which people fight. Yet we should not fool ourselves into believing that Christ approves of our just wars. Perhaps in a fallen world, this is the best we can do. Sadly, this is the kind of world we have made. And it is tragic that too many innocents suffer the consequences.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
The Challenge of Stewardship
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville
October 8, 2023
Matthew 19: 16-26
Matthew 25: 14-30
I recently came across an article in the Chronicle of Philanthropy, which listed the 50 top philanthropists in 2022. While I am not going to list all fifty, I will give you the top five: Bill Gates, who gave 5.1 billion; Elon Musk, 1.99 billion; Michael Bloomberg comes in at 1.7 billion; Warren Buffett 758, 832 million; Jacklyn and Miguel Bezos gave 710,500 billion. (Jacklyn Bezos is Jeff Bezos mother, and Jeff Bezos, by the way gave 122,149,000 million, so he was further down the list.) That is a lot of money; the top 50 gave a total ofn16 billion to a variety of causes, including foundations, universities, and health concerns, such as cancer research. Many of these people have signed the Giving Pledge, which is a promise to give away a majority of their wealth. Now majority means over 50%, and some of these people have pledged to give away as much as 90%. The Giving Pledge was begun in 2010 by Bill Gates and Warren Buffett, who quickly got another 38 billionaires to sign up. Now the number of people who have signed is 238 from 29 countries.
If we look at these people through the lens of Matthew 25, we can say that they truly invested their talents very well. Even if some came from family wealth, there is no doubt that they worked hard in their endeavors. Bill Gates dropped out of Harvard to pursue his technological dream, which finally issued in Microsoft, and when he retired from Microsoft, he began working hard, very hard on The Bill and Melinda Foundation, which has done so much good for health concerns across the globe. It does seem that everything these people touch turns to gold; more and more is piled on, and even when they give away billions, they still have billions to play with. But consider what someone recently said to me. “It isn’t so much the amount you give that marks you as generous; it is what you keep for yourself.” How much are you really sacrificing when you give away 90% of your billions, which yet leaves you a multi-millionaire. How generous are you then, really?
I know this woman, who became homeless, when her partner of 18 years, left her while she was battling cancer. She lived on the streets for over 10 years before finally getting into subsidized housing. She told me, “The most generous people I have ever seen are among the poorest.” When she first was homeless and went to a soup kitchen to eat, there was this other woman, who recognized that Marcy was a complete novice at homelessness. And so, she offered her a big bag of bottles and cans, so she could cash them in for money. And she also gave her one of her sleeping bags. The chill of autumn was beginning to make itself felt, and this experienced homeless woman, Linda, a severe alcoholic, who had been homeless for years, sacrificed her bag of cans, which on that day, at least, was all she had. Maybe if you do not have much of anything, you don’t find yourself in the position of being attached to anything, and letting go and giving away, seems easier. The more you have, the harder you cling to it.
That is probably why Jesus told the story of the rich young man, who wanted to know how to find eternal life. This young man was clearly a lover of the law; he intimately knew its details, and Jesus acknowledged that. But he did not want to follow Jesus by selling all he had, giving the money away to the poor, and then becoming a wandering disciple. And so, he went away sad, for he had many possessions. Notice that Jesus did not condemn him; he felt compassion, acknowledging that wealth is indeed a great impediment to faithfulness. But in the end, Jesus acknowledged that it is not human agency and the ability to do the right and generous thing that saves, but God. What we cannot do for ourselves, God does for us. And yet, while we live on this earth, we are called to do the right thing, or at least struggle to do what is right and good.
And so, what is the right thing---here and now in our little faith community, struggling to survive. Let’s be honest; we are all aware that we are perilously close to the edge, and it would not take much for this church to be pushed right over the edge into closing. All it would take is some key givers to no longer give. So, are we compelled to give by our fear of closing, or are we moved to give by our conviction that in our giving HERE somehow God is glorified. Now there are many things that are accomplished in this community of faith, and though we are small, we do reach out beyond ourselves through Covenant to Care as well as to other gifts, like the Christmas Fund for poor, retired clergy, or Neighbors in Need And One Great Hour of Sharing, which fund a variety of projects that feed the hungry, heal the sick and clothe the naked. Such things are important; they matter, but the primary call of the church is worship. That is the one thing that is unique to the church. There are many other institutions that reach out to help the poor and the needy, but what other institution exists for the purpose of worshipping God?
We come together each week to worship a God, who though beyond our understanding, is not beyond our loving. Loving God does not mean that we are always comfortable with the God we meet. Sometimes, we come here profoundly hurt and disappointed that what we desperately wanted and needed for ourselves as well as for others-- is not what we received. When Aura Poole told me a few weeks ago about the death of her grandson, I knew the pain of which she spoke. A second grandson lost to the despair of drugs. WE knew the same pain when Michael died. Our hearts broke for Michael and for his entire family, as well as for ourselves, for Michael was one of us. And what mattered then was not that we could repair the hurt, for we could not, but it mattered that we could come together as a community of faith and celebrate and give thanks for a life full of joy and laughter and love, even as that same life suffered a struggle he did not win. And we did all that in the loving embrace of God.
Does it matter that we can be here as a community of faith with all our differing opinions on a plurality of topics---social, political, and yes, even religious. We don’t all see the world in the same way, and even God and Jesus sometimes appear differently to us. At times some of us are not shy about blaming God, when things go so profoundly wrong. What good is this God, we might wonder. Others just bring their raging questions to the divine mystery and pray, “I don’t understand, but I am trying to trust. Help me, God, because I am hanging on by a thread.” And here is a place where we can hang on, even if only by a thread. And here is a place, we do not have to hang on alone. We can do it together. And blessings do abound, because sometimes we are hanging together joyfully. Sometimes we find ourselves trusting together and celebrating together. And this being together, as far as I am concerned, is what matters profoundly. It is why I love the church; why I give to the church, why I have spent the last 40 years of my life working in it.
The Church is far from a perfect institution. We all know its failures; all churches have their limitations and disappointments. The Church is, after all, filled with human beings, and human beings do not always live up to a high standard of faithfulness. But even in failure we are together. And being together, trusting together, celebrating together, grieving together, rejoicing together, praying, questioning, and loving together in the embrace of a good and gracious God whom we meet in Jesus Christ is what the Church does and is called to do. And that is the best reason I know to give. WE give that together we can be more than we can ever be alone. The journey of faith is not one to take alone. It is one to go on together.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville
October 8, 2023
Matthew 19: 16-26
Matthew 25: 14-30
I recently came across an article in the Chronicle of Philanthropy, which listed the 50 top philanthropists in 2022. While I am not going to list all fifty, I will give you the top five: Bill Gates, who gave 5.1 billion; Elon Musk, 1.99 billion; Michael Bloomberg comes in at 1.7 billion; Warren Buffett 758, 832 million; Jacklyn and Miguel Bezos gave 710,500 billion. (Jacklyn Bezos is Jeff Bezos mother, and Jeff Bezos, by the way gave 122,149,000 million, so he was further down the list.) That is a lot of money; the top 50 gave a total ofn16 billion to a variety of causes, including foundations, universities, and health concerns, such as cancer research. Many of these people have signed the Giving Pledge, which is a promise to give away a majority of their wealth. Now majority means over 50%, and some of these people have pledged to give away as much as 90%. The Giving Pledge was begun in 2010 by Bill Gates and Warren Buffett, who quickly got another 38 billionaires to sign up. Now the number of people who have signed is 238 from 29 countries.
If we look at these people through the lens of Matthew 25, we can say that they truly invested their talents very well. Even if some came from family wealth, there is no doubt that they worked hard in their endeavors. Bill Gates dropped out of Harvard to pursue his technological dream, which finally issued in Microsoft, and when he retired from Microsoft, he began working hard, very hard on The Bill and Melinda Foundation, which has done so much good for health concerns across the globe. It does seem that everything these people touch turns to gold; more and more is piled on, and even when they give away billions, they still have billions to play with. But consider what someone recently said to me. “It isn’t so much the amount you give that marks you as generous; it is what you keep for yourself.” How much are you really sacrificing when you give away 90% of your billions, which yet leaves you a multi-millionaire. How generous are you then, really?
I know this woman, who became homeless, when her partner of 18 years, left her while she was battling cancer. She lived on the streets for over 10 years before finally getting into subsidized housing. She told me, “The most generous people I have ever seen are among the poorest.” When she first was homeless and went to a soup kitchen to eat, there was this other woman, who recognized that Marcy was a complete novice at homelessness. And so, she offered her a big bag of bottles and cans, so she could cash them in for money. And she also gave her one of her sleeping bags. The chill of autumn was beginning to make itself felt, and this experienced homeless woman, Linda, a severe alcoholic, who had been homeless for years, sacrificed her bag of cans, which on that day, at least, was all she had. Maybe if you do not have much of anything, you don’t find yourself in the position of being attached to anything, and letting go and giving away, seems easier. The more you have, the harder you cling to it.
That is probably why Jesus told the story of the rich young man, who wanted to know how to find eternal life. This young man was clearly a lover of the law; he intimately knew its details, and Jesus acknowledged that. But he did not want to follow Jesus by selling all he had, giving the money away to the poor, and then becoming a wandering disciple. And so, he went away sad, for he had many possessions. Notice that Jesus did not condemn him; he felt compassion, acknowledging that wealth is indeed a great impediment to faithfulness. But in the end, Jesus acknowledged that it is not human agency and the ability to do the right and generous thing that saves, but God. What we cannot do for ourselves, God does for us. And yet, while we live on this earth, we are called to do the right thing, or at least struggle to do what is right and good.
And so, what is the right thing---here and now in our little faith community, struggling to survive. Let’s be honest; we are all aware that we are perilously close to the edge, and it would not take much for this church to be pushed right over the edge into closing. All it would take is some key givers to no longer give. So, are we compelled to give by our fear of closing, or are we moved to give by our conviction that in our giving HERE somehow God is glorified. Now there are many things that are accomplished in this community of faith, and though we are small, we do reach out beyond ourselves through Covenant to Care as well as to other gifts, like the Christmas Fund for poor, retired clergy, or Neighbors in Need And One Great Hour of Sharing, which fund a variety of projects that feed the hungry, heal the sick and clothe the naked. Such things are important; they matter, but the primary call of the church is worship. That is the one thing that is unique to the church. There are many other institutions that reach out to help the poor and the needy, but what other institution exists for the purpose of worshipping God?
We come together each week to worship a God, who though beyond our understanding, is not beyond our loving. Loving God does not mean that we are always comfortable with the God we meet. Sometimes, we come here profoundly hurt and disappointed that what we desperately wanted and needed for ourselves as well as for others-- is not what we received. When Aura Poole told me a few weeks ago about the death of her grandson, I knew the pain of which she spoke. A second grandson lost to the despair of drugs. WE knew the same pain when Michael died. Our hearts broke for Michael and for his entire family, as well as for ourselves, for Michael was one of us. And what mattered then was not that we could repair the hurt, for we could not, but it mattered that we could come together as a community of faith and celebrate and give thanks for a life full of joy and laughter and love, even as that same life suffered a struggle he did not win. And we did all that in the loving embrace of God.
Does it matter that we can be here as a community of faith with all our differing opinions on a plurality of topics---social, political, and yes, even religious. We don’t all see the world in the same way, and even God and Jesus sometimes appear differently to us. At times some of us are not shy about blaming God, when things go so profoundly wrong. What good is this God, we might wonder. Others just bring their raging questions to the divine mystery and pray, “I don’t understand, but I am trying to trust. Help me, God, because I am hanging on by a thread.” And here is a place where we can hang on, even if only by a thread. And here is a place, we do not have to hang on alone. We can do it together. And blessings do abound, because sometimes we are hanging together joyfully. Sometimes we find ourselves trusting together and celebrating together. And this being together, as far as I am concerned, is what matters profoundly. It is why I love the church; why I give to the church, why I have spent the last 40 years of my life working in it.
The Church is far from a perfect institution. We all know its failures; all churches have their limitations and disappointments. The Church is, after all, filled with human beings, and human beings do not always live up to a high standard of faithfulness. But even in failure we are together. And being together, trusting together, celebrating together, grieving together, rejoicing together, praying, questioning, and loving together in the embrace of a good and gracious God whom we meet in Jesus Christ is what the Church does and is called to do. And that is the best reason I know to give. WE give that together we can be more than we can ever be alone. The journey of faith is not one to take alone. It is one to go on together.
October 5, 2023
Dear Friends,
On Monday Katalin Kariko and Drew Weissman were awarded the Noble Prize in Medicine for their work with mRNA (messenger RNA). Their discovery was and is a VERY BIG DEAL, since it undoubtedly saved in the United States alone over 3 million lives and over 18 million hospitalizations in addition to a $1 trillion savings. Moderna and Pfizer developed the vaccines, but that would have been impossible without the work Karko and Weissman did. And yet that work almost did not come to fruition.
Katalin Kariko completed her doctoral training in Hungary, but she left the country, because there was so little money available for research, and so she came to the United States whose reputation for state of the art scientific research is well deserved. But she spent years spinning her wheels and going what looked like nowhere. She had a position at the Ivy League University of Pennsylvania, but because she could not get a grant and could not get her papers published, she was demoted. Grants depend on publications, and publications are always peer reviewed, and if the reviewers judge the work to be unimportant or incomplete---sometimes they reviewers demand more work---the paper is rejected. And then when you go to apply for a grant, you have no viable publications to show, which almost always means the grant will also be rejected.
Because Katalin could not get grants or her papers published, she made her career at the U. of Pennsylvania by attaching herself to more senior faculty members, who permitted her to work in their labs as a research associate for a lot less money than a full pledged tenure track faculty member. Some of these people came and went, or sometimes their grant money dried up, so she was let go. But at a chance encounter at the xerox machine she met Drew Weissman, who was scientifically obsessed with developing a vaccine for the AIDS virus. He had failed so many times to make an effective vaccine, and he wondered if it might be possible for the two of them to work together on an Aids vaccine using mRNA. But the problem was that mRNA proved to be extremely delicate, so when it was introduced into cells, the cells viewed it as an invading pathogen and destroyed it. The human body has developed a system to detect invading RNA viruses and degrade them. RNA viruses are extremely common and include such things as viruses which cause the common cold, influenza and Covid, measles, mumps and even Aids. When they applied for grants, the reviewers were unimpressed, because vaccines were normally made against weakened pathogens and more recently on some of their purified proteins. No one had ever considered making a vaccine using messenger RNA. So, there was no support for their work, which was considered pure speculation and fantasy. Eventually they discovered that cells can protect their own mRNA with specific chemical modifications, so they made the same modifications before injecting the mRNA into other cells. It worked! The mRNA was taken up into the cells without being destroyed as an invading pathogen.
At first no one was that impressed or interested, but then Moderna in the U.S. and BioNTech in in Germany took interest. For years the companies studied the use of mRNA vaccines for flu and other illnesses, but nothing moved out of clinical trials----and then the coronavirus struck. A lot of things then came quickly together, and those who criticize the vaccines because they seemed to come out of nowhere too quickly, fail to appreciate the long road that paved the way. Indeed, the application of the science to the immediate challenge of the coronavirus was impressive, and this story will go down in history as one of the great victories of our time---no matter what the naysayers contend.
But it almost did not happen, and if Weissman and Kariko had very different personalities, it might not have happened. They were beyond stubborn in their pursuit of the use of mRNA, and many scientists have marveled at their persistence. Many, many other scientists would have given up a long time ago. Experimental science is incredibly hard and frustrating since most of the experiments one undertakes fail. And asking why the failure is laborious and at times boring. It requires patience and persistence and there are many people, gifted with keen intelligence and curiosity, who simply lack the kind of psychological make up that pushes them to keep going. We have no idea how many breakthroughs have been lost because people gave up.
And let’s be honest: giving up is sometimes necessary and even the right thing to do. Giving up is like letting go, and learning how to let go is no trivial pursuit. Sometimes a person spends his or her life pursuing something that never works out, and bitterness and resentment can easily set in. Why these two scientists kept pursuing their goal, when failure met them time and time again, is a story worth telling and pondering. Weissman, by the way, has still not cracked a vaccine for the HIV virus, and yet his failure is not absolute. He may yet do what he set out to accomplish. But if he does not, he already has achieved greatness.
None of us likes failure; we don’t even like the word, and we try very hard to turn our failures into an occasion for learning. Some people might consider Jesus a failure. After all, he died as a condemned criminal, crucified, which for the Jews was shameful. He could boast of no wealth, no education, beyond the most rudimentary literacy. He wrote no books and hardly traveled more than 50 miles from his place of birth. And yet what an impact his life has made! But the impact was not his to make alone. It depended on many factors and many different people. The Jesus’ story could have ended with his death, but it did not. Other persons, including the Apostle Paul, moved the story along, adding dimensions, which Jesus never would have considered. We think we draw the circle of our own life, but the circle grows wider and deeper with time. And time is something into which we cannot fully see.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
On Monday Katalin Kariko and Drew Weissman were awarded the Noble Prize in Medicine for their work with mRNA (messenger RNA). Their discovery was and is a VERY BIG DEAL, since it undoubtedly saved in the United States alone over 3 million lives and over 18 million hospitalizations in addition to a $1 trillion savings. Moderna and Pfizer developed the vaccines, but that would have been impossible without the work Karko and Weissman did. And yet that work almost did not come to fruition.
Katalin Kariko completed her doctoral training in Hungary, but she left the country, because there was so little money available for research, and so she came to the United States whose reputation for state of the art scientific research is well deserved. But she spent years spinning her wheels and going what looked like nowhere. She had a position at the Ivy League University of Pennsylvania, but because she could not get a grant and could not get her papers published, she was demoted. Grants depend on publications, and publications are always peer reviewed, and if the reviewers judge the work to be unimportant or incomplete---sometimes they reviewers demand more work---the paper is rejected. And then when you go to apply for a grant, you have no viable publications to show, which almost always means the grant will also be rejected.
Because Katalin could not get grants or her papers published, she made her career at the U. of Pennsylvania by attaching herself to more senior faculty members, who permitted her to work in their labs as a research associate for a lot less money than a full pledged tenure track faculty member. Some of these people came and went, or sometimes their grant money dried up, so she was let go. But at a chance encounter at the xerox machine she met Drew Weissman, who was scientifically obsessed with developing a vaccine for the AIDS virus. He had failed so many times to make an effective vaccine, and he wondered if it might be possible for the two of them to work together on an Aids vaccine using mRNA. But the problem was that mRNA proved to be extremely delicate, so when it was introduced into cells, the cells viewed it as an invading pathogen and destroyed it. The human body has developed a system to detect invading RNA viruses and degrade them. RNA viruses are extremely common and include such things as viruses which cause the common cold, influenza and Covid, measles, mumps and even Aids. When they applied for grants, the reviewers were unimpressed, because vaccines were normally made against weakened pathogens and more recently on some of their purified proteins. No one had ever considered making a vaccine using messenger RNA. So, there was no support for their work, which was considered pure speculation and fantasy. Eventually they discovered that cells can protect their own mRNA with specific chemical modifications, so they made the same modifications before injecting the mRNA into other cells. It worked! The mRNA was taken up into the cells without being destroyed as an invading pathogen.
At first no one was that impressed or interested, but then Moderna in the U.S. and BioNTech in in Germany took interest. For years the companies studied the use of mRNA vaccines for flu and other illnesses, but nothing moved out of clinical trials----and then the coronavirus struck. A lot of things then came quickly together, and those who criticize the vaccines because they seemed to come out of nowhere too quickly, fail to appreciate the long road that paved the way. Indeed, the application of the science to the immediate challenge of the coronavirus was impressive, and this story will go down in history as one of the great victories of our time---no matter what the naysayers contend.
But it almost did not happen, and if Weissman and Kariko had very different personalities, it might not have happened. They were beyond stubborn in their pursuit of the use of mRNA, and many scientists have marveled at their persistence. Many, many other scientists would have given up a long time ago. Experimental science is incredibly hard and frustrating since most of the experiments one undertakes fail. And asking why the failure is laborious and at times boring. It requires patience and persistence and there are many people, gifted with keen intelligence and curiosity, who simply lack the kind of psychological make up that pushes them to keep going. We have no idea how many breakthroughs have been lost because people gave up.
And let’s be honest: giving up is sometimes necessary and even the right thing to do. Giving up is like letting go, and learning how to let go is no trivial pursuit. Sometimes a person spends his or her life pursuing something that never works out, and bitterness and resentment can easily set in. Why these two scientists kept pursuing their goal, when failure met them time and time again, is a story worth telling and pondering. Weissman, by the way, has still not cracked a vaccine for the HIV virus, and yet his failure is not absolute. He may yet do what he set out to accomplish. But if he does not, he already has achieved greatness.
None of us likes failure; we don’t even like the word, and we try very hard to turn our failures into an occasion for learning. Some people might consider Jesus a failure. After all, he died as a condemned criminal, crucified, which for the Jews was shameful. He could boast of no wealth, no education, beyond the most rudimentary literacy. He wrote no books and hardly traveled more than 50 miles from his place of birth. And yet what an impact his life has made! But the impact was not his to make alone. It depended on many factors and many different people. The Jesus’ story could have ended with his death, but it did not. Other persons, including the Apostle Paul, moved the story along, adding dimensions, which Jesus never would have considered. We think we draw the circle of our own life, but the circle grows wider and deeper with time. And time is something into which we cannot fully see.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
September 14, 2023
Dear Friends,
A few weeks ago, I was talking to a friend about the James Webb Telescope, telling him about all the incredible images made available to the public. Peter did not know much about the James Webb, but he told me he was sure it would discover there is no life beyond this world. I was shocked by his confidence. “How can you possibly say such a thing?” I asked. “You simply cannot know that for certain. In fact, I said, “I think it is very possible there is life beyond this planet.”
As the conversation continued, it became obvious to me that his rejection of the idea of life beyond the planet earth is directly connected to his feelings about all the hoopla concerning UFO’s. He just finds those stories about flying saucers, abductions, and little green men from outer space to be ridiculous. Maybe they are. I have never paid much attention to such stories, until this past month when the September/October edition of Yankee Magazine had an article titled, Are We Alone? I read it and must admit that I found it very engaging. I did not conclude that people had indeed witnessed extraterrestrial life, though I am convinced that many of them were convinced that they had. But what we believe is possible helps determine what we see and understand, so I don’t think most of these people were lying.
In October, 2021at the Coolidge Corner Theater in Brookline, Massachusetts, a Harvard professor and chair of the Astronomy Department, Avi Loeb, gave a talk about the possibility of intelligent life elsewhere. He spoke of an “odd comet,” named Oumuamua, sighted in 2017 estimated to be between 100 and 400 meters long, 21 million miles away from earth and moving away at a speed of 85,000 miles per hour. It was unlike any comet or asteroid seen before and was not emitting any gas or dust, and so Loeb intimated that it is possible that it is artificial, meaning made by someone or something. That suggestion created a storm among the academic community, who insisted it must be natural. But why MUDT it be? How can we be sure that it was not made by some other form of intelligent life? Loeb said something we should all pay attention to and ponder: “It is our nature to fit evidence to what we know. Imagine a caveman finding a cellphone. The caveman, who is familiar with rocks, might think it a rock, a different kind of rock, to be sure, but a rock, nonetheless. But if he looked at it more, pressed a button here and there, he would see that it is not a rock, but something completely different. So, we need to press the button on objects like Oumuamua!.” In other words, we need to have open minds, a willingness to suspend judgment until we know more. If we think it is impossible for there to be intelligent life elsewhere, we will undoubtedly miss all kinds of hints that do not fit into our prescribed view.
I don’t know enough to make judgments about UFO’s and other objects people claim they have seen. But I am fascinated by the James Webb’s discovery of the exoplanet K2-18B, which is 120 light years away from earth. It is 8.6 times the mass of earth and orbits around a star, K2-18. What is amazing about this exoplanet is that it is rich in hydrogen and has methane and carbon dioxide, believed to be necessary for life. And then there is the special molecule called dimethyl sulfide, which as far as we now know is only produced by life. So, all this is very suggestive. This is not proof that life is there, but it certainly will lead to a lot of work being done and who knows what we will learn in the future?
Not only is the world big but the universe is also. And there are many universes! We should keep open hearts, minds, and spirits. Loeb has enough humility to admit what he does not know or understand. “It is important to have a sense of cosmic modesty,” he says. “About half of the sun-like stars in the universe have a planet the size of Earth, at roughly the same separation. That means that not only are we not in the center of the universe, as people thought thousands of years ago, but our backyard is not even unusual. We are not privileged in any way”. Or are we? WE can all wonder what God thinks about that!
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
A few weeks ago, I was talking to a friend about the James Webb Telescope, telling him about all the incredible images made available to the public. Peter did not know much about the James Webb, but he told me he was sure it would discover there is no life beyond this world. I was shocked by his confidence. “How can you possibly say such a thing?” I asked. “You simply cannot know that for certain. In fact, I said, “I think it is very possible there is life beyond this planet.”
As the conversation continued, it became obvious to me that his rejection of the idea of life beyond the planet earth is directly connected to his feelings about all the hoopla concerning UFO’s. He just finds those stories about flying saucers, abductions, and little green men from outer space to be ridiculous. Maybe they are. I have never paid much attention to such stories, until this past month when the September/October edition of Yankee Magazine had an article titled, Are We Alone? I read it and must admit that I found it very engaging. I did not conclude that people had indeed witnessed extraterrestrial life, though I am convinced that many of them were convinced that they had. But what we believe is possible helps determine what we see and understand, so I don’t think most of these people were lying.
In October, 2021at the Coolidge Corner Theater in Brookline, Massachusetts, a Harvard professor and chair of the Astronomy Department, Avi Loeb, gave a talk about the possibility of intelligent life elsewhere. He spoke of an “odd comet,” named Oumuamua, sighted in 2017 estimated to be between 100 and 400 meters long, 21 million miles away from earth and moving away at a speed of 85,000 miles per hour. It was unlike any comet or asteroid seen before and was not emitting any gas or dust, and so Loeb intimated that it is possible that it is artificial, meaning made by someone or something. That suggestion created a storm among the academic community, who insisted it must be natural. But why MUDT it be? How can we be sure that it was not made by some other form of intelligent life? Loeb said something we should all pay attention to and ponder: “It is our nature to fit evidence to what we know. Imagine a caveman finding a cellphone. The caveman, who is familiar with rocks, might think it a rock, a different kind of rock, to be sure, but a rock, nonetheless. But if he looked at it more, pressed a button here and there, he would see that it is not a rock, but something completely different. So, we need to press the button on objects like Oumuamua!.” In other words, we need to have open minds, a willingness to suspend judgment until we know more. If we think it is impossible for there to be intelligent life elsewhere, we will undoubtedly miss all kinds of hints that do not fit into our prescribed view.
I don’t know enough to make judgments about UFO’s and other objects people claim they have seen. But I am fascinated by the James Webb’s discovery of the exoplanet K2-18B, which is 120 light years away from earth. It is 8.6 times the mass of earth and orbits around a star, K2-18. What is amazing about this exoplanet is that it is rich in hydrogen and has methane and carbon dioxide, believed to be necessary for life. And then there is the special molecule called dimethyl sulfide, which as far as we now know is only produced by life. So, all this is very suggestive. This is not proof that life is there, but it certainly will lead to a lot of work being done and who knows what we will learn in the future?
Not only is the world big but the universe is also. And there are many universes! We should keep open hearts, minds, and spirits. Loeb has enough humility to admit what he does not know or understand. “It is important to have a sense of cosmic modesty,” he says. “About half of the sun-like stars in the universe have a planet the size of Earth, at roughly the same separation. That means that not only are we not in the center of the universe, as people thought thousands of years ago, but our backyard is not even unusual. We are not privileged in any way”. Or are we? WE can all wonder what God thinks about that!
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
OWE NOTHING BUT LOVE?
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
September 10, 2023
Matthew 18: 15-20
Romans 13: 8-14
Both of our readings this morning concern trouble with people in churches. Matthew wrote around the year 80 or 85 in the midst of great tension in the newly formed church where Jewish Christians and gentile Christians were trying to figure out how to get along with each other. Paul wrote his Letter to the Christian Church in Rome around 55 or so, and the Roman Church---30 years before Matthew’s gospel--- was also having its challenges. There were Christians insisting that the Jews, who rejected Jesus were now rejected by God, but Paul said (in other parts of the Letter) “No,” God’s covenant with the Jews stands, because God made a promise, and God does not remove the blessings God has already promised. And then there were arguments about rules and regulations---how strictly certain things should be enforced including the eating of certain kinds of food. And so, the arguments went on and on. And that is why these particular texts were written---to address actual troubles.
Paul would not have insisted that church people owe nothing to each other but love, if love were always the operating principle. In fact, the truth is that over 1/3 of Paul’s various Letters concern tensions and problems particular churches were facing. And so, it has always been. Consider the Church in our own country. We all realize how difficult the slavery issue was to many churches pre-Civil War, and most of us can remember the tension that civil rights caused in the church during the 60’s. I lived in the South for three years then, and I remember how it was when the three civil rights workers were murdered in Mississippi, in 1963, and when the minister dared to name it murder, 10 people walked out, insisting that politics had no place in the church at all. And consider the challenge of gay/lesbian and transgender issues not only in the church but also in school districts.
So, how are we supposed to cope with such tensions? Silence is one possible answer. Don’t talk about it, but that will work only so far. There are times the issues become too big to ignore, as with slavery and civil rights, not to mention Nazism in Hitler’s Germany, and that is when the trouble begins. Matthew’s gospel counsels conversation. Talk it out; if there is offensive behavior of any kind, name it and go to the person or persons and see if any understanding or wisdom can prevail. Talk and listen, and then, if no progress is made, expulsion. That is pretty tough, but the feeling was better to lose one member than to have the whole church community infected.
Now Paul does not speak of expelling anyone. He talks of love. As a faith community, he said, we owe each other love, and that is ALL we owe. More than this, we cannot do. But then we wonder: what does love look like in the midst of the tensions and problems that historically churches have faced? Imagine, for example, the church in Brooklyn, where the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher preached passionately against slavery, saying it was an abomination against God. He believed in the smithy of his soul that he was preaching God’s Word, a Word of justice and love. But if you were on the other side of the issue, you would not have heard his words as the gospel of love. He was stirring up trouble, and yet, he would say, sometimes God’s Word does and must stir up trouble. When justice rolls down like mighty waters, life is disturbed, and the church Beecher served became part of the Underground Railroad. Love can sometimes be a disturbing act, even an illegal one.
But it is also true that most of the tensions and challenges in church history have not always revolved around big social or political issues. More often than not, churches have argued over personal behaviors. If you go back and read some of the colonial church minutes, for example, you will discover that church meetings often revolved around misbehavior like gambling, swearing, drunkenness and even fornication. My former church in Middletown was founded in the 1670’s, and old church records showed people being denied communion because they were seen in a drunken stupor during the week. And some of the church records showed accusations against a married person for messing around with someone who was not his or her spouse. And then there were the young lovers, seen wrangling away in the woods. No wonder church meetings were well attended. The latest gossip was on the docket. Now, I am confident that there were those who were convinced that they were doing the loving act by calling out behaviors that could potentially weaken the family unit and the church. They did not see themselves as cruel or even nosey. “Mind your own business” was not part of the social ethic. Try calling out such behaviors today and see how far it will get you.
In one of my former churches my colleague spoke to someone who was having an affair, after his 14 year old daughter brought it up at the youth group meeting. She was very upset and convinced her mother did not know and was wondering whether she should tell her mom. When my colleague spoke to her father, he angerly insisted, “It is none of your business.” “But it is,” came the response. “Your daughter raised the issue in the youth group, and now a lot of people know.” In the past such things were raised in the hope that repentance would occur, and the end result would be reconciliation. That is the hope---but hope is not always actualized, especially in such a privatized culture as ours. And so, more often than not, we are silent. We don’t know what to say, and we rightly wonder: What in such a case is the loving thing to do?
I recently came across an entry from an 1892 record of Central Presbyterian Church in Atlanta, GA, when a well respected woman of the church came to the Session to request mercy on behalf of her daughter, who had borne a child out of wedlock. The mother implored the Church Session not to multiply her daughter’s shame by making a public spectacle of the young woman when they removed her from church membership, but instead she pleaded that they use quiet discretion. Now this was 1892 and a child out of wedlock was a major no-no. But the Session refused, that is, refused to remove the girl’s name from membership. Instead, the Session voted to send two elders to stand by the girl’s side, offering her support and advice in this difficult time as well as spiritual nurture and baptism for the baby. Notice that the church went to her; it did not wait for her to come to the church. There was not a hint of the modern day, “It’s none of our business,” no faint embrace of “You do your thing and I’ll do mine.”
We live in our little individual cocoons, where we do not expect others to disturb or question us. If someone in the church has a problem, whether it’s alcohol, infidelity, or abusive behavior, we usually hope the problem will just go away, or perhaps the minister can take care of it. It is as if we are too embarrassed to show that we care---care enough to approach or even confront somebody with his or her troublesome behavior? If the person does not come to us, we just leave them alone to stew in his hurt and trouble.
Care is the operative word here, and care is very close to love. When we care, we are not shut up in our little private worlds, but we move out beyond so that we notice when people are hurting. And we respond, or at least try to, even if our response is awkward or embarrassing. When I was in college, for a short time I attended this Unitarian Church, where this young man was clearly deeply depressed and troubled about his impending induction into the Army and perhaps to Viet Nam. Student deferments had ended, and his life was about to be radically disrupted by the United States Army. But before the Army could take him, he took his life, and his parents, who lived in California, and did not know the depths of his despair, wondered what more could/should have been done. The minister confessed to the church in a Sunday morning sermon, “Jeremy was left too much alone, and for that we are all ashamed. We did not go to him. We were waiting for him to come to us.” Paul’s insistence that we owe nothing but love surely does not mean that we always know what the loving action is. But at the least love does not mean that we should always defend privacy above everything else.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
September 10, 2023
Matthew 18: 15-20
Romans 13: 8-14
Both of our readings this morning concern trouble with people in churches. Matthew wrote around the year 80 or 85 in the midst of great tension in the newly formed church where Jewish Christians and gentile Christians were trying to figure out how to get along with each other. Paul wrote his Letter to the Christian Church in Rome around 55 or so, and the Roman Church---30 years before Matthew’s gospel--- was also having its challenges. There were Christians insisting that the Jews, who rejected Jesus were now rejected by God, but Paul said (in other parts of the Letter) “No,” God’s covenant with the Jews stands, because God made a promise, and God does not remove the blessings God has already promised. And then there were arguments about rules and regulations---how strictly certain things should be enforced including the eating of certain kinds of food. And so, the arguments went on and on. And that is why these particular texts were written---to address actual troubles.
Paul would not have insisted that church people owe nothing to each other but love, if love were always the operating principle. In fact, the truth is that over 1/3 of Paul’s various Letters concern tensions and problems particular churches were facing. And so, it has always been. Consider the Church in our own country. We all realize how difficult the slavery issue was to many churches pre-Civil War, and most of us can remember the tension that civil rights caused in the church during the 60’s. I lived in the South for three years then, and I remember how it was when the three civil rights workers were murdered in Mississippi, in 1963, and when the minister dared to name it murder, 10 people walked out, insisting that politics had no place in the church at all. And consider the challenge of gay/lesbian and transgender issues not only in the church but also in school districts.
So, how are we supposed to cope with such tensions? Silence is one possible answer. Don’t talk about it, but that will work only so far. There are times the issues become too big to ignore, as with slavery and civil rights, not to mention Nazism in Hitler’s Germany, and that is when the trouble begins. Matthew’s gospel counsels conversation. Talk it out; if there is offensive behavior of any kind, name it and go to the person or persons and see if any understanding or wisdom can prevail. Talk and listen, and then, if no progress is made, expulsion. That is pretty tough, but the feeling was better to lose one member than to have the whole church community infected.
Now Paul does not speak of expelling anyone. He talks of love. As a faith community, he said, we owe each other love, and that is ALL we owe. More than this, we cannot do. But then we wonder: what does love look like in the midst of the tensions and problems that historically churches have faced? Imagine, for example, the church in Brooklyn, where the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher preached passionately against slavery, saying it was an abomination against God. He believed in the smithy of his soul that he was preaching God’s Word, a Word of justice and love. But if you were on the other side of the issue, you would not have heard his words as the gospel of love. He was stirring up trouble, and yet, he would say, sometimes God’s Word does and must stir up trouble. When justice rolls down like mighty waters, life is disturbed, and the church Beecher served became part of the Underground Railroad. Love can sometimes be a disturbing act, even an illegal one.
But it is also true that most of the tensions and challenges in church history have not always revolved around big social or political issues. More often than not, churches have argued over personal behaviors. If you go back and read some of the colonial church minutes, for example, you will discover that church meetings often revolved around misbehavior like gambling, swearing, drunkenness and even fornication. My former church in Middletown was founded in the 1670’s, and old church records showed people being denied communion because they were seen in a drunken stupor during the week. And some of the church records showed accusations against a married person for messing around with someone who was not his or her spouse. And then there were the young lovers, seen wrangling away in the woods. No wonder church meetings were well attended. The latest gossip was on the docket. Now, I am confident that there were those who were convinced that they were doing the loving act by calling out behaviors that could potentially weaken the family unit and the church. They did not see themselves as cruel or even nosey. “Mind your own business” was not part of the social ethic. Try calling out such behaviors today and see how far it will get you.
In one of my former churches my colleague spoke to someone who was having an affair, after his 14 year old daughter brought it up at the youth group meeting. She was very upset and convinced her mother did not know and was wondering whether she should tell her mom. When my colleague spoke to her father, he angerly insisted, “It is none of your business.” “But it is,” came the response. “Your daughter raised the issue in the youth group, and now a lot of people know.” In the past such things were raised in the hope that repentance would occur, and the end result would be reconciliation. That is the hope---but hope is not always actualized, especially in such a privatized culture as ours. And so, more often than not, we are silent. We don’t know what to say, and we rightly wonder: What in such a case is the loving thing to do?
I recently came across an entry from an 1892 record of Central Presbyterian Church in Atlanta, GA, when a well respected woman of the church came to the Session to request mercy on behalf of her daughter, who had borne a child out of wedlock. The mother implored the Church Session not to multiply her daughter’s shame by making a public spectacle of the young woman when they removed her from church membership, but instead she pleaded that they use quiet discretion. Now this was 1892 and a child out of wedlock was a major no-no. But the Session refused, that is, refused to remove the girl’s name from membership. Instead, the Session voted to send two elders to stand by the girl’s side, offering her support and advice in this difficult time as well as spiritual nurture and baptism for the baby. Notice that the church went to her; it did not wait for her to come to the church. There was not a hint of the modern day, “It’s none of our business,” no faint embrace of “You do your thing and I’ll do mine.”
We live in our little individual cocoons, where we do not expect others to disturb or question us. If someone in the church has a problem, whether it’s alcohol, infidelity, or abusive behavior, we usually hope the problem will just go away, or perhaps the minister can take care of it. It is as if we are too embarrassed to show that we care---care enough to approach or even confront somebody with his or her troublesome behavior? If the person does not come to us, we just leave them alone to stew in his hurt and trouble.
Care is the operative word here, and care is very close to love. When we care, we are not shut up in our little private worlds, but we move out beyond so that we notice when people are hurting. And we respond, or at least try to, even if our response is awkward or embarrassing. When I was in college, for a short time I attended this Unitarian Church, where this young man was clearly deeply depressed and troubled about his impending induction into the Army and perhaps to Viet Nam. Student deferments had ended, and his life was about to be radically disrupted by the United States Army. But before the Army could take him, he took his life, and his parents, who lived in California, and did not know the depths of his despair, wondered what more could/should have been done. The minister confessed to the church in a Sunday morning sermon, “Jeremy was left too much alone, and for that we are all ashamed. We did not go to him. We were waiting for him to come to us.” Paul’s insistence that we owe nothing but love surely does not mean that we always know what the loving action is. But at the least love does not mean that we should always defend privacy above everything else.
September 6, 2023
Dear Friends,
Recently Pope Francis made a visit to Portugal, where he met with a group of Jesuits, often considered the intellectual elite of the Church. He gave a talk, and then he took some time to answer questions. One Jesuit, who had recently spent time in the United States, told the Pope he was shocked by the anti-Pope comments he heard from many American bishops. He did not understand their extreme dislike of the Pope and their accusation that his policies were destroying the Church. What did he (Pope Francis) make of this?
I was very surprised by the vehemence of the Pope’s response. He neither minced words, nor tried to put a positive spin on what has been some very nasty opposition to him. Instead, he came right out and called these people ideologues. By clinging to a past that is gone, he said, his opponents mistakenly believe this is the essence of faith. But faith, he insisted, is always dynamic. It changes with time as we understand more and more about the world. At one time the Church believed the earth was the center of the universe, and would have burned Galileo at the stake, if he had not recanted. The Church cannot live with its head in the sand but must move out into the world to understand the current situation and embrace new knowledge Of course, the Pope did not mean to suggest that the Church should on all fronts surrender to the present moment. Francis has been very critical of the extreme secularization of the West, which often treats the Church as if it were a complete irrelevancy. (The Roman Catholic Church, like the mainline Protestants, has suffered a loss of attendance and membership.)
The Pope is not shy about speaking of sin. While he understands abortion as a terrible sin, he does recognize that there is a critical need for expanded services to pregnant women, babies, children, and families. Childcare and food subsidies are needed as well as expanded health care, parental leave, and generous vacation time. He is also very critical of the income inequality gap and has firmly stated his support for policies that would help to close it. He lamented that too often his opponents concentrate on the sins below the waist while ignoring other social sins like war, poverty, and homelessness. Francis has also advocated for immigrants, who leave repressive nations behind in a search for an improved life of economic vitality and freedom.
He spoke about how the Church’s understanding of sin has broadened over time. Now, the Roman Catholic Church forcefully states that the possession of nuclear weapons is sin as is capital punishment. But there was a time when the Church actually practiced capital punishment, putting to death people, considered heretics. At one time in the church’s history, it did not believe in the freedom of conscience regarding religious choice. “Error has no rights,” was the operative belief until the coming of the Second Vatican Council in the 1960’s. So, throughout its long history, the Church has changed, the Pope pointed out, and the change is not finished.
Pope Francis has been more open to divorced and separated Catholics and even to those Catholics, who have remarried. Since the Roman Church views marriage as a sacrament, a rite which the couple, not the priest actualizes (or cathects is the technical word), the big problem for the church is not so much divorce as it is remarriage. The Church does recognize that some marriages should end for the health of the persons and the family. But the sacramental nature of the marriage stands unless it can be shown why and how the couple or one person of the couple could not truly enter into the sacrament. The Pope has tried to show greater understanding toward couples, whose marriages cannot be annulled, but nonetheless want to start a new life and new marriage. Understanding the complexity of the human condition is part of what makes Pope Francis such a pastoral Pope. He has also shown great sensitivity to the whole gay/lesbian/bisexual and transgender issues that are roiling not only the Church but also the wider society. Again, he calls for learning, understanding and compassion.
Francis has also come under criticism for his tolerance toward persons, who do not embrace all Catholic doctrine, and yet are invited to the Communion Table. This would include such notables as Nancy Pelosi as well as Joe Biden, both devout Catholics, but also are solidly pro-choice. Pelosi’s bishop has said he would deny her Holy Communion, while Biden’s bishop has said no such thing. Francis has very graciously said he would deny no one communion, which, he claims, is for all sinners. We do not come to the Table because we are pure and sinless; we come because we are all fallen creatures in need of God’s love and mercy. In other words, we don’t earn the sacrament of Holy Communion. It is a gift.
There is so much about Pope Francis that resonates with many mainline Protestants. We believe that as understanding grows and develops, church doctrine also changes, and faith grows and expands in new ways. We should all be grateful that Pope Francis is speaking truth to power and recognizes that no one or no institution is ever truly complete---including the Church!
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Recently Pope Francis made a visit to Portugal, where he met with a group of Jesuits, often considered the intellectual elite of the Church. He gave a talk, and then he took some time to answer questions. One Jesuit, who had recently spent time in the United States, told the Pope he was shocked by the anti-Pope comments he heard from many American bishops. He did not understand their extreme dislike of the Pope and their accusation that his policies were destroying the Church. What did he (Pope Francis) make of this?
I was very surprised by the vehemence of the Pope’s response. He neither minced words, nor tried to put a positive spin on what has been some very nasty opposition to him. Instead, he came right out and called these people ideologues. By clinging to a past that is gone, he said, his opponents mistakenly believe this is the essence of faith. But faith, he insisted, is always dynamic. It changes with time as we understand more and more about the world. At one time the Church believed the earth was the center of the universe, and would have burned Galileo at the stake, if he had not recanted. The Church cannot live with its head in the sand but must move out into the world to understand the current situation and embrace new knowledge Of course, the Pope did not mean to suggest that the Church should on all fronts surrender to the present moment. Francis has been very critical of the extreme secularization of the West, which often treats the Church as if it were a complete irrelevancy. (The Roman Catholic Church, like the mainline Protestants, has suffered a loss of attendance and membership.)
The Pope is not shy about speaking of sin. While he understands abortion as a terrible sin, he does recognize that there is a critical need for expanded services to pregnant women, babies, children, and families. Childcare and food subsidies are needed as well as expanded health care, parental leave, and generous vacation time. He is also very critical of the income inequality gap and has firmly stated his support for policies that would help to close it. He lamented that too often his opponents concentrate on the sins below the waist while ignoring other social sins like war, poverty, and homelessness. Francis has also advocated for immigrants, who leave repressive nations behind in a search for an improved life of economic vitality and freedom.
He spoke about how the Church’s understanding of sin has broadened over time. Now, the Roman Catholic Church forcefully states that the possession of nuclear weapons is sin as is capital punishment. But there was a time when the Church actually practiced capital punishment, putting to death people, considered heretics. At one time in the church’s history, it did not believe in the freedom of conscience regarding religious choice. “Error has no rights,” was the operative belief until the coming of the Second Vatican Council in the 1960’s. So, throughout its long history, the Church has changed, the Pope pointed out, and the change is not finished.
Pope Francis has been more open to divorced and separated Catholics and even to those Catholics, who have remarried. Since the Roman Church views marriage as a sacrament, a rite which the couple, not the priest actualizes (or cathects is the technical word), the big problem for the church is not so much divorce as it is remarriage. The Church does recognize that some marriages should end for the health of the persons and the family. But the sacramental nature of the marriage stands unless it can be shown why and how the couple or one person of the couple could not truly enter into the sacrament. The Pope has tried to show greater understanding toward couples, whose marriages cannot be annulled, but nonetheless want to start a new life and new marriage. Understanding the complexity of the human condition is part of what makes Pope Francis such a pastoral Pope. He has also shown great sensitivity to the whole gay/lesbian/bisexual and transgender issues that are roiling not only the Church but also the wider society. Again, he calls for learning, understanding and compassion.
Francis has also come under criticism for his tolerance toward persons, who do not embrace all Catholic doctrine, and yet are invited to the Communion Table. This would include such notables as Nancy Pelosi as well as Joe Biden, both devout Catholics, but also are solidly pro-choice. Pelosi’s bishop has said he would deny her Holy Communion, while Biden’s bishop has said no such thing. Francis has very graciously said he would deny no one communion, which, he claims, is for all sinners. We do not come to the Table because we are pure and sinless; we come because we are all fallen creatures in need of God’s love and mercy. In other words, we don’t earn the sacrament of Holy Communion. It is a gift.
There is so much about Pope Francis that resonates with many mainline Protestants. We believe that as understanding grows and develops, church doctrine also changes, and faith grows and expands in new ways. We should all be grateful that Pope Francis is speaking truth to power and recognizes that no one or no institution is ever truly complete---including the Church!
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
August 30, 2023
Dear Friends,
Monday, September 4, is Labor Day, when we are called to remember and celebrate the dignity of labor. Monday is also the first day of classes at Wesleyan University, where my husband teaches. It has always galled me that this very left leaning university dares to start its classes on a day when LABOR is the major theme. After all, Labor Day was a long time in coming, and it involved people who were fighting to have their rights recognized, including fair wages and a reasonable length workday. When the Pullman Strike in Chicago began on May 11, 1894, the issues involved decreasing wages and rents that did not go down, though the country was in the midst of a deep depression. Workers commonly worked a 16 hour day, and there was no such thing as paid vacation or sick time. We have come a distance since that time, but over the past decades, we have been hearing a great deal about the increasing wealth divide, as the richest 1% increased its wealth, while the poorest 50 % has sunk deeper into poverty. But this is beginning to change. In fact, some economists say that the year 2015 was the fulcrum that signaled a major shift with the people on the lower rungs of the economic ladder beginning to see real changes.
Indeed, this past summer has been called “the summer of labor.” Not only have (some) workers seen a significant rise in wages--- as much as 30%---but also the demand and need for respect has been finally acknowledged by management. Workers do not want to be treated as if they are nothing but bodies to be used to accomplish the goals that management sets. Since there is a shortage of labor, management is compelled to pay attention, since it cannot be confident that there will be other willing workers to take the place of those who leave. Even people who are hardly low wage earners, like airplane pilots, have managed to win big raises and better working conditions, since there are not enough pilots to fly the planes.
Unions have had a pretty good year. Take UPS, where a strike this summer was a real possibility. But it was avoided when The International Brotherhood of Teamsters came to a tentative agreement with UPS. Money is always an issue, of course, but the threatened strike was about more than money. There were “issues of dignity,” when drivers were complaining about the lack of air conditioning in the trucks, they drove which could reach into the triple digits. An impressive aspect of the new contract is that it was weighted toward those who made the least, especially part time drivers. The starting pay for part time drivers was raised by 30% and thousands of part time drivers were moved into full time positions.
We have all heard the lament, “The rich are getting richer while the poor fall behind.” But this is beginning to change in some dramatic ways. Some of the change has come because certain states have upped their minimum wage. Since 2014 thirty states have raised their minimum wage. But then the pandemic struck, and there was a real worker shortage, especially in the lower paying jobs. Wages began to accelerate for those at the bottom---and not only in states which raised minimum wage. There was a real change in perspective as people began to recognize that these workers---people who stocked store shelves, checked people out at grocery stores, drove buses, delivered the mail and collected the garbage---were essential. Without their work, the society would cease to function.
After the Second World War the Roman Catholic Church in Europe, especially in France and Belgium, recognized that the working class had become alienated from the Church. And so, some of its priests left their clerical dress behind and went to work in factories. And what happened then is a story of great drama. Many of these priests became heavily politicized, joining the socialist and even the Communist Party as they demonstrated for improved housing and wages and even called for anti-racism legislation. This made the Roman hierarchy very nervous and in 1954 Pope Pius Xll ordered an end to the Priest-Worker Movement. However, in 1965 Paul VI approved it in modified form, recognizing that fair wages and working conditions as well as justice, peace and respect for all people, no matter their skin color or ethnicity, were values that Jesus would approve. After all, no matter what we want to say about Jesus, he was NOT a member of the ruling class. He was poor, and he advocated for those who were poor. When he said, “Whatever you do to the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you do to me,” he was pushing his hearers to consider how those on the very bottom were being treated. And he was saying very explicitly that he was among those on the bottom, suffering with them and for them.
Politics and religion are not always friendly to each other, but there is no denying that Jesus’ teaching has political implications. And though the implications are hardly obvious or easy to discern, that does not relieve us from the task of trying to figure out how we are called to act in the world with all its messy politics and economics. Following Jesus does not mean that he tells us how to vote or what political party to support, but it does mean he asks us to care. How we evidence our care and concern for the world is our decision and our responsibility.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Monday, September 4, is Labor Day, when we are called to remember and celebrate the dignity of labor. Monday is also the first day of classes at Wesleyan University, where my husband teaches. It has always galled me that this very left leaning university dares to start its classes on a day when LABOR is the major theme. After all, Labor Day was a long time in coming, and it involved people who were fighting to have their rights recognized, including fair wages and a reasonable length workday. When the Pullman Strike in Chicago began on May 11, 1894, the issues involved decreasing wages and rents that did not go down, though the country was in the midst of a deep depression. Workers commonly worked a 16 hour day, and there was no such thing as paid vacation or sick time. We have come a distance since that time, but over the past decades, we have been hearing a great deal about the increasing wealth divide, as the richest 1% increased its wealth, while the poorest 50 % has sunk deeper into poverty. But this is beginning to change. In fact, some economists say that the year 2015 was the fulcrum that signaled a major shift with the people on the lower rungs of the economic ladder beginning to see real changes.
Indeed, this past summer has been called “the summer of labor.” Not only have (some) workers seen a significant rise in wages--- as much as 30%---but also the demand and need for respect has been finally acknowledged by management. Workers do not want to be treated as if they are nothing but bodies to be used to accomplish the goals that management sets. Since there is a shortage of labor, management is compelled to pay attention, since it cannot be confident that there will be other willing workers to take the place of those who leave. Even people who are hardly low wage earners, like airplane pilots, have managed to win big raises and better working conditions, since there are not enough pilots to fly the planes.
Unions have had a pretty good year. Take UPS, where a strike this summer was a real possibility. But it was avoided when The International Brotherhood of Teamsters came to a tentative agreement with UPS. Money is always an issue, of course, but the threatened strike was about more than money. There were “issues of dignity,” when drivers were complaining about the lack of air conditioning in the trucks, they drove which could reach into the triple digits. An impressive aspect of the new contract is that it was weighted toward those who made the least, especially part time drivers. The starting pay for part time drivers was raised by 30% and thousands of part time drivers were moved into full time positions.
We have all heard the lament, “The rich are getting richer while the poor fall behind.” But this is beginning to change in some dramatic ways. Some of the change has come because certain states have upped their minimum wage. Since 2014 thirty states have raised their minimum wage. But then the pandemic struck, and there was a real worker shortage, especially in the lower paying jobs. Wages began to accelerate for those at the bottom---and not only in states which raised minimum wage. There was a real change in perspective as people began to recognize that these workers---people who stocked store shelves, checked people out at grocery stores, drove buses, delivered the mail and collected the garbage---were essential. Without their work, the society would cease to function.
After the Second World War the Roman Catholic Church in Europe, especially in France and Belgium, recognized that the working class had become alienated from the Church. And so, some of its priests left their clerical dress behind and went to work in factories. And what happened then is a story of great drama. Many of these priests became heavily politicized, joining the socialist and even the Communist Party as they demonstrated for improved housing and wages and even called for anti-racism legislation. This made the Roman hierarchy very nervous and in 1954 Pope Pius Xll ordered an end to the Priest-Worker Movement. However, in 1965 Paul VI approved it in modified form, recognizing that fair wages and working conditions as well as justice, peace and respect for all people, no matter their skin color or ethnicity, were values that Jesus would approve. After all, no matter what we want to say about Jesus, he was NOT a member of the ruling class. He was poor, and he advocated for those who were poor. When he said, “Whatever you do to the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you do to me,” he was pushing his hearers to consider how those on the very bottom were being treated. And he was saying very explicitly that he was among those on the bottom, suffering with them and for them.
Politics and religion are not always friendly to each other, but there is no denying that Jesus’ teaching has political implications. And though the implications are hardly obvious or easy to discern, that does not relieve us from the task of trying to figure out how we are called to act in the world with all its messy politics and economics. Following Jesus does not mean that he tells us how to vote or what political party to support, but it does mean he asks us to care. How we evidence our care and concern for the world is our decision and our responsibility.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
What Mothers Do
Preached by: The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
August 20, 2023
Matthew 15: 21-28
Mothers do play a very substantial role in the Bible. In fact, motherhood is often the only role they are permitted to play---with some exceptions, of course. If the word barren were applied to you, because it was always deemed the fault of the woman if no child were conceived, well, your lot in life was pathetic---until God opened your womb, as the biblical text usually put it. Recall Sarah, Abraham’s wife, whose shame was overcome, when as an old woman, she finally conceived and bore Isaac. And then there was Hannah, who was beside herself with grief, because she had no child until she conceived Samuel, who became a prophet to the king. And what about Elizabeth, who in her old age, gave birth to John the Baptist? Of course, not all mothers in the bible were barren. There was Rebekah, a scheming mother, if ever there was one. She favored her younger son, Jacob, over the older one, Esau. The truth was Jacob was a lot brighter than his hotheaded older brother, who would give up his birthright for a bowl of soup. Rebekah undoubtedly realized where the talent lay, and so it was her idea to deceive Jacob into giving the paternal blessing to his younger son when it should have gone to Esau. And we all know about Mary, whose claim to fame was her motherhood of Jesus. As a youngster, growing up Presbyterian, Mary was not spoken of much, and to me she was just a boring mother, who never did anything all that interesting, except bear a child out of wedlock.
So here in our reading from Matthew, we have another mother, who is anything but boring. Jesus had been in Jewish territory, where he was healing and teaching, and the text tells us,”he left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon, which was gentile territory.” So, the decision to move into gentile territory was made by Jesus. And for what purpose? We should always remember that the gospel stories are not simply about Jesus and his place and time, but also about the community out of which the gospel emerged, and Matthew was writing to both gentile Christians and Jewish Christians, so he wanted to show his mixed community that Jesus was willing to embrace both Jews and gentiles, and they must do the same.
So, the story goes that this Canaanite woman approached Jesus, shouting, Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” She wanted healing for her daughter, who was tormented by a demon. Demons were blamed for all kinds of illnesses, so we don’t know specifically the daughter’s ailment. Now it is important to understand that women were not supposed to accost men in public. So, Jesus ignored her. It was only after his disciples told him to send her away that he told her he was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. Notice then that she knelt, a sign of great respect and deference, saying, Lord, help me. And then he called her daughter and her a dog. “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But notice that she did not make herself the center of the story by becoming insulted. It was not about her; it was all about the healing her daughter needed. So, even after the put-down she called him, Lord. “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” And then Jesus acknowledged that her faith was great. and her daughter was healed. The same story, by the way, is told in Mark’s gospel, but there, Jesus did not commend her faith, but rather on her cleverness. “For saying that,” he said, “you may go. The demon has left your daughter.” So, this woman, this mother, did what she had to do in order to take care of her daughter. She did what so many other mothers do when they face a major crisis and the normal rules---like not speaking to men in public--- are thrown away.
Last winter a man called me, and wanted me to say some words over his mother’s grave. She had died many years before and was buried by a rabbi in the Jewish section of the cemetery. “My father is Jewish,” he said, and I was raised Jewish, but when my mother died, my father was still alive, and he hid the fact that my mother was not Jewish. She was a German Lutheran, raised in Germany as my father was and me until I was 9. My father had left Germany to find work in England soon after Hitler came to power, and his intention was to get us out, but as Hitler’s grasp tightened over Germany, we never made it. People knew my mother was married to a Jew, so she came under heavy suspicion. And the war, well, it was horrible. I don’t have too many memories of it, because I was so young, but I do remember being very hungry and seeing people beaten, sometimes to death. My mother and I went to a big Lutheran Church in Berlin, where I do remember the Nazi flag flying. I asked my mother about it once, and she told me, “Hush, don’t speak of it.” So, I never did.
My mother was a very beautiful woman, and there were Nazi officers, who threatened to take me away, because they knew my father was Jewish. And so, to prevent that, she prostituted herself with a number of them, I would later learn. As an adult, she told me the whole ugly story. “I would have done anything to save you,” she said. Finally, some years after the war, we were reunited with my father in England and eventually we came to New York. I don’t know when my mother told my father the truth, but he did know it, though we never spoke of it. When she died, I mentioned it to him, and he was shocked that I knew. And I told him I was shocked that he knew. “Your mother,” he said, “was a guardian of the truth.”
But, my father was not. He insisted my mother be buried as a Jew, though she was Christian, faithfully attending a Lutheran Church on 5th Ave. every Sunday. And though I had been baptized as a Christian in Germany, when we were reunited with my father after the war, my father insisted I be raised Jewish. My father has been dead for some years now, and I have finally gotten up the nerve to ask someone to speak some Christian words spoken over my mother’s grave, especially the words Jesus said, “Know the truth and the truth will set you free.” And then I told him the story of the brave and unconventional Canaanite woman, who saved the life of her daughter. “I did not know that story, “he said, “but I am sure my mother did. And so, please read that too at her gravesite.
And so one cold February afternoon, he and I stood at her grave and I said some words of Christian burial along with Jesus’ words about the truth and the story of one gutsy, determined Canaanite woman, who showed us what she was willing to do for the sake of her child. And though I am not one to romanticize motherhood, I do think there is something in that role which uniquely shows us what God in Jesus Christ is like, when suffering is taken on for the sake of others. What’s a mother to do? Sometimes she does what she has to do---even when it is outside the boundaries of convention.
Preached by: The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
August 20, 2023
Matthew 15: 21-28
Mothers do play a very substantial role in the Bible. In fact, motherhood is often the only role they are permitted to play---with some exceptions, of course. If the word barren were applied to you, because it was always deemed the fault of the woman if no child were conceived, well, your lot in life was pathetic---until God opened your womb, as the biblical text usually put it. Recall Sarah, Abraham’s wife, whose shame was overcome, when as an old woman, she finally conceived and bore Isaac. And then there was Hannah, who was beside herself with grief, because she had no child until she conceived Samuel, who became a prophet to the king. And what about Elizabeth, who in her old age, gave birth to John the Baptist? Of course, not all mothers in the bible were barren. There was Rebekah, a scheming mother, if ever there was one. She favored her younger son, Jacob, over the older one, Esau. The truth was Jacob was a lot brighter than his hotheaded older brother, who would give up his birthright for a bowl of soup. Rebekah undoubtedly realized where the talent lay, and so it was her idea to deceive Jacob into giving the paternal blessing to his younger son when it should have gone to Esau. And we all know about Mary, whose claim to fame was her motherhood of Jesus. As a youngster, growing up Presbyterian, Mary was not spoken of much, and to me she was just a boring mother, who never did anything all that interesting, except bear a child out of wedlock.
So here in our reading from Matthew, we have another mother, who is anything but boring. Jesus had been in Jewish territory, where he was healing and teaching, and the text tells us,”he left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon, which was gentile territory.” So, the decision to move into gentile territory was made by Jesus. And for what purpose? We should always remember that the gospel stories are not simply about Jesus and his place and time, but also about the community out of which the gospel emerged, and Matthew was writing to both gentile Christians and Jewish Christians, so he wanted to show his mixed community that Jesus was willing to embrace both Jews and gentiles, and they must do the same.
So, the story goes that this Canaanite woman approached Jesus, shouting, Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” She wanted healing for her daughter, who was tormented by a demon. Demons were blamed for all kinds of illnesses, so we don’t know specifically the daughter’s ailment. Now it is important to understand that women were not supposed to accost men in public. So, Jesus ignored her. It was only after his disciples told him to send her away that he told her he was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. Notice then that she knelt, a sign of great respect and deference, saying, Lord, help me. And then he called her daughter and her a dog. “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But notice that she did not make herself the center of the story by becoming insulted. It was not about her; it was all about the healing her daughter needed. So, even after the put-down she called him, Lord. “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” And then Jesus acknowledged that her faith was great. and her daughter was healed. The same story, by the way, is told in Mark’s gospel, but there, Jesus did not commend her faith, but rather on her cleverness. “For saying that,” he said, “you may go. The demon has left your daughter.” So, this woman, this mother, did what she had to do in order to take care of her daughter. She did what so many other mothers do when they face a major crisis and the normal rules---like not speaking to men in public--- are thrown away.
Last winter a man called me, and wanted me to say some words over his mother’s grave. She had died many years before and was buried by a rabbi in the Jewish section of the cemetery. “My father is Jewish,” he said, and I was raised Jewish, but when my mother died, my father was still alive, and he hid the fact that my mother was not Jewish. She was a German Lutheran, raised in Germany as my father was and me until I was 9. My father had left Germany to find work in England soon after Hitler came to power, and his intention was to get us out, but as Hitler’s grasp tightened over Germany, we never made it. People knew my mother was married to a Jew, so she came under heavy suspicion. And the war, well, it was horrible. I don’t have too many memories of it, because I was so young, but I do remember being very hungry and seeing people beaten, sometimes to death. My mother and I went to a big Lutheran Church in Berlin, where I do remember the Nazi flag flying. I asked my mother about it once, and she told me, “Hush, don’t speak of it.” So, I never did.
My mother was a very beautiful woman, and there were Nazi officers, who threatened to take me away, because they knew my father was Jewish. And so, to prevent that, she prostituted herself with a number of them, I would later learn. As an adult, she told me the whole ugly story. “I would have done anything to save you,” she said. Finally, some years after the war, we were reunited with my father in England and eventually we came to New York. I don’t know when my mother told my father the truth, but he did know it, though we never spoke of it. When she died, I mentioned it to him, and he was shocked that I knew. And I told him I was shocked that he knew. “Your mother,” he said, “was a guardian of the truth.”
But, my father was not. He insisted my mother be buried as a Jew, though she was Christian, faithfully attending a Lutheran Church on 5th Ave. every Sunday. And though I had been baptized as a Christian in Germany, when we were reunited with my father after the war, my father insisted I be raised Jewish. My father has been dead for some years now, and I have finally gotten up the nerve to ask someone to speak some Christian words spoken over my mother’s grave, especially the words Jesus said, “Know the truth and the truth will set you free.” And then I told him the story of the brave and unconventional Canaanite woman, who saved the life of her daughter. “I did not know that story, “he said, “but I am sure my mother did. And so, please read that too at her gravesite.
And so one cold February afternoon, he and I stood at her grave and I said some words of Christian burial along with Jesus’ words about the truth and the story of one gutsy, determined Canaanite woman, who showed us what she was willing to do for the sake of her child. And though I am not one to romanticize motherhood, I do think there is something in that role which uniquely shows us what God in Jesus Christ is like, when suffering is taken on for the sake of others. What’s a mother to do? Sometimes she does what she has to do---even when it is outside the boundaries of convention.
August 15, 2023
Dear Friends,
Survival is impressive. When we read or hear about people surviving incredibly difficult challenges, most of us take notice. We are moved by stories of people who recently survived the fire on Maui, some returning to their homes as the blaze raged about them, to retrieve beloved pets. I read about one young man, who helped an old woman, who could barely hobble along. But he talked her through the ordeal, telling her, “You can make it. You can do it. You have not come this far in life to give up now.” And, of course, who among us, has not been inspired by the citizens of Ukraine, as they stand up to Russian aggression? Yes, the will to survive is indeed impressive.
But recently I read about another kind of survival: trees. With the release of the movie, Oppenheimer, there is a great deal of interest generated about the dropping of the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. So, it was with fascination that I read about 170 trees in the Hiroshima blast zone, many of them still alive today. There are a number of different species, such as the Ginkgo and the Willow as well as others, but the Ginkgo is particularly hardy. It is a species native to China, and it boasts fan shaped leaves that in the fall become a stunning gold. The Ginkgo is one of the oldest and the most vibrant trees on our planet. Scientists tell us they survived the asteroid that most likely killed the dinosaurs, and they also survived the dropping of the bomb on Hiroshima, because their roots grow deeply into the earth’s soil, which afforded them protection from the immense heat of the blast, which was over 13,770 degrees Fahrenheit.
The Japanese have a term for persons, who survived the atomic blast, hibakusha, and the trees also have a name: hisbakujumoku. It has been 77 years since the bombing, and some of the trees have finally died, but there are others, still very much alive. The Green Legacy Hiroshima grows seedlings from the seeds of these surviving trees, and sends them all over the world, often to places that have survived terrible disaster, such as a fire. I would not be at all surprised is seedlings will be sent to Maui. But seedlings are also sent to nuclear nations as a reminder that PEACE is the goal, so nothing like Hiroshima or Nagasaki ever happens again.
One woman, Hideko Tamura Snider, was ten years old, when the bomb hit. Her mother’s, best friend and many of her relatives were killed in the blast. In 2003 she moved to Oregon and in 2017 she joined the Green Legacy. She goes around the state visiting the various peace trees that have been planted and she has planted 51 seeds herself. “I talk to the trees,” she said, “touching their leaves and giving them water. I feel their strength, and I let them know how glad I am that they are on this earth. Like them, I too have survived.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Survival is impressive. When we read or hear about people surviving incredibly difficult challenges, most of us take notice. We are moved by stories of people who recently survived the fire on Maui, some returning to their homes as the blaze raged about them, to retrieve beloved pets. I read about one young man, who helped an old woman, who could barely hobble along. But he talked her through the ordeal, telling her, “You can make it. You can do it. You have not come this far in life to give up now.” And, of course, who among us, has not been inspired by the citizens of Ukraine, as they stand up to Russian aggression? Yes, the will to survive is indeed impressive.
But recently I read about another kind of survival: trees. With the release of the movie, Oppenheimer, there is a great deal of interest generated about the dropping of the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. So, it was with fascination that I read about 170 trees in the Hiroshima blast zone, many of them still alive today. There are a number of different species, such as the Ginkgo and the Willow as well as others, but the Ginkgo is particularly hardy. It is a species native to China, and it boasts fan shaped leaves that in the fall become a stunning gold. The Ginkgo is one of the oldest and the most vibrant trees on our planet. Scientists tell us they survived the asteroid that most likely killed the dinosaurs, and they also survived the dropping of the bomb on Hiroshima, because their roots grow deeply into the earth’s soil, which afforded them protection from the immense heat of the blast, which was over 13,770 degrees Fahrenheit.
The Japanese have a term for persons, who survived the atomic blast, hibakusha, and the trees also have a name: hisbakujumoku. It has been 77 years since the bombing, and some of the trees have finally died, but there are others, still very much alive. The Green Legacy Hiroshima grows seedlings from the seeds of these surviving trees, and sends them all over the world, often to places that have survived terrible disaster, such as a fire. I would not be at all surprised is seedlings will be sent to Maui. But seedlings are also sent to nuclear nations as a reminder that PEACE is the goal, so nothing like Hiroshima or Nagasaki ever happens again.
One woman, Hideko Tamura Snider, was ten years old, when the bomb hit. Her mother’s, best friend and many of her relatives were killed in the blast. In 2003 she moved to Oregon and in 2017 she joined the Green Legacy. She goes around the state visiting the various peace trees that have been planted and she has planted 51 seeds herself. “I talk to the trees,” she said, “touching their leaves and giving them water. I feel their strength, and I let them know how glad I am that they are on this earth. Like them, I too have survived.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
“What Time Is It?
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville,
August 13, 2023
Genesis 37: 1-4; 12-28
Matthew 14: 22-33
I had a professor of New Testament, who told us it was important to pay attention to the time it is in the story. Is it early morning, before the break of day, when the night shadows still cross the sky? Or is it afternoon, when the heat and the glare of the sun are beginning to de-intensify. Is it in the pitch blackness of night, when the stars in the sky, unpolluted by the modern lights of the city, actually provide some light to the human beings who are out in the dark. “Pay attention to the time,” he would say, for the time of day or night actually might tell you something about what is going on. What can be seen in the light of day that is hidden by the night shadows? Or what do the night shadows tell us about human activity and decision?
When we consider the story of Joseph and his brothers, we are not told directly what time it is. Jacob sent Joseph out to find his brothers, totally insensitive to the jealously and resentment his favored treatment of Joseph caused. And that is the way it often is in families. Parents can be clueless. Now it would be reasonable to assume that Jacob sent Joseph out in the morning because he had a distance to walk, and by the time he found them, the sun was probably sinking lower in the sky, bringing cooler temperatures. Shepherds would often bring their flocks out to graze later in the day to avoid the blistering heat. And as the sun began to lower in the sky and the first hint of darkness began to appear, the brothers consider an evil plan---murdering Joseph, because he was their father’s favorite. The shadows of evening, which can hide the full truth, symbolize evil deeds and intentions in the making. But it was not completely dark. There was light in that Reuben had a plan to save Joseph. He would return to free his brother from the pit---except that Judah had the idea to sell him to the Ishmaelites. And so, Jacob would end up in Egypt, which is the beginning of the story of how the Jews came to be in Egypt, eventually becoming slaves and needing Moses to lead them out of their slavery.
In the text from Matthew, it reads early in the morning Jesus came walking on the water toward his disciples. The Greek, which is the original language of the gospels, says “the third watch,” which begins at 3 AM. So, Jesus was walking on water at an unsettling hour, a time we human beings are often assaulted by fears and worries that in the light of day do not seem so awful. At 3 AM depression weighs heavier on the heart and despair tempts the soul. F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in his short story, “The Crack Up,” “In the real dark night of the soul it is always 3 o’clock in the morning.”
Indeed, it is. Some years ago, while working in New Haven, I met this guy, who had served in the Army during the Iraqi War. He told me he used to interrogate suspected terrorists in the middle of the night. “Even the ideology of the most fanatical people weakens at 3 o’clock in the morning,” he said. Someone else told me how his wife left him and their three young children to run away with her new love. I remember her getting out of bed at 3 AM. “What are you doing?” I asked her. Just getting some juice to drink, she said. Though he went back to sleep, she never came back to bed. Later she told him, “It is easier to do the unthinkable at 3 o’clock in the morning.”
And so is it any wonder that when Jesus came walking across the water toward the disciples at that early morning hour, they did not recognize him. They could not clearly see who was there, and so gripped by fear, they thought it was a ghost. But this story is not simply about the disciples and Jesus; it is also about the community out of which Matthew’s gospel came, and this community too was gripped by fear and anxiety. This gospel was written about 10 years after the Romans had destroyed the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem in the year 70, and so the Jews had to find a new way to be Jews, and for them it was the synagogue movement---small religious gatherings, where they would study and ponder Torah. But other Jews joined the Christian movement, and they were trying to figure out how Jewish Christians and gentile Christians could be together and worship together.
Now we should note what has already happened in this chapter. King Herod had John the Baptist killed, and after learning of John’s death, Jesus wanted to be alone to ponder and pray. But he could not get away from the crowds, and so he taught and healed them. When it became late and the crowds were hungry, Jesus told his disciples to give the people something to eat, which they did, after Jesus blessed and broke the five loaves of bread and two fish. So, while Jesus is the source of the blessing, it is his followers who do the actual work of feeding the crowd. It was after this feeding of the 5000 that Jesus made his disciples get into the boat. That was his idea, not theirs. He wanted to be alone to pray, so he was not in the boat with them. There they were in the middle of the night, struggling to get across to the other side, but the winds are so strong, they are not making much progress.
Now what is this boat? It’s not just a boat; it is a symbol for the church, this newly constituted community of faith that in Matthew’s day and time was also struggling against strong headwinds—serious tensions between gentile Christians and Jewish Christians and persecution from the Romans. But what Matthew is trying to get across is that the boat as the church was not making progress not only because of all the tension, but also because there was a failure to recognize who Jesus is and what he asks his disciples to do. Consider what happened as Jesus walked across the water and Peter saw him---though Peter is not completely sure it is Jesus. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Now we get caught up in this so called miracle of nature, walking on water, but the essential point here is the movement out of the boat, out of the church, into the water, something which symbolizes an uncomfortable and difficult place to be. Jesus was not calling Peter to a place of comfort, but rather to a mission of discomfort, a place of new challenge and new possibility.
And such places are always hard for a church. In one of my former churches, there were some pretty strong disagreements about certain non church groups that would gather in front of the church to hand out food and socks and mittens and gift cards to the homeless. Sometimes the church property was left untidy with trash on the ground. And so, some people insisted such groups be banned. And yet others saw their presence as a movement beyond the church, making it available to others, who would never come inside the church to worship.
We all realize the difficult challenges churches these days are facing. What time is it? We are not sure, are we? We do not know what the future holds. In both the lesson from Genesis and from Matthew, notice the level of discomfort. Joseph was sold and ended up in Egypt, which began a whole new story. And in Matthew gospel, notice where Jesus is. While he made his disciples get into the boat, he did not get in with them. He came to them on the water, reminding his disciples and us that the comfortable and the familiar are not always the places Jesus calls us to be and remain.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville,
August 13, 2023
Genesis 37: 1-4; 12-28
Matthew 14: 22-33
I had a professor of New Testament, who told us it was important to pay attention to the time it is in the story. Is it early morning, before the break of day, when the night shadows still cross the sky? Or is it afternoon, when the heat and the glare of the sun are beginning to de-intensify. Is it in the pitch blackness of night, when the stars in the sky, unpolluted by the modern lights of the city, actually provide some light to the human beings who are out in the dark. “Pay attention to the time,” he would say, for the time of day or night actually might tell you something about what is going on. What can be seen in the light of day that is hidden by the night shadows? Or what do the night shadows tell us about human activity and decision?
When we consider the story of Joseph and his brothers, we are not told directly what time it is. Jacob sent Joseph out to find his brothers, totally insensitive to the jealously and resentment his favored treatment of Joseph caused. And that is the way it often is in families. Parents can be clueless. Now it would be reasonable to assume that Jacob sent Joseph out in the morning because he had a distance to walk, and by the time he found them, the sun was probably sinking lower in the sky, bringing cooler temperatures. Shepherds would often bring their flocks out to graze later in the day to avoid the blistering heat. And as the sun began to lower in the sky and the first hint of darkness began to appear, the brothers consider an evil plan---murdering Joseph, because he was their father’s favorite. The shadows of evening, which can hide the full truth, symbolize evil deeds and intentions in the making. But it was not completely dark. There was light in that Reuben had a plan to save Joseph. He would return to free his brother from the pit---except that Judah had the idea to sell him to the Ishmaelites. And so, Jacob would end up in Egypt, which is the beginning of the story of how the Jews came to be in Egypt, eventually becoming slaves and needing Moses to lead them out of their slavery.
In the text from Matthew, it reads early in the morning Jesus came walking on the water toward his disciples. The Greek, which is the original language of the gospels, says “the third watch,” which begins at 3 AM. So, Jesus was walking on water at an unsettling hour, a time we human beings are often assaulted by fears and worries that in the light of day do not seem so awful. At 3 AM depression weighs heavier on the heart and despair tempts the soul. F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in his short story, “The Crack Up,” “In the real dark night of the soul it is always 3 o’clock in the morning.”
Indeed, it is. Some years ago, while working in New Haven, I met this guy, who had served in the Army during the Iraqi War. He told me he used to interrogate suspected terrorists in the middle of the night. “Even the ideology of the most fanatical people weakens at 3 o’clock in the morning,” he said. Someone else told me how his wife left him and their three young children to run away with her new love. I remember her getting out of bed at 3 AM. “What are you doing?” I asked her. Just getting some juice to drink, she said. Though he went back to sleep, she never came back to bed. Later she told him, “It is easier to do the unthinkable at 3 o’clock in the morning.”
And so is it any wonder that when Jesus came walking across the water toward the disciples at that early morning hour, they did not recognize him. They could not clearly see who was there, and so gripped by fear, they thought it was a ghost. But this story is not simply about the disciples and Jesus; it is also about the community out of which Matthew’s gospel came, and this community too was gripped by fear and anxiety. This gospel was written about 10 years after the Romans had destroyed the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem in the year 70, and so the Jews had to find a new way to be Jews, and for them it was the synagogue movement---small religious gatherings, where they would study and ponder Torah. But other Jews joined the Christian movement, and they were trying to figure out how Jewish Christians and gentile Christians could be together and worship together.
Now we should note what has already happened in this chapter. King Herod had John the Baptist killed, and after learning of John’s death, Jesus wanted to be alone to ponder and pray. But he could not get away from the crowds, and so he taught and healed them. When it became late and the crowds were hungry, Jesus told his disciples to give the people something to eat, which they did, after Jesus blessed and broke the five loaves of bread and two fish. So, while Jesus is the source of the blessing, it is his followers who do the actual work of feeding the crowd. It was after this feeding of the 5000 that Jesus made his disciples get into the boat. That was his idea, not theirs. He wanted to be alone to pray, so he was not in the boat with them. There they were in the middle of the night, struggling to get across to the other side, but the winds are so strong, they are not making much progress.
Now what is this boat? It’s not just a boat; it is a symbol for the church, this newly constituted community of faith that in Matthew’s day and time was also struggling against strong headwinds—serious tensions between gentile Christians and Jewish Christians and persecution from the Romans. But what Matthew is trying to get across is that the boat as the church was not making progress not only because of all the tension, but also because there was a failure to recognize who Jesus is and what he asks his disciples to do. Consider what happened as Jesus walked across the water and Peter saw him---though Peter is not completely sure it is Jesus. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Now we get caught up in this so called miracle of nature, walking on water, but the essential point here is the movement out of the boat, out of the church, into the water, something which symbolizes an uncomfortable and difficult place to be. Jesus was not calling Peter to a place of comfort, but rather to a mission of discomfort, a place of new challenge and new possibility.
And such places are always hard for a church. In one of my former churches, there were some pretty strong disagreements about certain non church groups that would gather in front of the church to hand out food and socks and mittens and gift cards to the homeless. Sometimes the church property was left untidy with trash on the ground. And so, some people insisted such groups be banned. And yet others saw their presence as a movement beyond the church, making it available to others, who would never come inside the church to worship.
We all realize the difficult challenges churches these days are facing. What time is it? We are not sure, are we? We do not know what the future holds. In both the lesson from Genesis and from Matthew, notice the level of discomfort. Joseph was sold and ended up in Egypt, which began a whole new story. And in Matthew gospel, notice where Jesus is. While he made his disciples get into the boat, he did not get in with them. He came to them on the water, reminding his disciples and us that the comfortable and the familiar are not always the places Jesus calls us to be and remain.
August 3, 2023
Dear Friends,
Though Jesus told us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, none of us has an easy time doing so. And when he also commands that we forgive over and over again, well, that too is almost more than we can bear to do. While all the major religions speak of love and forgiveness, Jesus may be unique in his insistence that loving and forgiving the enemy are commands. Can you imagine telling the Japanese right after the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki that they must forgive the United States? Well, we would not have done any better if we were given the same directive after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. And what about the Jews and the Germans? My brother in laws’ parents, who were Jewish, refused to set foot in Germany and Austria. They had no interest in forgiving their enemies for what had been done to the Jews during the Second World War.
Praying for enemies is very spiritually challenging, to say the least, and when the enemy is a nation, which is fighting a war against your own country and way of life, then the spiritual challenge rises to overwhelming. And yet this is precisely what the nation of Ukraine is now facing. Many Ukrainians are members of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate, whose liturgy includes prayers for Patriarch Krill of Moscow, who has thrown his support behind Putin and the war against Ukraine. But as one member of an Orthodox Church, tied to Russia, said, “The Bible says if a person has lost his way and is a sinner, we can still pray for him or her.” The church member is a soldier fighting for Ukraine, but he still loves his church, and he still prays for the Patriarch Krill. Last April a number of Ukrainian priests were arrested because of these ties to the Russian Church, which left security forces wondering about their loyalty to Ukraine. But, as one of the arrested priests said, “I have never been on the side of aggression, and I never will be.”
There are “independent” Ukrainian Orthodox churches and about four years ago they were granted autocephaly by Patriarch Bartholomew of Constantinople, head of Eastern Orthodoxy. The move was rejected by Moscow, and since the invasion of Ukraine by Russia more churches and their priests have made moves to join the independent movement and cut ties with Russia. Not only is Moscow unhappy with such desires, but also members of the church complain that politics sometimes takes over the church. People are loyal to their church, but they also feel a deep loyalty to their nation, and they don’t want to have the latter questioned simply because their church is connected to the Moscow Patriarchate. They make distinctions and separations, and they don’t understand why others cannot do the same. But others don’t and can’t. Someone said, “I cannot trust a person who says they are pro-Ukrainian and still goes to the Moscow church. This person is hiding something in himself.”
Yet there are others who insist they have nothing to hide. One elderly church member said, “I am the person who loves everyone. But there are people here who hate everyone. But God is love, and God will decide who is right and who is wrong.” In the meantime, she continues to love her Russian affiliated church as she waits, hopes and prays for the war to end.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Though Jesus told us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, none of us has an easy time doing so. And when he also commands that we forgive over and over again, well, that too is almost more than we can bear to do. While all the major religions speak of love and forgiveness, Jesus may be unique in his insistence that loving and forgiving the enemy are commands. Can you imagine telling the Japanese right after the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki that they must forgive the United States? Well, we would not have done any better if we were given the same directive after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. And what about the Jews and the Germans? My brother in laws’ parents, who were Jewish, refused to set foot in Germany and Austria. They had no interest in forgiving their enemies for what had been done to the Jews during the Second World War.
Praying for enemies is very spiritually challenging, to say the least, and when the enemy is a nation, which is fighting a war against your own country and way of life, then the spiritual challenge rises to overwhelming. And yet this is precisely what the nation of Ukraine is now facing. Many Ukrainians are members of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate, whose liturgy includes prayers for Patriarch Krill of Moscow, who has thrown his support behind Putin and the war against Ukraine. But as one member of an Orthodox Church, tied to Russia, said, “The Bible says if a person has lost his way and is a sinner, we can still pray for him or her.” The church member is a soldier fighting for Ukraine, but he still loves his church, and he still prays for the Patriarch Krill. Last April a number of Ukrainian priests were arrested because of these ties to the Russian Church, which left security forces wondering about their loyalty to Ukraine. But, as one of the arrested priests said, “I have never been on the side of aggression, and I never will be.”
There are “independent” Ukrainian Orthodox churches and about four years ago they were granted autocephaly by Patriarch Bartholomew of Constantinople, head of Eastern Orthodoxy. The move was rejected by Moscow, and since the invasion of Ukraine by Russia more churches and their priests have made moves to join the independent movement and cut ties with Russia. Not only is Moscow unhappy with such desires, but also members of the church complain that politics sometimes takes over the church. People are loyal to their church, but they also feel a deep loyalty to their nation, and they don’t want to have the latter questioned simply because their church is connected to the Moscow Patriarchate. They make distinctions and separations, and they don’t understand why others cannot do the same. But others don’t and can’t. Someone said, “I cannot trust a person who says they are pro-Ukrainian and still goes to the Moscow church. This person is hiding something in himself.”
Yet there are others who insist they have nothing to hide. One elderly church member said, “I am the person who loves everyone. But there are people here who hate everyone. But God is love, and God will decide who is right and who is wrong.” In the meantime, she continues to love her Russian affiliated church as she waits, hopes and prays for the war to end.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
The Wounds that Mark Us
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
August 6, 2023
Genesis 32: 22-31
Matthew 5: 43-48
When Jacob walked away from his encounter with God, or perhaps it was God’s angel, he was wounded, hit in the thigh, so he limped away. The wound, I think, was intended to be permanent, a reminder that wrestling with God has a price, even if at the end, one achieves a kind of victory, as Jacob, whose new name became Israel, surely did. He received his blessing, but he limped away, a wounded man. Recall the resurrection story, when Jesus was with his disciples in a room and Thomas, who would not believe, unless he could see and touch the wound in Jesus’ side and the nail imprints on his hands and feet. And so, Jesus showed Thomas the wounds he still bore even after his resurrection. The story is existentially true, because that is how life often is. We live through the harrowing times; we come out on the other end of all the struggle, but we carry the wounds, and in some way those wounds mark us. They tell our story, what we have lived through and what we have survived. I recall some years ago, reading a book about FDR and how though he was wounded deeply by polio, it also made him who he became, one of our greatest Presidents.
Today is the 77th anniversary of the dropping of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and then three days later on August 9, another bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. There is a great deal of interest in this history, because of the recent release of the movie, Oppenheimer. Oppenheimer, a brilliant physicist and the faither of the atomic bomb, did have his wounds, “blood on my hands,” he said. That guilt marked him for the rest of his life, and it was not only because of what Japan suffered, but also because of what the atomic bomb unleashed---a world awash in bombs and an arms race that could destroy the world many times over.
Oppenheimer would have preferred the bomb be dropped on Germany, perhaps, because as a Jew, he had a score to settle with the Nazis. Germany had surrendered on May 8, 1945, and apparently Oppenheimer had some ambivalence about the bomb being used on Japan, though unlike some physicists, he was not categorically opposed. I doubt he knew that Japan was working through Russia to surrender. The Japanese, however, were a proud people, and their high command was fanatical. One of them said, “Would it not be wondrous for the whole nation to be destroyed like a beautiful flower?” He said this AFTER the dropping of the second bomb on Nagasaki. The six member Supreme War Council had met, and was deadlocked 3 to 3 about a surrender; unanimity was required and so the war went on for a few more days. It was finally the Emperor, who decided to surrender, and when the Council learned of his intention, there was an attempted coup with soldiers racing through the palace in search for the recorded surrender speech, which was to be given the next day. But it was hidden with the Empress’s ladies and was never found by the soldiers.
The Secretary of War, Henry Stimson, described as a kindly gentleman, from the very beginning of the Manhattan Project in 1942, functioned as a kind of chairman of the board. Known for his moral probity, he believed in a law of moral progress, most likely enforced by people who looked like him, white and male. He had agonized over the firebombing of Tokyo and the German city of Dresden as well as Hiroshima and Nagasaki---all civilian targets. Is it any wonder that General Curtis Le May , whose Bomber Command had burned and scorched dozens of Japanese cities with firebombs, said “If we lose this war, we are going on trial as war criminals.” Stimson was the one who decided that Hiroshima and NOT the ancient capital of Kyoto would be the target of the atomic bomb, and on August 8, two days after the bombing, when Stimson showed President Truman the aerial photographs of the destruction, Stimson suffered a mild heart attack. In his diary he noted that besides Hiroshima three other cities were slated for bombing. But when Truman saw the destruction, he said after Nagasaki---no more atomic bombs will be dropped unless I say so.
We know that war is a terrible thing, and we also know it leaves scars and wounds that never fully heal. My father in law was a professor in the Graduate School of Education at Harvard, and he worked with a high school history teacher on a project about critical thinking on issues in American history. Len, the teacher, was the navigator on the Enola Gay, the plane that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. Just so you know, it is the navigator who finally takes over the controls from the pilot as the plane nears the bomb site, and it is the navigator who releases the bomb. My father in law said Len carried a deep wound about the part he played in the dropping of the bomb. There was something off about the man, my father in law claimed. He was smart as a whip, but he had in him this deep anger mixed with deep sadness.
There was then and there still is now a great deal of controversy about whether or not the bomb should have been dropped. General Eisenhower, for example, was opposed, believing it to be morally indefensible to target civilians. The Japanese, he said, are near surrender. They are starving. But others believed there would be no quick surrender from fanatics, and southeast Asians, under brutal Japanese occupation, were dying at a rate of 250,000/day. Even without an American invasion of the Japanese island, some estimated millions of lives would be saved by the dropping of the bomb.
The calculus is impossible to predict. If we did not drop the bomb, we have no idea how many lives would have been lost or saved. But we know what he did, and we should face that truth without pretending that the decision was an obvious or an easy one to make. There are arguments on both sides. The brutal incineration of 200,000 civilians is difficult, some would say, impossible to justify. And there are those who claim that the primary reason the bomb was dropped was for the benefit of Russia---to show the Russians, who were fast becoming our new enemy, what kind of weapon we had.
We know what Jesus taught about loving our enemies, but though Jesus’ teachings do have profound political implications of which Jesus was certainly aware, he was not a political leader. He was not tasked with the burden of making decisions about how a nation should conduct itself in an armed conflict it did not begin. Jesus commands us to be perfect, but how can we be perfect in an imperfect world? That we ended World War ll in an imperfect way, by dropping two atomic bombs on civilian populations---the only nation that has ever used such weapons--- certainly leaves us in a morally compromised position. And we should not be afraid to admit that. We might prefer to think of ourselves as the righteous ones, but we are better served by the recognition that history and the truths it teaches are often ambiguous and sometimes morally troubling. And if that recognition leaves us with wounds, so be it. Then we must bear them. This is the nature of the human condition, and in a time when so many people want only a sanitized version of history taught, we would do well to recognize that sanitized history also leaves us wounded. There is no escaping the wounds. They mark us. The question is: What kinds of wounds---the ones that come from facing the ambiguity of history or the ones that come from denial of the truth?
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
August 6, 2023
Genesis 32: 22-31
Matthew 5: 43-48
When Jacob walked away from his encounter with God, or perhaps it was God’s angel, he was wounded, hit in the thigh, so he limped away. The wound, I think, was intended to be permanent, a reminder that wrestling with God has a price, even if at the end, one achieves a kind of victory, as Jacob, whose new name became Israel, surely did. He received his blessing, but he limped away, a wounded man. Recall the resurrection story, when Jesus was with his disciples in a room and Thomas, who would not believe, unless he could see and touch the wound in Jesus’ side and the nail imprints on his hands and feet. And so, Jesus showed Thomas the wounds he still bore even after his resurrection. The story is existentially true, because that is how life often is. We live through the harrowing times; we come out on the other end of all the struggle, but we carry the wounds, and in some way those wounds mark us. They tell our story, what we have lived through and what we have survived. I recall some years ago, reading a book about FDR and how though he was wounded deeply by polio, it also made him who he became, one of our greatest Presidents.
Today is the 77th anniversary of the dropping of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and then three days later on August 9, another bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. There is a great deal of interest in this history, because of the recent release of the movie, Oppenheimer. Oppenheimer, a brilliant physicist and the faither of the atomic bomb, did have his wounds, “blood on my hands,” he said. That guilt marked him for the rest of his life, and it was not only because of what Japan suffered, but also because of what the atomic bomb unleashed---a world awash in bombs and an arms race that could destroy the world many times over.
Oppenheimer would have preferred the bomb be dropped on Germany, perhaps, because as a Jew, he had a score to settle with the Nazis. Germany had surrendered on May 8, 1945, and apparently Oppenheimer had some ambivalence about the bomb being used on Japan, though unlike some physicists, he was not categorically opposed. I doubt he knew that Japan was working through Russia to surrender. The Japanese, however, were a proud people, and their high command was fanatical. One of them said, “Would it not be wondrous for the whole nation to be destroyed like a beautiful flower?” He said this AFTER the dropping of the second bomb on Nagasaki. The six member Supreme War Council had met, and was deadlocked 3 to 3 about a surrender; unanimity was required and so the war went on for a few more days. It was finally the Emperor, who decided to surrender, and when the Council learned of his intention, there was an attempted coup with soldiers racing through the palace in search for the recorded surrender speech, which was to be given the next day. But it was hidden with the Empress’s ladies and was never found by the soldiers.
The Secretary of War, Henry Stimson, described as a kindly gentleman, from the very beginning of the Manhattan Project in 1942, functioned as a kind of chairman of the board. Known for his moral probity, he believed in a law of moral progress, most likely enforced by people who looked like him, white and male. He had agonized over the firebombing of Tokyo and the German city of Dresden as well as Hiroshima and Nagasaki---all civilian targets. Is it any wonder that General Curtis Le May , whose Bomber Command had burned and scorched dozens of Japanese cities with firebombs, said “If we lose this war, we are going on trial as war criminals.” Stimson was the one who decided that Hiroshima and NOT the ancient capital of Kyoto would be the target of the atomic bomb, and on August 8, two days after the bombing, when Stimson showed President Truman the aerial photographs of the destruction, Stimson suffered a mild heart attack. In his diary he noted that besides Hiroshima three other cities were slated for bombing. But when Truman saw the destruction, he said after Nagasaki---no more atomic bombs will be dropped unless I say so.
We know that war is a terrible thing, and we also know it leaves scars and wounds that never fully heal. My father in law was a professor in the Graduate School of Education at Harvard, and he worked with a high school history teacher on a project about critical thinking on issues in American history. Len, the teacher, was the navigator on the Enola Gay, the plane that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. Just so you know, it is the navigator who finally takes over the controls from the pilot as the plane nears the bomb site, and it is the navigator who releases the bomb. My father in law said Len carried a deep wound about the part he played in the dropping of the bomb. There was something off about the man, my father in law claimed. He was smart as a whip, but he had in him this deep anger mixed with deep sadness.
There was then and there still is now a great deal of controversy about whether or not the bomb should have been dropped. General Eisenhower, for example, was opposed, believing it to be morally indefensible to target civilians. The Japanese, he said, are near surrender. They are starving. But others believed there would be no quick surrender from fanatics, and southeast Asians, under brutal Japanese occupation, were dying at a rate of 250,000/day. Even without an American invasion of the Japanese island, some estimated millions of lives would be saved by the dropping of the bomb.
The calculus is impossible to predict. If we did not drop the bomb, we have no idea how many lives would have been lost or saved. But we know what he did, and we should face that truth without pretending that the decision was an obvious or an easy one to make. There are arguments on both sides. The brutal incineration of 200,000 civilians is difficult, some would say, impossible to justify. And there are those who claim that the primary reason the bomb was dropped was for the benefit of Russia---to show the Russians, who were fast becoming our new enemy, what kind of weapon we had.
We know what Jesus taught about loving our enemies, but though Jesus’ teachings do have profound political implications of which Jesus was certainly aware, he was not a political leader. He was not tasked with the burden of making decisions about how a nation should conduct itself in an armed conflict it did not begin. Jesus commands us to be perfect, but how can we be perfect in an imperfect world? That we ended World War ll in an imperfect way, by dropping two atomic bombs on civilian populations---the only nation that has ever used such weapons--- certainly leaves us in a morally compromised position. And we should not be afraid to admit that. We might prefer to think of ourselves as the righteous ones, but we are better served by the recognition that history and the truths it teaches are often ambiguous and sometimes morally troubling. And if that recognition leaves us with wounds, so be it. Then we must bear them. This is the nature of the human condition, and in a time when so many people want only a sanitized version of history taught, we would do well to recognize that sanitized history also leaves us wounded. There is no escaping the wounds. They mark us. The question is: What kinds of wounds---the ones that come from facing the ambiguity of history or the ones that come from denial of the truth?
August 3, 202
Dear Friends,
Though Jesus told us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, none of us has an easy time doing so. And when he also commands that we forgive over and over again, well, that too is almost more than we can bear to do. While all the major religions speak of love and forgiveness, Jesus may be unique in his insistence that loving and forgiving the enemy are commands. Can you imagine telling the Japanese right after the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki that they must forgive the United States? Well, we would not have done any better if we were given the same directive after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. And what about the Jews and the Germans? My brother in laws’ parents, who were Jewish, refused to set foot in Germany and Austria. They had no interest in forgiving their enemies for what had been done to the Jews during the Second World War.
Praying for enemies is very spiritually challenging, to say the least, and when the enemy is a nation, which is fighting a war against your own country and way of life, then the spiritual challenge rises to overwhelming. And yet this is precisely what the nation of Ukraine is now facing. Many Ukrainians are members of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate, whose liturgy includes prayers for Patriarch Krill of Moscow, who has thrown his support behind Putin and the war against Ukraine. But as one member of an Orthodox Church, tied to Russia, said, “The Bible says if a person has lost his way and is a sinner, we can still pray for him or her.” The church member is a soldier fighting for Ukraine, but he still loves his church, and he still prays for the Patriarch Krill. Last April a number of Ukrainian priests were arrested because of these ties to the Russian Church, which left security forces wondering about their loyalty to Ukraine. But, as one of the arrested priests said, “I have never been on the side of aggression, and I never will be.”
There are “independent” Ukrainian Orthodox churches and about four years ago they were granted autocephaly by Patriarch Bartholomew of Constantinople, head of Eastern Orthodoxy. The move was rejected by Moscow, and since the invasion of Ukraine by Russia more churches and their priests have made moves to join the independent movement and cut ties with Russia. Not only is Moscow unhappy with such desires, but also members of the church complain that politics sometimes takes over the church. People are loyal to their church, but they also feel a deep loyalty to their nation, and they don’t want to have the latter questioned simply because their church is connected to the Moscow Patriarchate. They make distinctions and separations, and they don’t understand why others cannot do the same. But others don’t and can’t. Someone said, “I cannot trust a person who says they are pro-Ukrainian and still goes to the Moscow church. This person is hiding something in himself.”
Yet there are others who insist they have nothing to hide. One elderly church member said, “I am the person who loves everyone. But there are people here who hate everyone. But God is love, and God will decide who is right and who is wrong.” In the meantime, she continues to love her Russian affiliated church as she waits, hopes and prays for the war to end.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Though Jesus told us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, none of us has an easy time doing so. And when he also commands that we forgive over and over again, well, that too is almost more than we can bear to do. While all the major religions speak of love and forgiveness, Jesus may be unique in his insistence that loving and forgiving the enemy are commands. Can you imagine telling the Japanese right after the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki that they must forgive the United States? Well, we would not have done any better if we were given the same directive after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. And what about the Jews and the Germans? My brother in laws’ parents, who were Jewish, refused to set foot in Germany and Austria. They had no interest in forgiving their enemies for what had been done to the Jews during the Second World War.
Praying for enemies is very spiritually challenging, to say the least, and when the enemy is a nation, which is fighting a war against your own country and way of life, then the spiritual challenge rises to overwhelming. And yet this is precisely what the nation of Ukraine is now facing. Many Ukrainians are members of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate, whose liturgy includes prayers for Patriarch Krill of Moscow, who has thrown his support behind Putin and the war against Ukraine. But as one member of an Orthodox Church, tied to Russia, said, “The Bible says if a person has lost his way and is a sinner, we can still pray for him or her.” The church member is a soldier fighting for Ukraine, but he still loves his church, and he still prays for the Patriarch Krill. Last April a number of Ukrainian priests were arrested because of these ties to the Russian Church, which left security forces wondering about their loyalty to Ukraine. But, as one of the arrested priests said, “I have never been on the side of aggression, and I never will be.”
There are “independent” Ukrainian Orthodox churches and about four years ago they were granted autocephaly by Patriarch Bartholomew of Constantinople, head of Eastern Orthodoxy. The move was rejected by Moscow, and since the invasion of Ukraine by Russia more churches and their priests have made moves to join the independent movement and cut ties with Russia. Not only is Moscow unhappy with such desires, but also members of the church complain that politics sometimes takes over the church. People are loyal to their church, but they also feel a deep loyalty to their nation, and they don’t want to have the latter questioned simply because their church is connected to the Moscow Patriarchate. They make distinctions and separations, and they don’t understand why others cannot do the same. But others don’t and can’t. Someone said, “I cannot trust a person who says they are pro-Ukrainian and still goes to the Moscow church. This person is hiding something in himself.”
Yet there are others who insist they have nothing to hide. One elderly church member said, “I am the person who loves everyone. But there are people here who hate everyone. But God is love, and God will decide who is right and who is wrong.” In the meantime, she continues to love her Russian affiliated church as she waits, hopes and prays for the war to end.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
THE PROVIDENCE OF GOD
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
July 30, 2023
Matthew 13: 31-33; 44-52
Romans 8: 26-39
December 1, 2010 was a terrible weather day---rain pummeled the streets and wind pummeled the rain. The day before had been beautiful and so too the day after, but as luck would have it, December 1 was the evening my daughter and I had tickets to the Metropolitan Opera in New York City to see Puccini’s La Boheme, our favorite opera. I drove as I always do, but unfortunately, my Buick Rendezvous, which was an all wheel drive car, was in the shop, because its AWD was disabled, so I drove my mini-van, which was not nearly as good in bad weather---particularly wet, windy weather. It was miserable going on the Merritt Parkway, but as I moved closer to New York the rain let up, and so traffic was moving more quickly. I was probably traveling between 40 and 45 miles an hour, in the left hand lane, when, around a curve my rear wheels began to slide; the rear of the car then hit the left hand guard rail, which sent the car into a 360 degree spin. I spun around and across the road, from left to right, hitting the right side guard rail head on. The car, however, had thankfully lost speed in its spin, so the air bags did not even go off. We were fine, though my car was not. This was around 6:30 on a Wednesday evening; there were cars all around me, but I hit no one and no one hit me. As we sat there, waiting for help, while cars whizzed by us, my daughter said, “It’s a miracle we’re o.k.” Well, I responded, it could be just dumb luck.
Luck, or was it what Christians call the providence of God---meaning God’s care of and management of all things, according, as the Westminster Confession of faith says, to the “immutable counsel of His own will.” But if we give God credit for providing all the good things, what do we do with the bad things? Every day there are car accidents all across this country, and sometimes people die—including children and teens. What is God up to with them? Our Puritan forebears and before them, John Calvin, the great theological architect of the Reformed tradition, affirmed that nothing happens without God’s consent and absolute control, which can make it seem as if God ordains, that is commands everything that happens. For the traditional Calvinist there is no such thing as luck. Perhaps a modern way to put this is to say, “Everything happens for a reason.” Well, as far as I am concerned, the reason I had the accident was because I took the corner too fast for conditions; I should have been driving more slowly. It was my mistake. I don’t think God had anything to do with the reason for my accident. But what God was doing during the accident---well, that is another question.
I am struck, for example, by how totally calm I was during and even after the accident. I was completely without any fear, and I do wonder if my calmness was perhaps my responsiveness to God. If God is always present with us and to us, is it not possible that there are times, even instantaneous moments, when we are more receptive to God’s grace than at other times. We may not even be conscious of it. Though my accident happened very quickly, I do remember explicitly thinking that I should not slam on my brakes; it will just make matters worse. I also remember holding onto the steering wheel very deliberately, focusing my attention on where the car was heading.
Now my husband is a molecular biologist, so he always sees things through the lens of biology. In a crisis, he said, there is a fight or flight response. You could not flee from the accident, he insisted, so you fought your way through it by staying focused and not panicking. It is part of our survival instinct, he pointed out. I believe it is; that’s how we are made, but that does not argue against God’s involvement and participation in the events in our lives. After all, Christianity says we are made for God, which means that we are made to respond to God---even though so often we do not. Our lives are often filled with noise, which distracts us, and as we travel down life’s path, blockages do get in our way---sometimes we put them there; sometimes others put them there, making it harder for us to receive what God would offer. Panic, for example, can be a blockage; when we panic, we not only fail to think clearly, but we also may fail to be receptive to God’s presence in our lives.
Paul in his Letter to the Romans, wrote, “All things work together for good, for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” Now this does not mean that everything, which happens is God’s will. It does not mean that everything happens for a reason. There are mistakes and accidents. God, for example, did not decide to let Babylon destroy Jerusalem and its beautiful Temple in order to make the Jews a light to the nations. It does not mean that the Holocaust or Pearl Harbor, or Hiroshima or 9/11 was God’s will, but it does suggest that in every situation, even those which are in rebellion against God’s will---God is yet working toward the good, moving the creation toward the good. Our human vision is limited; we see in linear time; we see what is before us in the moment, but God sees eternally; past, present and future are held at once, and from eternity’s viewpoint, God’s victory and goodness are assured.
During the Second World War as Great Britain fought for its life against the German Luftwaffe, one evening as planes flew over northern England, headed for the city of Durham, a mysterious mist was said to have suddenly settled over and around the town, concealing it from the German bombers. God saved the cathedral, the people exclaimed in jubilation. It stands as a sign of God’s providence. But on November 14, 1940, another city, Coventry, which also boasted a beautiful cathedral, was completely destroyed. No divine mist covered Coventry and its cathedral that day.
The next morning, November 15, the Provost of the cathedral, Richard Howard, and some other church members walked through the rubble. One of them was Jock Forbes, a stonemason and caretaker of the church grounds. Looking through the rubble, Jock found two charred beams from the 14th century roof. Fastening them into the shape of a cross, he planted the cross in a mound of rubble. A few days later a local priest, A.P. Wade found three nails from the roof and formed them into a cross. The stonemason then built a stone altar and placed it where the old altar had once stood with these words inscribed: “Father, forgive.” And I don’t think they were only referring to the Germans who bombed them. The charred cross, made from the roof’s wooden beams, was placed behind the altar and the cross, made from the three nails was placed upon the altar.
People speak of God’s providence when they are saved from crippling defeats and destruction as the city of Durham or even my little car accident. But providence can also be seen in the midst of defeat and destruction, when two people pick up two beams of charred wood and three nails and each fashions them into a cross, placing them on an altar inscribed with three words: Father, forgive. “All things work together for good for those who love God,” writes Paul, not because God wills all things to happen, not because all things which happen are good, but because there is no thing, no place, no horror that God’s love cannot reach or touch. The providence of God cannot be proven; you cannot argue anyone into believing it. Providence is only hoped for, believed in and seen through and with the eyes of faith. It was faith that encouraged those people from Coventry to make from wood and nails the crosses and a stone altar and then ask God to forgive.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
July 30, 2023
Matthew 13: 31-33; 44-52
Romans 8: 26-39
December 1, 2010 was a terrible weather day---rain pummeled the streets and wind pummeled the rain. The day before had been beautiful and so too the day after, but as luck would have it, December 1 was the evening my daughter and I had tickets to the Metropolitan Opera in New York City to see Puccini’s La Boheme, our favorite opera. I drove as I always do, but unfortunately, my Buick Rendezvous, which was an all wheel drive car, was in the shop, because its AWD was disabled, so I drove my mini-van, which was not nearly as good in bad weather---particularly wet, windy weather. It was miserable going on the Merritt Parkway, but as I moved closer to New York the rain let up, and so traffic was moving more quickly. I was probably traveling between 40 and 45 miles an hour, in the left hand lane, when, around a curve my rear wheels began to slide; the rear of the car then hit the left hand guard rail, which sent the car into a 360 degree spin. I spun around and across the road, from left to right, hitting the right side guard rail head on. The car, however, had thankfully lost speed in its spin, so the air bags did not even go off. We were fine, though my car was not. This was around 6:30 on a Wednesday evening; there were cars all around me, but I hit no one and no one hit me. As we sat there, waiting for help, while cars whizzed by us, my daughter said, “It’s a miracle we’re o.k.” Well, I responded, it could be just dumb luck.
Luck, or was it what Christians call the providence of God---meaning God’s care of and management of all things, according, as the Westminster Confession of faith says, to the “immutable counsel of His own will.” But if we give God credit for providing all the good things, what do we do with the bad things? Every day there are car accidents all across this country, and sometimes people die—including children and teens. What is God up to with them? Our Puritan forebears and before them, John Calvin, the great theological architect of the Reformed tradition, affirmed that nothing happens without God’s consent and absolute control, which can make it seem as if God ordains, that is commands everything that happens. For the traditional Calvinist there is no such thing as luck. Perhaps a modern way to put this is to say, “Everything happens for a reason.” Well, as far as I am concerned, the reason I had the accident was because I took the corner too fast for conditions; I should have been driving more slowly. It was my mistake. I don’t think God had anything to do with the reason for my accident. But what God was doing during the accident---well, that is another question.
I am struck, for example, by how totally calm I was during and even after the accident. I was completely without any fear, and I do wonder if my calmness was perhaps my responsiveness to God. If God is always present with us and to us, is it not possible that there are times, even instantaneous moments, when we are more receptive to God’s grace than at other times. We may not even be conscious of it. Though my accident happened very quickly, I do remember explicitly thinking that I should not slam on my brakes; it will just make matters worse. I also remember holding onto the steering wheel very deliberately, focusing my attention on where the car was heading.
Now my husband is a molecular biologist, so he always sees things through the lens of biology. In a crisis, he said, there is a fight or flight response. You could not flee from the accident, he insisted, so you fought your way through it by staying focused and not panicking. It is part of our survival instinct, he pointed out. I believe it is; that’s how we are made, but that does not argue against God’s involvement and participation in the events in our lives. After all, Christianity says we are made for God, which means that we are made to respond to God---even though so often we do not. Our lives are often filled with noise, which distracts us, and as we travel down life’s path, blockages do get in our way---sometimes we put them there; sometimes others put them there, making it harder for us to receive what God would offer. Panic, for example, can be a blockage; when we panic, we not only fail to think clearly, but we also may fail to be receptive to God’s presence in our lives.
Paul in his Letter to the Romans, wrote, “All things work together for good, for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” Now this does not mean that everything, which happens is God’s will. It does not mean that everything happens for a reason. There are mistakes and accidents. God, for example, did not decide to let Babylon destroy Jerusalem and its beautiful Temple in order to make the Jews a light to the nations. It does not mean that the Holocaust or Pearl Harbor, or Hiroshima or 9/11 was God’s will, but it does suggest that in every situation, even those which are in rebellion against God’s will---God is yet working toward the good, moving the creation toward the good. Our human vision is limited; we see in linear time; we see what is before us in the moment, but God sees eternally; past, present and future are held at once, and from eternity’s viewpoint, God’s victory and goodness are assured.
During the Second World War as Great Britain fought for its life against the German Luftwaffe, one evening as planes flew over northern England, headed for the city of Durham, a mysterious mist was said to have suddenly settled over and around the town, concealing it from the German bombers. God saved the cathedral, the people exclaimed in jubilation. It stands as a sign of God’s providence. But on November 14, 1940, another city, Coventry, which also boasted a beautiful cathedral, was completely destroyed. No divine mist covered Coventry and its cathedral that day.
The next morning, November 15, the Provost of the cathedral, Richard Howard, and some other church members walked through the rubble. One of them was Jock Forbes, a stonemason and caretaker of the church grounds. Looking through the rubble, Jock found two charred beams from the 14th century roof. Fastening them into the shape of a cross, he planted the cross in a mound of rubble. A few days later a local priest, A.P. Wade found three nails from the roof and formed them into a cross. The stonemason then built a stone altar and placed it where the old altar had once stood with these words inscribed: “Father, forgive.” And I don’t think they were only referring to the Germans who bombed them. The charred cross, made from the roof’s wooden beams, was placed behind the altar and the cross, made from the three nails was placed upon the altar.
People speak of God’s providence when they are saved from crippling defeats and destruction as the city of Durham or even my little car accident. But providence can also be seen in the midst of defeat and destruction, when two people pick up two beams of charred wood and three nails and each fashions them into a cross, placing them on an altar inscribed with three words: Father, forgive. “All things work together for good for those who love God,” writes Paul, not because God wills all things to happen, not because all things which happen are good, but because there is no thing, no place, no horror that God’s love cannot reach or touch. The providence of God cannot be proven; you cannot argue anyone into believing it. Providence is only hoped for, believed in and seen through and with the eyes of faith. It was faith that encouraged those people from Coventry to make from wood and nails the crosses and a stone altar and then ask God to forgive.
July 25, 202
Dear Friends,
I have a t-shirt, which reads: In a World Where You Can Be Anything, Be Kind.” There are times we feel discouraged about a world that appears to display a lack of kindness, especially when we hear or read the news about all the cruel and horrible things human beings do to one another. But a recent study coming from UCLA, directed by Giovanni Rossi, a sociologist at the University, shows that human beings actually are more cooperative and kinder than previous studies have indicated. Other studies have tended to emphasize the difference in rules and behaviors that issue in varied standards of cooperation. So, the conclusion was that pro-social behavior was dependent upon the particular norms of the culture. But the current study, whose findings were published in a journal called, Scientific Reports, found that cross culturally human beings are very much willing to help.
The aid and help that was studied was on the normal range of life, what is called the micro level or low cost decisions The study was not looking at behaviors that involved a risk of life and limb, but rather the ordinary needs that meet people every day, such as needing help in retrieving an object that is out of reach or help in preparing a meal or cleaning up. And when people signal such a need, compliance is very high across all cultures, about 79%. Rejection and ignoring were much smaller, 10% and 11% respectively. And when the rejection came, the researchers discovered that often an explanation was given for the refusal, while when help was offered, no explanation was given.
The study examined more than 1000 requests for help in a variety of places and cultures, including towns in England, Italy, Poland, Russia and rural villages in Ghana, Laos, Ecuador and Aboriginal Australia. The question being considered is: Are human beings inherently helpful and kind or are such behaviors culturally conditioned and supported? Professor Rossi concluded that being helpful is an ingrained reflex in the human being. “While cultural variation comes into play for special occasions and high cost exchange, when we zoom in on the micro level of social interaction, cultural difference mostly goes away, and our species’ tendency to give help when needed becomes universally visible.” So, despite cultural difference, human beings are usually cooperative and willing to help.
The study did address the fact that there are societal factors that can contribute to a person’s willingness to help. Certainly cultures that emphasize cooperation and social harmony over competition tend to support kindness. Religion and spirituality can also encourage empathy and compassion. Role models also play an important part, but none of these can be said to cause kindness and cooperation. Rather they support and abet such behaviors.
Jennifer and Matthew Harris are philanthropists and they have given $20 million to UCLA to establish the UCLA Bedari Kindness Institute. The Institute, which is in the division of social sciences, will do research on kindness and create opportunities to translate the findings into real life practices with the goal of empowering citizens and leaders to build more humane societies. Matthew Harris, who is a 1984 graduate of UCLA, hopes that research can help us understand why so often we feel that kindness seems so scarce in the modern world. Hopefully, “the divide between science and spirituality can be overcome,” he said, ”and more people can be empowered to be kind.”
Currently, a range of studies are beginning. Anthropologists are studying how kindness spreads from person to person. Sociologists are studying people who regularly act unkindly and how they can be encouraged to engage in kind actions. Psychologists are wondering how and if kindness can improve people’s moods and symptoms of depression.
I think this is quite exciting research. Sometimes it seems to me that all the emphasis in education these days is on STEM (science, technology, engineering and mathematics) while the Humanities and Social Sciences are being downplayed and ignored. But it is these latter fields which ask us to ponder what the good life is, what truth is and why it matters and what it means to be fully human and alive. These are the perennial questions, which the great humanists and religious leaders have been addressing for a very long time. And I think Jesus would approve of the Kindness Institute and the questions being addressed and the studies being conducted.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
I have a t-shirt, which reads: In a World Where You Can Be Anything, Be Kind.” There are times we feel discouraged about a world that appears to display a lack of kindness, especially when we hear or read the news about all the cruel and horrible things human beings do to one another. But a recent study coming from UCLA, directed by Giovanni Rossi, a sociologist at the University, shows that human beings actually are more cooperative and kinder than previous studies have indicated. Other studies have tended to emphasize the difference in rules and behaviors that issue in varied standards of cooperation. So, the conclusion was that pro-social behavior was dependent upon the particular norms of the culture. But the current study, whose findings were published in a journal called, Scientific Reports, found that cross culturally human beings are very much willing to help.
The aid and help that was studied was on the normal range of life, what is called the micro level or low cost decisions The study was not looking at behaviors that involved a risk of life and limb, but rather the ordinary needs that meet people every day, such as needing help in retrieving an object that is out of reach or help in preparing a meal or cleaning up. And when people signal such a need, compliance is very high across all cultures, about 79%. Rejection and ignoring were much smaller, 10% and 11% respectively. And when the rejection came, the researchers discovered that often an explanation was given for the refusal, while when help was offered, no explanation was given.
The study examined more than 1000 requests for help in a variety of places and cultures, including towns in England, Italy, Poland, Russia and rural villages in Ghana, Laos, Ecuador and Aboriginal Australia. The question being considered is: Are human beings inherently helpful and kind or are such behaviors culturally conditioned and supported? Professor Rossi concluded that being helpful is an ingrained reflex in the human being. “While cultural variation comes into play for special occasions and high cost exchange, when we zoom in on the micro level of social interaction, cultural difference mostly goes away, and our species’ tendency to give help when needed becomes universally visible.” So, despite cultural difference, human beings are usually cooperative and willing to help.
The study did address the fact that there are societal factors that can contribute to a person’s willingness to help. Certainly cultures that emphasize cooperation and social harmony over competition tend to support kindness. Religion and spirituality can also encourage empathy and compassion. Role models also play an important part, but none of these can be said to cause kindness and cooperation. Rather they support and abet such behaviors.
Jennifer and Matthew Harris are philanthropists and they have given $20 million to UCLA to establish the UCLA Bedari Kindness Institute. The Institute, which is in the division of social sciences, will do research on kindness and create opportunities to translate the findings into real life practices with the goal of empowering citizens and leaders to build more humane societies. Matthew Harris, who is a 1984 graduate of UCLA, hopes that research can help us understand why so often we feel that kindness seems so scarce in the modern world. Hopefully, “the divide between science and spirituality can be overcome,” he said, ”and more people can be empowered to be kind.”
Currently, a range of studies are beginning. Anthropologists are studying how kindness spreads from person to person. Sociologists are studying people who regularly act unkindly and how they can be encouraged to engage in kind actions. Psychologists are wondering how and if kindness can improve people’s moods and symptoms of depression.
I think this is quite exciting research. Sometimes it seems to me that all the emphasis in education these days is on STEM (science, technology, engineering and mathematics) while the Humanities and Social Sciences are being downplayed and ignored. But it is these latter fields which ask us to ponder what the good life is, what truth is and why it matters and what it means to be fully human and alive. These are the perennial questions, which the great humanists and religious leaders have been addressing for a very long time. And I think Jesus would approve of the Kindness Institute and the questions being addressed and the studies being conducted.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Judgment and Hope
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
July 23, 2023
Romans 8: 18-24
Matthew 24-30
In all my 40 years of ordination I have had only one REALLY serious question about hell, and it came from an eight year old, whose 37 year old mother, Elizabeth, was dying of a brain tumor. You heard the story before: Elizabeth, a brilliant neurosurgeon, struck with a deadly brain tumor, and her husband, the love of her life, a cardiac surgeon, who lost courage and ran, because he could not bear to see the love of his life die. “God forgive me,” he said, “I just cannot do it.” Elizabeth was a remarkable woman, because she understood that her husband’s greatest enemy was death, and even as a doctor, he could not handle it. So, how could he handle a dying wife? Though Elizabeth died broken hearted, she did not die bitter. Understanding saved her from the cruel clutches of a bitter heart and spirit.
Elizabeth’s eight year old daughter, Katie, was visiting her mother in the hospital one day, and she later asked me, ”Is my Daddy going to hell? That’s what my Nana said; she said he is going to suffer forever. But I don’t want my Daddy to go to hell. My mommy is going to go to heaven, my Nana said, but there is no room there for Daddy. Is that true?”
I told her I did not think so, but what I said is not the point of this sermon, so I am not going to expand on what I said. But I think we can all understand the rage of Katie’s Nana, who was Elizabeth’s mother. And we also understand how and why human beings make judgments, because we make them as well. We hold people accountable, and when they fail, especially miserably and cruelly, our judgments can be harsh. Are not we harsh with Putin, or the Nazis or the Khmer Rouge of Cambodia? And our own nation is hardly immune to severe judgment. What about slavery which many Christians at the time justified? Or how about the incarceration of the Japanese on the West Coast during World War ll? Yes, we judge, though we have heard Jesus say, “Do not judge, lest you be judged.” But the simple truth is in the real world it is impossible to avoid making judgments. After all, there is both good and evil in our world, and it is critically important to be able to tell the difference.
Our two readings this morning are indeed concerned with judgment but also with hope. Now I know many Christians today do not like Paul. He has some very antiquated and troubling notions about women, and to many he seems sin obsessed, focused on the flesh, which people tend to equate with the body. But flesh is a term Paul used to indicate opposition to God. Flesh is essentially the human tendency to be self- centered, to turn back onto oneself. Indeed, Martin Luther, the Protestant reformer, defined sin as a curvature of the soul, a movement back into the self, rather than a movement outward toward others and God, which will expand and grow the self.
Paul wrote this letter to the Christian Church in Rome in the midst of a great many challenges. Paul’s writings, by the way, are the oldest in the New Testament, thirty and forty years older than the earliest gospel, which is Mark, believed to be written around the year 70. The Roman historian Suetonius claimed that in the year 40, the emperor Claudius had expelled Jews from Rome because of some disturbance caused by “Christus,” most likely Christ. Some of the expelled Jews had become Christian, and after Claudius’ death, they returned to Rome. The Christian Jews thought all Jews should become like them, followers of Christ. And in this Letter Paul tried to tell the Jewish Christians in Rome not to worry so much about the other Jews. Their covenant with God is still in force; God does not reject whom God has chosen. And God’s final plans and deeds are not something that can be fully seen and known by humans. And this is where hope comes in.
Paul realized that the Roman Christians were facing dire problems, including terrible persecution by the pagans. The worst persecution of Christians in Rome began under the Emperor Nero in the year 64, but already, by the time Paul wrote this letter, sometime between 57-59, the Christians were under duress. And so, Paul was not only trying to comfort them, but also reassure them that it is not only they who are suffering, but the whole creation is laboring in pain, waiting for something new to arrive. Although they cannot see the final outcome, yet they must live in hope. They are saved in hope. And when you are surrounded by so many problems that you can do very little about, hope is something substantial to cling to.
Matthew’s gospel, written almost 30 years after Paul’s Letter, shows us a community also facing challenges. Persecution was not like that in Rome, but there was this ever present tension between gentile Christians and Jewish Christians and the role that the Jewish Law should play in the lives of Christians. Everything was all mixed up, mixed together: gentile Christians, Jewish Christians and the Jewish law. People were not comfortable with all this mixture; they would have liked a more unified and simplified community, with everyone in agreement. But this was not how it was. And so there was this temptation to expel people, who did not rightly conform. If you don’t believe what we believe, then you have no place here. And this is an ongoing temptation, especially in religion. No wonder we have so much fracturing of religious communities. We have Sunni Muslims and Shiite Muslims, Orthodox, Conservative, Reformed and Reconstructionist Jews, Protestants, divided into many denominations, Anglicans, Roman Catholics, Greek and Russian Orthodox, all part of the Christian communion. Throughout our own Christian history, we have heard the threat of hell being used against those who failed to embrace beliefs that some group defined as absolutely essential for salvation.
But notice that Matthew’s gospel is careful about quick judgments. Yes, there are weeds among the wheat; yes, there is evil, but you must be careful how you deal with it, lest you destroy too much. Besides, no human is the ultimate judge, and though finite judgments can be made in life; in fact, sometimes they must be made, yet they are never the final word. And when we think we have spoken the last word, we are living in delusion.
Since we live at such a great distance from the Roman and the Matthean Christians, it is easy for us to feel their issues are abstract, irrelevant to our lives. After all, we are not worried about the role of Jewish law in Christian belief. And we are not facing the persecution the Christians in Rome had to face. But when you think back to Katie and her Nana, and consider the moral judgment facing them both, it does not feel so distant or abstract. Judgment is a way we often console ourselves with the thought that the person or people who have done horrible wrongs have gotten or will get their due. One of the early church fathers, Tertullian, who lived around 200, wrote that the blessed in heaven will feel even greater blessedness and joy as they look down at the condemned, suffering in hell. How wrong he was. To exalt in anyone’s suffering is a sin; to wish hell for anyone is always sinful. And that is why we need God: because on our own we so often desire the wrong things. On our own we are often consoled by the wrong things. Hope in the final healing and restoration of all creation is what is what is worthy of us, and it is for this that we look to God.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
July 23, 2023
Romans 8: 18-24
Matthew 24-30
In all my 40 years of ordination I have had only one REALLY serious question about hell, and it came from an eight year old, whose 37 year old mother, Elizabeth, was dying of a brain tumor. You heard the story before: Elizabeth, a brilliant neurosurgeon, struck with a deadly brain tumor, and her husband, the love of her life, a cardiac surgeon, who lost courage and ran, because he could not bear to see the love of his life die. “God forgive me,” he said, “I just cannot do it.” Elizabeth was a remarkable woman, because she understood that her husband’s greatest enemy was death, and even as a doctor, he could not handle it. So, how could he handle a dying wife? Though Elizabeth died broken hearted, she did not die bitter. Understanding saved her from the cruel clutches of a bitter heart and spirit.
Elizabeth’s eight year old daughter, Katie, was visiting her mother in the hospital one day, and she later asked me, ”Is my Daddy going to hell? That’s what my Nana said; she said he is going to suffer forever. But I don’t want my Daddy to go to hell. My mommy is going to go to heaven, my Nana said, but there is no room there for Daddy. Is that true?”
I told her I did not think so, but what I said is not the point of this sermon, so I am not going to expand on what I said. But I think we can all understand the rage of Katie’s Nana, who was Elizabeth’s mother. And we also understand how and why human beings make judgments, because we make them as well. We hold people accountable, and when they fail, especially miserably and cruelly, our judgments can be harsh. Are not we harsh with Putin, or the Nazis or the Khmer Rouge of Cambodia? And our own nation is hardly immune to severe judgment. What about slavery which many Christians at the time justified? Or how about the incarceration of the Japanese on the West Coast during World War ll? Yes, we judge, though we have heard Jesus say, “Do not judge, lest you be judged.” But the simple truth is in the real world it is impossible to avoid making judgments. After all, there is both good and evil in our world, and it is critically important to be able to tell the difference.
Our two readings this morning are indeed concerned with judgment but also with hope. Now I know many Christians today do not like Paul. He has some very antiquated and troubling notions about women, and to many he seems sin obsessed, focused on the flesh, which people tend to equate with the body. But flesh is a term Paul used to indicate opposition to God. Flesh is essentially the human tendency to be self- centered, to turn back onto oneself. Indeed, Martin Luther, the Protestant reformer, defined sin as a curvature of the soul, a movement back into the self, rather than a movement outward toward others and God, which will expand and grow the self.
Paul wrote this letter to the Christian Church in Rome in the midst of a great many challenges. Paul’s writings, by the way, are the oldest in the New Testament, thirty and forty years older than the earliest gospel, which is Mark, believed to be written around the year 70. The Roman historian Suetonius claimed that in the year 40, the emperor Claudius had expelled Jews from Rome because of some disturbance caused by “Christus,” most likely Christ. Some of the expelled Jews had become Christian, and after Claudius’ death, they returned to Rome. The Christian Jews thought all Jews should become like them, followers of Christ. And in this Letter Paul tried to tell the Jewish Christians in Rome not to worry so much about the other Jews. Their covenant with God is still in force; God does not reject whom God has chosen. And God’s final plans and deeds are not something that can be fully seen and known by humans. And this is where hope comes in.
Paul realized that the Roman Christians were facing dire problems, including terrible persecution by the pagans. The worst persecution of Christians in Rome began under the Emperor Nero in the year 64, but already, by the time Paul wrote this letter, sometime between 57-59, the Christians were under duress. And so, Paul was not only trying to comfort them, but also reassure them that it is not only they who are suffering, but the whole creation is laboring in pain, waiting for something new to arrive. Although they cannot see the final outcome, yet they must live in hope. They are saved in hope. And when you are surrounded by so many problems that you can do very little about, hope is something substantial to cling to.
Matthew’s gospel, written almost 30 years after Paul’s Letter, shows us a community also facing challenges. Persecution was not like that in Rome, but there was this ever present tension between gentile Christians and Jewish Christians and the role that the Jewish Law should play in the lives of Christians. Everything was all mixed up, mixed together: gentile Christians, Jewish Christians and the Jewish law. People were not comfortable with all this mixture; they would have liked a more unified and simplified community, with everyone in agreement. But this was not how it was. And so there was this temptation to expel people, who did not rightly conform. If you don’t believe what we believe, then you have no place here. And this is an ongoing temptation, especially in religion. No wonder we have so much fracturing of religious communities. We have Sunni Muslims and Shiite Muslims, Orthodox, Conservative, Reformed and Reconstructionist Jews, Protestants, divided into many denominations, Anglicans, Roman Catholics, Greek and Russian Orthodox, all part of the Christian communion. Throughout our own Christian history, we have heard the threat of hell being used against those who failed to embrace beliefs that some group defined as absolutely essential for salvation.
But notice that Matthew’s gospel is careful about quick judgments. Yes, there are weeds among the wheat; yes, there is evil, but you must be careful how you deal with it, lest you destroy too much. Besides, no human is the ultimate judge, and though finite judgments can be made in life; in fact, sometimes they must be made, yet they are never the final word. And when we think we have spoken the last word, we are living in delusion.
Since we live at such a great distance from the Roman and the Matthean Christians, it is easy for us to feel their issues are abstract, irrelevant to our lives. After all, we are not worried about the role of Jewish law in Christian belief. And we are not facing the persecution the Christians in Rome had to face. But when you think back to Katie and her Nana, and consider the moral judgment facing them both, it does not feel so distant or abstract. Judgment is a way we often console ourselves with the thought that the person or people who have done horrible wrongs have gotten or will get their due. One of the early church fathers, Tertullian, who lived around 200, wrote that the blessed in heaven will feel even greater blessedness and joy as they look down at the condemned, suffering in hell. How wrong he was. To exalt in anyone’s suffering is a sin; to wish hell for anyone is always sinful. And that is why we need God: because on our own we so often desire the wrong things. On our own we are often consoled by the wrong things. Hope in the final healing and restoration of all creation is what is what is worthy of us, and it is for this that we look to God.
July 20, 2023
Dear Friends,
As I have written before, I am absolutely blown away by the James Webb Telescope, which is showing us images of stars being formed, stars dying, galaxies beyond what any previous telescope has been able to see. And we have seen some images of black holes. Black holes also fascinate me, because, well, they are beyond mysterious. A black hole is where the gravitational force is so strong that NOTHING can escape it. Everything that approaches the edge of a black hole, including light, gets pulled in. And there is NOTHING in the known universe that is faster than light, so even light’s amazing speed cannot outrun the reach of a black hole.
Nearly every galaxy, including our own Milky Way, and 100 BILLION other galaxies, visible from earth, show a super massive black hole at the center. The bigger the galaxy, the more massive is the central black hole, but no one knows why. It’s a great mystery, which astronomers and physicists are pondering. Of the billions and billions of stars in our Milky Way, only about 1 in 1000 is massive enough to become a black hole. Consider this: our sun is not massive enough to become a black hole, but a star weighing 25 times the weight of the sun might well become a black hole.
Black holes are formed when a star begins to run out of fuel, and then it starts to collapse before finally exploding. The outer layers of the star are thrown out into the far reaches of space, but the inner layer implodes, becoming denser and denser until there is too much matter for the limited space. The core then completely collapses, forming a black hole.
In 2019 the first image of a black hole was captured from the galaxy known as Messier 87, or M87. On April 10, 2019 the image was released to the public. Many different physicists and astronomers as well as reporters were there for the release of the image, and people began spontaneously clapping and cheering. In 2017 the black hole had been discovered, but it took two years of analysis from 8 radio observatories on 6 mountains in 4 different continents to retrieve enough information to get the image and finally release it.
Einstein’s mathematics had predicted that when too much matter or energy was concentrated in one place, space-time could collapse, trapping both matter and energy, but he did not like the idea. He thought it too weird. So, when black holes were finally discovered and the images could be seen, the great genius was vindicated. So, Einstein had been right all along, though even he had doubted it. Einstein also said that space-time can bend, rip and expand, and that too seemed weird.
Yes, weird, but true and wonderful. In 2003 the biggest, oldest and lowest note ever heard in the universe was “picked up”--a B flat note, 57 octaves below middle C. The sound appeared as sound waves emanating from the edge of a super massive black hole in the Galaxy NGC 1275.
We are on the cusp of such extraordinary knowledge that we should all be in awe---in awe of this incredible creation and in awe of the scientific minds that have been able to figure out so much about this extraordinary universe and beyond. Remember, it is human beings who have made the telescopes and other instruments that have allowed us to cross barriers of knowledge and learn something startingly new.
I recently read a review of a book called God After Einstein: What is Really Going on in the Universe by John Haught. Haught is apparently a bit annoyed by what he sees as an obsession with the beginning of creation, which is what intrigues cosmologists and physicists. Haught thinks that the emerging future rather than the past is what is truly fascinating. But what can we possibly know about the future? We can predict, of course, and some of our predictions are probably close to the truth---such as the prediction that the sun will one day run out of energy. And yet prediction is not exactly the same as knowledge of an event that has already transpired. So, I applaud the study of creation’s beginnings and I think such knowledge is almost too wonderful to know. We should all be thankful there are people, who push against the limits of knowledge with the FAITH that there is finally nothing to fear from knowledge. It is all about how we use what we know, and indeed, sometimes people do use knowledge for nefarious ends. Yet we can celebrate the ever expanding universe of knowledge, which should make us ever grateful to be alive in this particular time. None of us really knows what God is up to, but we can hazard a guess that whatever it is, it is pretty wonderful.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
As I have written before, I am absolutely blown away by the James Webb Telescope, which is showing us images of stars being formed, stars dying, galaxies beyond what any previous telescope has been able to see. And we have seen some images of black holes. Black holes also fascinate me, because, well, they are beyond mysterious. A black hole is where the gravitational force is so strong that NOTHING can escape it. Everything that approaches the edge of a black hole, including light, gets pulled in. And there is NOTHING in the known universe that is faster than light, so even light’s amazing speed cannot outrun the reach of a black hole.
Nearly every galaxy, including our own Milky Way, and 100 BILLION other galaxies, visible from earth, show a super massive black hole at the center. The bigger the galaxy, the more massive is the central black hole, but no one knows why. It’s a great mystery, which astronomers and physicists are pondering. Of the billions and billions of stars in our Milky Way, only about 1 in 1000 is massive enough to become a black hole. Consider this: our sun is not massive enough to become a black hole, but a star weighing 25 times the weight of the sun might well become a black hole.
Black holes are formed when a star begins to run out of fuel, and then it starts to collapse before finally exploding. The outer layers of the star are thrown out into the far reaches of space, but the inner layer implodes, becoming denser and denser until there is too much matter for the limited space. The core then completely collapses, forming a black hole.
In 2019 the first image of a black hole was captured from the galaxy known as Messier 87, or M87. On April 10, 2019 the image was released to the public. Many different physicists and astronomers as well as reporters were there for the release of the image, and people began spontaneously clapping and cheering. In 2017 the black hole had been discovered, but it took two years of analysis from 8 radio observatories on 6 mountains in 4 different continents to retrieve enough information to get the image and finally release it.
Einstein’s mathematics had predicted that when too much matter or energy was concentrated in one place, space-time could collapse, trapping both matter and energy, but he did not like the idea. He thought it too weird. So, when black holes were finally discovered and the images could be seen, the great genius was vindicated. So, Einstein had been right all along, though even he had doubted it. Einstein also said that space-time can bend, rip and expand, and that too seemed weird.
Yes, weird, but true and wonderful. In 2003 the biggest, oldest and lowest note ever heard in the universe was “picked up”--a B flat note, 57 octaves below middle C. The sound appeared as sound waves emanating from the edge of a super massive black hole in the Galaxy NGC 1275.
We are on the cusp of such extraordinary knowledge that we should all be in awe---in awe of this incredible creation and in awe of the scientific minds that have been able to figure out so much about this extraordinary universe and beyond. Remember, it is human beings who have made the telescopes and other instruments that have allowed us to cross barriers of knowledge and learn something startingly new.
I recently read a review of a book called God After Einstein: What is Really Going on in the Universe by John Haught. Haught is apparently a bit annoyed by what he sees as an obsession with the beginning of creation, which is what intrigues cosmologists and physicists. Haught thinks that the emerging future rather than the past is what is truly fascinating. But what can we possibly know about the future? We can predict, of course, and some of our predictions are probably close to the truth---such as the prediction that the sun will one day run out of energy. And yet prediction is not exactly the same as knowledge of an event that has already transpired. So, I applaud the study of creation’s beginnings and I think such knowledge is almost too wonderful to know. We should all be thankful there are people, who push against the limits of knowledge with the FAITH that there is finally nothing to fear from knowledge. It is all about how we use what we know, and indeed, sometimes people do use knowledge for nefarious ends. Yet we can celebrate the ever expanding universe of knowledge, which should make us ever grateful to be alive in this particular time. None of us really knows what God is up to, but we can hazard a guess that whatever it is, it is pretty wonderful.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Scattered Seeds
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
July 16, 2023
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
I have this fascinating book, The 100: The Most Influential Persons in History by Michael Hart. The list is the author’s opinion, and the criteria he used was both the achievement and its impact on history. No 1 is Mohammed, famous for not only beginning a new religion and spirituality, but also as a secular ruler, he brought together a group of nomadic tribes that conquered in 100 years not only what we call the Middle East, but also reached deeply into what is now Europe until the Muslims were stopped at the Battle of Tours in 732. No 2 is Isaac Newton, whose invention of calculus and the laws of motion have been the bedrock upon which so much of our scientific knowledge stands. Jesus is no. 3, a religious genius, Hart says, some of whose ethical principles, like loving the enemy, are unique in world history. Since Jesus did not establish a religious empire---It was the Apostle Paul who evangelized the gentile world---the author gave Jesus third place. Yet, there is no denying that Jesus’ parables are unequaled in their ability to draw people in and move them to them see life from a new and different perspective. And that is what we have in today’s lesson from Matthew.
Here we see Jesus in a boat, facing a crowd by the Sea of Galilee, and he tells them a story. Jesus has been very busy, doing a lot of teaching and healing, but he has been getting into a great deal of trouble with the religious authorities. They don’t like that he hangs around with the wrong kind of people and heals on the Sabbath. And so, to confound them, he begins to teach in parables, which the wise and learned do not understand, while the poor and the uneducated get the point. Parables do far more than communicate information. They dig down deeply; they burrow into our minds and our hearts, pulling thoughts and feelings out of us that we don’t realize are there. And they often turn our eyes in another direction, allowing us to see something we did not notice before.
And what do we notice? Well, we notice this Sower carelessly throwing all these seeds around. Now Jesus lived in an agrarian society, and the people who came to hear him preach, knew how to plant and harvest. They would have been shocked at the behavior of this particular sower, who did not care in the least, if he wasted the seeds. Besides, they also knew how important it is to prepare the soil for planting. Archaeologists, have found plows in Israel from 1000 years before Jesus, and they believe that the plow was the most important implement a farmer owned. Rocky soil in Israel was (and still is) common along with a lot of thorns and thistles, and so breaking up the soil is quite important. When Jesus began to tell his story, “A sower went out to sow, and some seed fell on the path and other seed fell on rocky ground and other seed fell among thorns,” people must have started scratching their heads: What kind of foolish farmer is this? And they probably quickly realized that this parable is not really about a farmer at all, but about something or someone else.
Now there are a few things we should understand about the time and the place of Matthew’s gospel, written for a mixed and even divided community of both Jewish and gentile Christians. Though both groups were followers of Jesus, there was tension between them with Jewish Christians, insisting that Jewish law must be honored, while gentile Christians extolled their freedom from the Law. But neither of these perspectives is really the proper soil---if you insist on clinging to it as the only way.
Secondly, the people in Matthew’s community were seeing a lot of new converts, but not all remained as Christians. There was kind of a swinging door with some new converts, wildly enthusiastic at first, but then they wavered and began to look elsewhere. Some returned to their Jewish roots and the synagogues that were springing up, and then there was the new temple built to the goddess Isis. A beautiful temple to a beautiful goddess does have its attractions.
Now some of the Christians in Matthew’s community blamed themselves for these disaffections. What are we doing wrong? Why are not all these people remaining with us? But in this parable Jesus seems to be relieving them of some of the responsibility. The soil is the soil, after all, and you cannot be responsible for what is not your responsibility. You can only do what you can do, and then, well, what happens is what happens. You throw the seed out, hoping that some of it will indeed take root. But the truth is we cannot always tell what the outcome will be. Sometimes we think something is poor soil, a waste of time and energy, but then we are surprised to see the blossoms.
Some years ago, when I worked in a state mental hospital on Long Island, there was this Roman Catholic priest, Father Tom, who certainly did not seem like a fit for the job. For years he had been a Latin scholar at Notre Dame University in Indiana. He was old enough to be retired, but he apparently wanted to work. Well, one day, all these beautiful paintings began to appear all over the wards---in the hallways and sometimes even in the rooms. Day after day there were more paintings, and no one claimed to know from where they came. And then a few weeks later these beautifully embroidered coverlets began appearing on patient’s beds. One of the nurses said, “Why these things don’t belong in this bleak place, where they cannot be properly appreciated. Things this gorgeous are wasted here.
But then something very unexpected began to happen. One patient, staring at all the paintings, asked for some paper and colored pencils, and she began to draw--- very well. It turned out in her younger years she had loved to draw. Another patient asked for some paints and paper, and he began to paint. In his 20’s before he became ill, he had been an art teacher. And somebody else, a schizophrenic woman, hospitalized for over 50 years, took out this old linen hand towel, frayed all around the edges, but beautifully embroidered with flowers. Very haltingly she told the nurse, “This is what I used to do---years ago. I made beautiful things before I became ugly.”
Father Tom was the one who brought his paintings into the hospital. And the coverlets were his mother’s work from decades gone by. “Beauty makes an impact,” Father Tom, insisted. God is beautiful, and God plants beauty like a seed, blossoming and growing, sometimes in places we do not expect.”
In Matthew’s parable God is the sower, throwing out seeds everywhere, because no one is too far from God’s grace. And so, God asks us to take risks---throw out the seeds not in order to be successful, but to be faithful, faithful to the one who does not give up on anyone. And if that is not Good News---I do not know what is.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
July 16, 2023
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
I have this fascinating book, The 100: The Most Influential Persons in History by Michael Hart. The list is the author’s opinion, and the criteria he used was both the achievement and its impact on history. No 1 is Mohammed, famous for not only beginning a new religion and spirituality, but also as a secular ruler, he brought together a group of nomadic tribes that conquered in 100 years not only what we call the Middle East, but also reached deeply into what is now Europe until the Muslims were stopped at the Battle of Tours in 732. No 2 is Isaac Newton, whose invention of calculus and the laws of motion have been the bedrock upon which so much of our scientific knowledge stands. Jesus is no. 3, a religious genius, Hart says, some of whose ethical principles, like loving the enemy, are unique in world history. Since Jesus did not establish a religious empire---It was the Apostle Paul who evangelized the gentile world---the author gave Jesus third place. Yet, there is no denying that Jesus’ parables are unequaled in their ability to draw people in and move them to them see life from a new and different perspective. And that is what we have in today’s lesson from Matthew.
Here we see Jesus in a boat, facing a crowd by the Sea of Galilee, and he tells them a story. Jesus has been very busy, doing a lot of teaching and healing, but he has been getting into a great deal of trouble with the religious authorities. They don’t like that he hangs around with the wrong kind of people and heals on the Sabbath. And so, to confound them, he begins to teach in parables, which the wise and learned do not understand, while the poor and the uneducated get the point. Parables do far more than communicate information. They dig down deeply; they burrow into our minds and our hearts, pulling thoughts and feelings out of us that we don’t realize are there. And they often turn our eyes in another direction, allowing us to see something we did not notice before.
And what do we notice? Well, we notice this Sower carelessly throwing all these seeds around. Now Jesus lived in an agrarian society, and the people who came to hear him preach, knew how to plant and harvest. They would have been shocked at the behavior of this particular sower, who did not care in the least, if he wasted the seeds. Besides, they also knew how important it is to prepare the soil for planting. Archaeologists, have found plows in Israel from 1000 years before Jesus, and they believe that the plow was the most important implement a farmer owned. Rocky soil in Israel was (and still is) common along with a lot of thorns and thistles, and so breaking up the soil is quite important. When Jesus began to tell his story, “A sower went out to sow, and some seed fell on the path and other seed fell on rocky ground and other seed fell among thorns,” people must have started scratching their heads: What kind of foolish farmer is this? And they probably quickly realized that this parable is not really about a farmer at all, but about something or someone else.
Now there are a few things we should understand about the time and the place of Matthew’s gospel, written for a mixed and even divided community of both Jewish and gentile Christians. Though both groups were followers of Jesus, there was tension between them with Jewish Christians, insisting that Jewish law must be honored, while gentile Christians extolled their freedom from the Law. But neither of these perspectives is really the proper soil---if you insist on clinging to it as the only way.
Secondly, the people in Matthew’s community were seeing a lot of new converts, but not all remained as Christians. There was kind of a swinging door with some new converts, wildly enthusiastic at first, but then they wavered and began to look elsewhere. Some returned to their Jewish roots and the synagogues that were springing up, and then there was the new temple built to the goddess Isis. A beautiful temple to a beautiful goddess does have its attractions.
Now some of the Christians in Matthew’s community blamed themselves for these disaffections. What are we doing wrong? Why are not all these people remaining with us? But in this parable Jesus seems to be relieving them of some of the responsibility. The soil is the soil, after all, and you cannot be responsible for what is not your responsibility. You can only do what you can do, and then, well, what happens is what happens. You throw the seed out, hoping that some of it will indeed take root. But the truth is we cannot always tell what the outcome will be. Sometimes we think something is poor soil, a waste of time and energy, but then we are surprised to see the blossoms.
Some years ago, when I worked in a state mental hospital on Long Island, there was this Roman Catholic priest, Father Tom, who certainly did not seem like a fit for the job. For years he had been a Latin scholar at Notre Dame University in Indiana. He was old enough to be retired, but he apparently wanted to work. Well, one day, all these beautiful paintings began to appear all over the wards---in the hallways and sometimes even in the rooms. Day after day there were more paintings, and no one claimed to know from where they came. And then a few weeks later these beautifully embroidered coverlets began appearing on patient’s beds. One of the nurses said, “Why these things don’t belong in this bleak place, where they cannot be properly appreciated. Things this gorgeous are wasted here.
But then something very unexpected began to happen. One patient, staring at all the paintings, asked for some paper and colored pencils, and she began to draw--- very well. It turned out in her younger years she had loved to draw. Another patient asked for some paints and paper, and he began to paint. In his 20’s before he became ill, he had been an art teacher. And somebody else, a schizophrenic woman, hospitalized for over 50 years, took out this old linen hand towel, frayed all around the edges, but beautifully embroidered with flowers. Very haltingly she told the nurse, “This is what I used to do---years ago. I made beautiful things before I became ugly.”
Father Tom was the one who brought his paintings into the hospital. And the coverlets were his mother’s work from decades gone by. “Beauty makes an impact,” Father Tom, insisted. God is beautiful, and God plants beauty like a seed, blossoming and growing, sometimes in places we do not expect.”
In Matthew’s parable God is the sower, throwing out seeds everywhere, because no one is too far from God’s grace. And so, God asks us to take risks---throw out the seeds not in order to be successful, but to be faithful, faithful to the one who does not give up on anyone. And if that is not Good News---I do not know what is.
July 11, 2023
I know someone who for years taught children about ecology and the environment. He worked in an alternative school, where he constantly had children outside to look at and study the natural world. If they complained about being bored, he would say, “If you are bored, you are NOT paying close attention.” Someone else said, “Our job is to move through the world, wonder smitten by reality.” Indeed, the world is an amazing place, and we should be wonder struck every single day.
A classical pianist told me when he was seven, he was awe struck by listening to Bach’s Goldberg Variations. “My brother,” he said, “was not so struck by music, but he was fascinated by the stars in the night sky.” And so, it is ESSENTIAL, the pianist insisted, to know the experience of awe. The poet Walt Whitman agreed. He thought a blade of grass was just as awe inspiring as a gurgling brook or a geranium. It is all in the looking, in knowing how to pay close attention to what is around you.
The deeply spiritual G.K. Chesterton believed the object of the full life is “to dig for the submerged sense of wonder.” If you are not regularly blown away by something, you are not living fully. Dylan Thomas, the Welsh poet, was deeply impressed by children’s ability to experience awe and wonder. For the young, wonder seems to happen naturally, and Rachel Carlson, the naturalist, whose book, Silent Spring, initiated the ecology movement, believed that the duty of parents and teachers is to support and expand the sense of wonder that it will be able to withstand the strains of boredom and disenchantment that come with later years.
Goethe wrote, “I am here that I may wonder,” and the writer, Herman Hesse, took up Goethe’s theme and expanded on it, believing that the proper aim of education is to create and expand a sense of wonder for the world.
Wonder is where it starts, and though wonder is also where it ends, this is no futile path. Whether admiring a patch of moss, a crystal, flower, or golden beetle, a sky full of clouds, a sea with the serene, vast sigh of its swells, or a butterfly wing with its arrangement of crystalline ribs, contours, and the vibrant bezel of its edges, the diverse scripts and ornamentations of its markings, and the infinite, sweet, delightfully inspired transitions and shadings of its colors — whenever I experience part of nature, whether with my eyes or another of the five senses, whenever I feel drawn in, enchanted, opening myself momentarily to its existence and epiphanies, that very moment allows me to forget the avaricious blind world of human need, and rather than thinking or issuing orders, rather than acquiring or exploiting, fighting or organizing, all I do in that moment is “wonder,” like Goethe, and not only does this wonderment establish my brotherhood with him, other poets, and sages, it also makes me a brother to those wondrous things I behold and experience as the living world: butterflies and moths, beetles, clouds, rivers and mountains, because while wandering down the path of wonder, I briefly escape the world of separation and enter the world of unity.
The Bible claims, “The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom.” Fear here is not quaking in terror but suggests reverence and awe. The Book of Psalms is filled with praise for a God whose creative impulse not only gives us a beautiful and diverse creation, but also invites awe for the majesty and power of this mysterious God who makes all life new. The psalmist even wonders what it is about the human creature that God would take such an active interest in the human being. And pondering that question invites awe and wonder.
It may be that wonder is at the very root of religion. From the very beginning of our species, we have looked upon a vast world and pondered its magnificence and what is behind and above it, and what or who created it. The questions keep coming and the questions inspire awe, for even if we are unable to answer them, we still are smitten with wonder as we ponder.
Psalm 19:1: The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Psalm 65:8: The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy.
Psalm 34:9-10: Worship in awe and wonder, all you who’ve been made holy! For all who fear him will feast with plenty. Even the strong and the wealthy grow weak and hungry, but those who passionately pursue the Lord will never lack any good thing.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
I know someone who for years taught children about ecology and the environment. He worked in an alternative school, where he constantly had children outside to look at and study the natural world. If they complained about being bored, he would say, “If you are bored, you are NOT paying close attention.” Someone else said, “Our job is to move through the world, wonder smitten by reality.” Indeed, the world is an amazing place, and we should be wonder struck every single day.
A classical pianist told me when he was seven, he was awe struck by listening to Bach’s Goldberg Variations. “My brother,” he said, “was not so struck by music, but he was fascinated by the stars in the night sky.” And so, it is ESSENTIAL, the pianist insisted, to know the experience of awe. The poet Walt Whitman agreed. He thought a blade of grass was just as awe inspiring as a gurgling brook or a geranium. It is all in the looking, in knowing how to pay close attention to what is around you.
The deeply spiritual G.K. Chesterton believed the object of the full life is “to dig for the submerged sense of wonder.” If you are not regularly blown away by something, you are not living fully. Dylan Thomas, the Welsh poet, was deeply impressed by children’s ability to experience awe and wonder. For the young, wonder seems to happen naturally, and Rachel Carlson, the naturalist, whose book, Silent Spring, initiated the ecology movement, believed that the duty of parents and teachers is to support and expand the sense of wonder that it will be able to withstand the strains of boredom and disenchantment that come with later years.
Goethe wrote, “I am here that I may wonder,” and the writer, Herman Hesse, took up Goethe’s theme and expanded on it, believing that the proper aim of education is to create and expand a sense of wonder for the world.
Wonder is where it starts, and though wonder is also where it ends, this is no futile path. Whether admiring a patch of moss, a crystal, flower, or golden beetle, a sky full of clouds, a sea with the serene, vast sigh of its swells, or a butterfly wing with its arrangement of crystalline ribs, contours, and the vibrant bezel of its edges, the diverse scripts and ornamentations of its markings, and the infinite, sweet, delightfully inspired transitions and shadings of its colors — whenever I experience part of nature, whether with my eyes or another of the five senses, whenever I feel drawn in, enchanted, opening myself momentarily to its existence and epiphanies, that very moment allows me to forget the avaricious blind world of human need, and rather than thinking or issuing orders, rather than acquiring or exploiting, fighting or organizing, all I do in that moment is “wonder,” like Goethe, and not only does this wonderment establish my brotherhood with him, other poets, and sages, it also makes me a brother to those wondrous things I behold and experience as the living world: butterflies and moths, beetles, clouds, rivers and mountains, because while wandering down the path of wonder, I briefly escape the world of separation and enter the world of unity.
The Bible claims, “The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom.” Fear here is not quaking in terror but suggests reverence and awe. The Book of Psalms is filled with praise for a God whose creative impulse not only gives us a beautiful and diverse creation, but also invites awe for the majesty and power of this mysterious God who makes all life new. The psalmist even wonders what it is about the human creature that God would take such an active interest in the human being. And pondering that question invites awe and wonder.
It may be that wonder is at the very root of religion. From the very beginning of our species, we have looked upon a vast world and pondered its magnificence and what is behind and above it, and what or who created it. The questions keep coming and the questions inspire awe, for even if we are unable to answer them, we still are smitten with wonder as we ponder.
Psalm 19:1: The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Psalm 65:8: The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy.
Psalm 34:9-10: Worship in awe and wonder, all you who’ve been made holy! For all who fear him will feast with plenty. Even the strong and the wealthy grow weak and hungry, but those who passionately pursue the Lord will never lack any good thing.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
THE SELF IN BONDAGE
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
July 9, 202
Romans 7: 15-25a
Every year the editors of the Oxford English Dictionary add new words, since language is dynamic and changes. And each year the editors also decide which word is to be named Word of the Year, meaning that the word reflects an important cultural or social shift, capturing in some way the spirit of the Year. For example, in 2007 the Word of the Year was carbon footprint; in 2008 it was credit crunch and in 2009 it was unfriend. In 2013 the Word of the Year was selfie. Gaslighting, meaning to grossly mislead someone for personal advantage was the word in 2021. Last year’s Word of the year was Goblin mode, which means behavior that is self indulgent and lazy.
Now I find it pretty interesting that lately the words, like selfie, gaslighting and goblin mode, put the self at the center of behaviors that can be narcissistic. I remember noticing around the year 2010 or so, when I would travel, how many people were taking pictures of themselves at various sites. While on a hiking trip in Italy, one of the guides commented on a particular hiker, who was obsessive about taking his own picture. The leader thought the behavior was over the top for someone in his 50’s. Adolescents are self obsessed; that is the nature of the beast, he said to me, but we are supposed to outgrow it.
Of course, we all understand how important it is to develop a healthy sense of self. Our job is to grow a strong and integrated self, as we learn who we are and what it is we believe is right and true and important. This does not happen all at once. We learn who we are as we grow and experience life in all its varied shades and colors and make decisions and take responsibility for the decisions we make.
I had a colleague, a Presbyterian minister, whose mother, when he was growing up, would tell him, whenever there was a question about the appropriateness of his behavior, Remember Who You Are. That was her way of reminding her son how he had been raised and that there were certain expectations about his behavior. People with weak or unformed identities can find themselves being led by others to do things, not because they really want to, but because they are overly impressionable and do not know how to resist peer pressure. We human beings are imitative creatures, so it matters profoundly the kind of people and community with whom we live and interact. My colleague grew up in the South, and when JFK was assassinated, he came home from school and told his mother how some people in the class cheered when they heard the news that this SOB, pushing civil rights in their faces, was dead. Well, his shocked mother said, in her sternest voice, “There will be no cheering in this house. Remember who you are.”
In Paul’s Letter to the Christian Church at Rome, he was certainly very concerned about who the Christian community in Rome was. He wanted them to remember who they are. Paul cared deeply about Christian community and the formation of Christian character. He wanted the members of the Roman Church to live as the redeemed people that through Jesus Christ they already were, but he also knew the power of sin. Now we tend to think of sin as specific wrong deeds, such as lying and stealing. But this is not the Pauline understanding of sin. Sin for Paul is a force lurking deep within all people, leading them to make decisions and act in ways contrary to God’s intention for human life. And so, the human project can be understood as a taming and disciplining of that force. Indeed, this is how Judaism has understood the human condition. The Jewish interpretation is that we human beings are born with a tendency toward both good and evil, and so we must learn to exercise dominion over the one that goodness might flourish. This is not achieved in an instant; it requires a lifetime of instruction, practice, and discipline.
Now Paul as a Pharisee was certainly conversant with this understanding. He understood that the Jewish Law---all 613 commandments---- was designed to discipline people, to bring the stubborn and rebellious will under control. Paul had spent his life loving and serving this Law, or at least trying to. But he discovered that all too often he could not bend and discipline his will. He knew what was right, and sometimes he could do the right, but there were other times he failed miserably. And so, we have his poignant words: For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. This is the human condition. And we are all old enough to know precisely what Paul is talking about, because we have all been there.
Some years ago, when I was working as a chaplain in a hospice, I became acquainted with a friend of one my patients. Both men were Jewish, both survivors of the Holocaust. Daniel was the friend, who faithfully visited Joshua, and Daniel often spoke with me while Joshua was sleeping. He told me this riveting story about how he and his parents and 8 year old sister, were escaping from Poland after the German invasion in World War ll. “We were almost out of Poland,” he said, “when my mother fell om a rock and broke her leg, a compound fracture. There was nothing to be done. My parents told me to go ahead. “Take your sister and go. Survive and live your life.” I was 15 years old. “Go”, my parents commanded. “My sister would not come but clung to my mother, crying. I never turned around. I could not bear to see them standing there, though my sister’s cries, yet ring in my ears. I ran and hid, eventually making my way across Europe with the help of many good Christian people, finally to Israel and then after the War ended to the United States. I became a lawyer and a very successful one at that. My success was my revenge against the Germans. As you can imagine, I was very moved by Daniel’s story.
But the day that Joshua died, as Daniel stood next to the bed, where his dead friend lay, Daniel added the final chapter to the story. Joshua is the only person who knows this story, but I am now going to tell it to you, since over these months, you have listened to me go on and on. When I was in hiding in the woods, still in Poland, not at all sure I would survive, I saw and heard this German family: a mother, father and two young children. The father was dressed in a Nazi uniform, and they were picnicking in a place just beyond the woods where I was hiding. I crouched down very low and was very, very quiet. I could feel this rage gather up in my soul, and so, very carefully and deliberately I took the gun my father gave me and shot them all dead. My father was a good shot, and he taught me. I knew it was wrong; I even struggled with my conscience for a very short while. But in the end, I avenged my family. It was a stupid thing to do because I could have so easily been caught.
I was only 15, so perhaps I can be forgiven, but now, all these many decades later, I cannot even say I am sorry. I know it was wrong, but I also know how strong the sting of revenge was, and if I had the chance even now in my old age, would I do the same thing all over again? I think I would. Joshua and I have discussed this many times, and he says I am forgiven. But how can I be forgiven when that is not even what I am asking for?
Paul would understand this all too well. He understood how deeply sin lurks within us and that we cannot solve the problem of sin by an act of knowledge. We can know what is good and right, but still fail to do it. And there may even be times we are not sorry for the wrong we know we have done. The self can indeed be in bondage--- to rage, revenge, to whatever captures us not only in our weakness but also in our strength.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
July 9, 202
Romans 7: 15-25a
Every year the editors of the Oxford English Dictionary add new words, since language is dynamic and changes. And each year the editors also decide which word is to be named Word of the Year, meaning that the word reflects an important cultural or social shift, capturing in some way the spirit of the Year. For example, in 2007 the Word of the Year was carbon footprint; in 2008 it was credit crunch and in 2009 it was unfriend. In 2013 the Word of the Year was selfie. Gaslighting, meaning to grossly mislead someone for personal advantage was the word in 2021. Last year’s Word of the year was Goblin mode, which means behavior that is self indulgent and lazy.
Now I find it pretty interesting that lately the words, like selfie, gaslighting and goblin mode, put the self at the center of behaviors that can be narcissistic. I remember noticing around the year 2010 or so, when I would travel, how many people were taking pictures of themselves at various sites. While on a hiking trip in Italy, one of the guides commented on a particular hiker, who was obsessive about taking his own picture. The leader thought the behavior was over the top for someone in his 50’s. Adolescents are self obsessed; that is the nature of the beast, he said to me, but we are supposed to outgrow it.
Of course, we all understand how important it is to develop a healthy sense of self. Our job is to grow a strong and integrated self, as we learn who we are and what it is we believe is right and true and important. This does not happen all at once. We learn who we are as we grow and experience life in all its varied shades and colors and make decisions and take responsibility for the decisions we make.
I had a colleague, a Presbyterian minister, whose mother, when he was growing up, would tell him, whenever there was a question about the appropriateness of his behavior, Remember Who You Are. That was her way of reminding her son how he had been raised and that there were certain expectations about his behavior. People with weak or unformed identities can find themselves being led by others to do things, not because they really want to, but because they are overly impressionable and do not know how to resist peer pressure. We human beings are imitative creatures, so it matters profoundly the kind of people and community with whom we live and interact. My colleague grew up in the South, and when JFK was assassinated, he came home from school and told his mother how some people in the class cheered when they heard the news that this SOB, pushing civil rights in their faces, was dead. Well, his shocked mother said, in her sternest voice, “There will be no cheering in this house. Remember who you are.”
In Paul’s Letter to the Christian Church at Rome, he was certainly very concerned about who the Christian community in Rome was. He wanted them to remember who they are. Paul cared deeply about Christian community and the formation of Christian character. He wanted the members of the Roman Church to live as the redeemed people that through Jesus Christ they already were, but he also knew the power of sin. Now we tend to think of sin as specific wrong deeds, such as lying and stealing. But this is not the Pauline understanding of sin. Sin for Paul is a force lurking deep within all people, leading them to make decisions and act in ways contrary to God’s intention for human life. And so, the human project can be understood as a taming and disciplining of that force. Indeed, this is how Judaism has understood the human condition. The Jewish interpretation is that we human beings are born with a tendency toward both good and evil, and so we must learn to exercise dominion over the one that goodness might flourish. This is not achieved in an instant; it requires a lifetime of instruction, practice, and discipline.
Now Paul as a Pharisee was certainly conversant with this understanding. He understood that the Jewish Law---all 613 commandments---- was designed to discipline people, to bring the stubborn and rebellious will under control. Paul had spent his life loving and serving this Law, or at least trying to. But he discovered that all too often he could not bend and discipline his will. He knew what was right, and sometimes he could do the right, but there were other times he failed miserably. And so, we have his poignant words: For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. This is the human condition. And we are all old enough to know precisely what Paul is talking about, because we have all been there.
Some years ago, when I was working as a chaplain in a hospice, I became acquainted with a friend of one my patients. Both men were Jewish, both survivors of the Holocaust. Daniel was the friend, who faithfully visited Joshua, and Daniel often spoke with me while Joshua was sleeping. He told me this riveting story about how he and his parents and 8 year old sister, were escaping from Poland after the German invasion in World War ll. “We were almost out of Poland,” he said, “when my mother fell om a rock and broke her leg, a compound fracture. There was nothing to be done. My parents told me to go ahead. “Take your sister and go. Survive and live your life.” I was 15 years old. “Go”, my parents commanded. “My sister would not come but clung to my mother, crying. I never turned around. I could not bear to see them standing there, though my sister’s cries, yet ring in my ears. I ran and hid, eventually making my way across Europe with the help of many good Christian people, finally to Israel and then after the War ended to the United States. I became a lawyer and a very successful one at that. My success was my revenge against the Germans. As you can imagine, I was very moved by Daniel’s story.
But the day that Joshua died, as Daniel stood next to the bed, where his dead friend lay, Daniel added the final chapter to the story. Joshua is the only person who knows this story, but I am now going to tell it to you, since over these months, you have listened to me go on and on. When I was in hiding in the woods, still in Poland, not at all sure I would survive, I saw and heard this German family: a mother, father and two young children. The father was dressed in a Nazi uniform, and they were picnicking in a place just beyond the woods where I was hiding. I crouched down very low and was very, very quiet. I could feel this rage gather up in my soul, and so, very carefully and deliberately I took the gun my father gave me and shot them all dead. My father was a good shot, and he taught me. I knew it was wrong; I even struggled with my conscience for a very short while. But in the end, I avenged my family. It was a stupid thing to do because I could have so easily been caught.
I was only 15, so perhaps I can be forgiven, but now, all these many decades later, I cannot even say I am sorry. I know it was wrong, but I also know how strong the sting of revenge was, and if I had the chance even now in my old age, would I do the same thing all over again? I think I would. Joshua and I have discussed this many times, and he says I am forgiven. But how can I be forgiven when that is not even what I am asking for?
Paul would understand this all too well. He understood how deeply sin lurks within us and that we cannot solve the problem of sin by an act of knowledge. We can know what is good and right, but still fail to do it. And there may even be times we are not sorry for the wrong we know we have done. The self can indeed be in bondage--- to rage, revenge, to whatever captures us not only in our weakness but also in our strength.
July 6, 2023
Dear Friends,
Just this past Tuesday was July 4, and I imagine all across the country people celebrated it in different ways---picnics, fireworks, concerts, and for some a quiet day at home. But for Thomas Jefferson, July 4, 1826, the 50th anniversary of the new nation, was not a happy day. He had been struggling with all sorts of problems for a number of months. He had turned 83 on April 13, and two months before his birthday, a beloved granddaughter, Ann Cary Randolph Bankhead, had died in childbirth with the former President inconsolably weeping in the room next to where she had died. Ann had suffered horribly at the hands of her abusive, alcoholic husband, and though Jefferson tried to help, there was very little he could do. Grief can choke the life out of anyone, yet grief was not his only burden. Though he had counseled the nation against debt and the banks that he said encouraged it, he was a spendthrift, especially when it came to his beloved home, Monticello. His debts were so severe that he was on the cusp of losing his home.
Yet as July 4 approached Jefferson was aware of the momentous occasion. The nation had survived 50 years, not an insignificant achievement. The Mayor of Washington, D.C. wanted a splendid celebration, and he invited the three surviving signers of the Declaration of Independence: Thomas Jefferson, who was 83, John Adams, 90, and Charles Carroll from Maryland, who was 88. He also invited James Madison and James Monroe, two former Presidents. Monroe Carroll and Adams said their health would not permit it. Madison also declined and wrote a very nice letter, saluting the nation’s birthday with this line: “Ever honored will be the day which gave birth to a new nation and to a system of self-government, making it a new epoch in the history of man.” And then there was Jefferson, also suffering from poor health.
On June 24, 1826, Jefferson sat down to write a letter to Roger Weightman, mayor of Washington, in which he too declined the invitation. Jefferson wrote that he was flattered by the invitation. “I long to meet once more,” he wrote, the remnant of that host of worthies, who joined with us on that day, in the bold and doubtful election we were to make for our country, between submission or the sword.” And then, the same passion that had penned the Declaration of Independence 50 years before, poured forth:
May it be to the world what I believe it will be (to some part sooner, to others later, but finally to all,) the Signal of arousing men to burst the chains under which monkish ignorance and superstition had persuaded them to bind themselves, and to assume the blessings and security of self government. The form (of government) we have substituted restores the free right to the unbounded exercise of reason and freedom of opinion.
All eyes are opened or opening to the rights of man. The general spread of the light of science has already laid open to every view the palpable truth that the mass of mankind has not been born, with saddles on their backs, nor a favored few booted and spurred, ready to ride them legitimately by the grace of God. These are grounds of hope for others. For ourselves let the annual return of this day, forever refresh our recollections of these rights and an undiminished devotion to them.
This letter went down in history as the last letter Jefferson ever wrote. Jefferson died on July 4 around noon. A few hours later, his friend and sometimes rival, John Adams, also died with Jefferson’s name on his lips. He did not know that his friend had already died, and Adams’ final words were, “Jefferson lives.”
We can rightly admire Jefferson, though we know of the deep contradictions in his life. He spoke eloquently of the “rights of man,” and yet he enslaved many. He fathered children by Sally Hemmings, a slave and his deceased wife’s half sister. Contradictions do indeed abound in his life as they do in most people’s lives. No wonder the Apostle Paul wrote these words in Romans: For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want to do is what I do. That is the human condition---at least some of the time.
By the way, it turned out that the letter to the Washington Mayor was not really the last letter. On that same day, but later he wrote a letter coordinating a shipment of wine from France. The man, who so eloquently spoke of human rights and yet enslaved people, could not deny himself luxuries for which he could not pay.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Just this past Tuesday was July 4, and I imagine all across the country people celebrated it in different ways---picnics, fireworks, concerts, and for some a quiet day at home. But for Thomas Jefferson, July 4, 1826, the 50th anniversary of the new nation, was not a happy day. He had been struggling with all sorts of problems for a number of months. He had turned 83 on April 13, and two months before his birthday, a beloved granddaughter, Ann Cary Randolph Bankhead, had died in childbirth with the former President inconsolably weeping in the room next to where she had died. Ann had suffered horribly at the hands of her abusive, alcoholic husband, and though Jefferson tried to help, there was very little he could do. Grief can choke the life out of anyone, yet grief was not his only burden. Though he had counseled the nation against debt and the banks that he said encouraged it, he was a spendthrift, especially when it came to his beloved home, Monticello. His debts were so severe that he was on the cusp of losing his home.
Yet as July 4 approached Jefferson was aware of the momentous occasion. The nation had survived 50 years, not an insignificant achievement. The Mayor of Washington, D.C. wanted a splendid celebration, and he invited the three surviving signers of the Declaration of Independence: Thomas Jefferson, who was 83, John Adams, 90, and Charles Carroll from Maryland, who was 88. He also invited James Madison and James Monroe, two former Presidents. Monroe Carroll and Adams said their health would not permit it. Madison also declined and wrote a very nice letter, saluting the nation’s birthday with this line: “Ever honored will be the day which gave birth to a new nation and to a system of self-government, making it a new epoch in the history of man.” And then there was Jefferson, also suffering from poor health.
On June 24, 1826, Jefferson sat down to write a letter to Roger Weightman, mayor of Washington, in which he too declined the invitation. Jefferson wrote that he was flattered by the invitation. “I long to meet once more,” he wrote, the remnant of that host of worthies, who joined with us on that day, in the bold and doubtful election we were to make for our country, between submission or the sword.” And then, the same passion that had penned the Declaration of Independence 50 years before, poured forth:
May it be to the world what I believe it will be (to some part sooner, to others later, but finally to all,) the Signal of arousing men to burst the chains under which monkish ignorance and superstition had persuaded them to bind themselves, and to assume the blessings and security of self government. The form (of government) we have substituted restores the free right to the unbounded exercise of reason and freedom of opinion.
All eyes are opened or opening to the rights of man. The general spread of the light of science has already laid open to every view the palpable truth that the mass of mankind has not been born, with saddles on their backs, nor a favored few booted and spurred, ready to ride them legitimately by the grace of God. These are grounds of hope for others. For ourselves let the annual return of this day, forever refresh our recollections of these rights and an undiminished devotion to them.
This letter went down in history as the last letter Jefferson ever wrote. Jefferson died on July 4 around noon. A few hours later, his friend and sometimes rival, John Adams, also died with Jefferson’s name on his lips. He did not know that his friend had already died, and Adams’ final words were, “Jefferson lives.”
We can rightly admire Jefferson, though we know of the deep contradictions in his life. He spoke eloquently of the “rights of man,” and yet he enslaved many. He fathered children by Sally Hemmings, a slave and his deceased wife’s half sister. Contradictions do indeed abound in his life as they do in most people’s lives. No wonder the Apostle Paul wrote these words in Romans: For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want to do is what I do. That is the human condition---at least some of the time.
By the way, it turned out that the letter to the Washington Mayor was not really the last letter. On that same day, but later he wrote a letter coordinating a shipment of wine from France. The man, who so eloquently spoke of human rights and yet enslaved people, could not deny himself luxuries for which he could not pay.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
A Text of Terror
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
July 2, 2023
Genesis 22: 1-14
There is no doubt that this story from Genesis is a very disturbing one. Some might even call it a text of terror. And so, we have ways to get around the disturbance and the terror. Our tradition is not biblically fundamentalist, meaning that we do not believe that the bible always describes exactly what happened when. We listen for the Word of God, not directly to the Word of God, which means we must search for it, interpret the text in its place and time as well as our place and time, since we realize that understanding grows and changes. One of my seminary professors used to remind us: You must consider what the text meant THEN and what it means NOW. And the meanings may not be the same.
When I was in seminary in the early 80’s, feminist interpretations were beginning to be heard, which simply means that women’s experiences were considered. And, of course, one of the first things we should notice in the Genesis story is that Sarah, Isaac’s mother, is completely left out. Her faith is apparently of no concern to God, let alone her feelings as a mother. And so, it is not unreasonable to ask: Can the text, bible be trusted, if women’s experiences are completely ignored?
Feminist interpretation points out that God appears here as a child abuser, and in that place and time, child sacrifice among the Canaanites was not uncommon. It was probably also practiced by the Israelites and under the Israelite King Josiah around the year 640 BC sites of child sacrifice were destroyed. Now some biblical interpreters have extended the analogy of child abuse to Jesus, who suffered horribly, because (according to orthodoxy) God required the perfect sacrifice from an unblemished, that is, a sinless human---the same way the Old Testament speaks of the sacrifice of the perfect, unblemished lamb. So, our questions today are different from questions asked then. We ask, “Is a God who would demand the death of the perfect lamb or human really this really the kind of God, worthy of human trust, love and devotion? Would God truly subject Abraham to such a test and also Isaac, who found himself bound to a rock with a knife poised at his throat? It interesting to note that some Jewish interpretation made the claim that Isaac was so traumatized by the experience that he was left damaged, which is why we hear almost nothing more about him in the bible.
So, this story does indeed trouble us, though we already know the outcome. God will not require Abraham to sacrifice his son, because he sees that Abraham is willing to make the offering. He passes this test of faith. And though none of us likes the test at all, we can ponder if there are indeed times in life when faith is truly tested. The 19th century Danish philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard, wrote that sometimes the ethical is suspended in service to a higher calling. God’s commandment is “Do not murder,” but there are times we do: in self defense and also in war and assassination.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German Lutheran theologian and pastor, entered into the plot against Hitler’s life fully knowing what God’s commands are. He understood the ethical imperative to avoid murder, and yet he would murder Hitler, if the opportunity arose. But, and this is important, he NEVER said he knew an assassination was God’s command and will. Bonhoeffer made his decision; he suspended the normal ethical rule in service to something else, something he determined was higher and more important. He prayed and he pondered, and the decision he made was his, not God’s. Bonhoeffer was a man of great faith, but faith does not necessarily issue in certitude. And if it did, would it truly be faith?
Yet Abraham’s story is presented as one without doubt. He did not doubt that the command to sacrifice his son came from God just as he did not doubt that God wanted him to leave his home and go to a new land, where he would be father of a great people, though he had no children of his own. Abraham trusted and believed God. And now just before this story, he has settled in this land of promise where he planted a tree and called God “The Everlasting One.” Then God intruded with this test of faith. Abraham had previously argued with God about the destruction of the wicked cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. What if I can find at least 100 just people, he bargained with God. Will you spare the cities then? Do you want people to say that you are an unjust God, destroying the good along with the wicked? And Abraham managed to whittle the number down to 10. So, Abraham bargained for two cities, but he did not bargain for his son. Why?
Because Abraham at Moriah, the site of the near sacrifice, is not the same man who argued with God about those two cities. He had been unable to find 10 just people, so he learned that God knew something he did not know. But here, there is a difference. It is not Abraham who does not know; it is God. God did not really know if Abraham will obey the command. Would he withhold his son from God? This story is a test, but it is also a temptation, an awful temptation. And though each week we pray in the Lord’s Prayer, ”Lead us not into temptation,” nonetheless, God that is exactly what God was doing to Abraham, leading him toward a temptation---not unlike Jesus, I might add, who immediately after his baptism, was led by the Spirit of God into the wilderness where he was tempted for 40 days and nights by Satan.
A temptation always means that there are choices, at least two, if not more. In this story the choice is to obey God or disobey God, or argue with God, which Abraham did not choose to do. He was willing to obey, trusting that whatever God commanded would be ultimately life giving, not life denying.
Again, we are righty horrified by the test, but the story is not first and foremost about us. It is about God and Abraham. Oh, we do enter into the story, of course, but only after we have learned what Abraham learned---that God is a God of grace, and God will provide. That is exactly what Abraham told Isaac when his son asked where the lamb for the sacrifice was. “God will provide,” or a better translation, “God will see it before us.” And for Abraham and for us that is the learning: God sees before Abraham; God sees before us. But, according to this story, God does not see and know everything, for if God did, why would God have bothered to test or to tempt Abraham? Staying within the boundaries of this story puts us face to face with a God who tempts, a God who tests. No wonder Jesus prayed, “Lead us not into temptation.” He knew God had led him and others straight into the depths of temptation---not as a trap, but that full and abundant life might be found.
This story shows us a real relationship between God and Abraham, where each learned something fundamental about the other. God learned that Abraham will trust God completely, will withhold nothing, and Abraham learned that God will provide. It is a terrifying story, because the God we meet here is not the God we want. We want a God who is safe and tame, who makes us feel completely secure. But there are times, when we meet a God who is not always comfortable, not always safe, as in C.S. Lewis’ famous Christian allegory, The Lion, Witch and Wardrobe, where Aslan, the lion, is a symbol for Christ. Is Aslan safe, the children want to know. No, he is not safe, but he is good. And the same can be said for the God we meet in Jesus Christ.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
July 2, 2023
Genesis 22: 1-14
There is no doubt that this story from Genesis is a very disturbing one. Some might even call it a text of terror. And so, we have ways to get around the disturbance and the terror. Our tradition is not biblically fundamentalist, meaning that we do not believe that the bible always describes exactly what happened when. We listen for the Word of God, not directly to the Word of God, which means we must search for it, interpret the text in its place and time as well as our place and time, since we realize that understanding grows and changes. One of my seminary professors used to remind us: You must consider what the text meant THEN and what it means NOW. And the meanings may not be the same.
When I was in seminary in the early 80’s, feminist interpretations were beginning to be heard, which simply means that women’s experiences were considered. And, of course, one of the first things we should notice in the Genesis story is that Sarah, Isaac’s mother, is completely left out. Her faith is apparently of no concern to God, let alone her feelings as a mother. And so, it is not unreasonable to ask: Can the text, bible be trusted, if women’s experiences are completely ignored?
Feminist interpretation points out that God appears here as a child abuser, and in that place and time, child sacrifice among the Canaanites was not uncommon. It was probably also practiced by the Israelites and under the Israelite King Josiah around the year 640 BC sites of child sacrifice were destroyed. Now some biblical interpreters have extended the analogy of child abuse to Jesus, who suffered horribly, because (according to orthodoxy) God required the perfect sacrifice from an unblemished, that is, a sinless human---the same way the Old Testament speaks of the sacrifice of the perfect, unblemished lamb. So, our questions today are different from questions asked then. We ask, “Is a God who would demand the death of the perfect lamb or human really this really the kind of God, worthy of human trust, love and devotion? Would God truly subject Abraham to such a test and also Isaac, who found himself bound to a rock with a knife poised at his throat? It interesting to note that some Jewish interpretation made the claim that Isaac was so traumatized by the experience that he was left damaged, which is why we hear almost nothing more about him in the bible.
So, this story does indeed trouble us, though we already know the outcome. God will not require Abraham to sacrifice his son, because he sees that Abraham is willing to make the offering. He passes this test of faith. And though none of us likes the test at all, we can ponder if there are indeed times in life when faith is truly tested. The 19th century Danish philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard, wrote that sometimes the ethical is suspended in service to a higher calling. God’s commandment is “Do not murder,” but there are times we do: in self defense and also in war and assassination.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German Lutheran theologian and pastor, entered into the plot against Hitler’s life fully knowing what God’s commands are. He understood the ethical imperative to avoid murder, and yet he would murder Hitler, if the opportunity arose. But, and this is important, he NEVER said he knew an assassination was God’s command and will. Bonhoeffer made his decision; he suspended the normal ethical rule in service to something else, something he determined was higher and more important. He prayed and he pondered, and the decision he made was his, not God’s. Bonhoeffer was a man of great faith, but faith does not necessarily issue in certitude. And if it did, would it truly be faith?
Yet Abraham’s story is presented as one without doubt. He did not doubt that the command to sacrifice his son came from God just as he did not doubt that God wanted him to leave his home and go to a new land, where he would be father of a great people, though he had no children of his own. Abraham trusted and believed God. And now just before this story, he has settled in this land of promise where he planted a tree and called God “The Everlasting One.” Then God intruded with this test of faith. Abraham had previously argued with God about the destruction of the wicked cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. What if I can find at least 100 just people, he bargained with God. Will you spare the cities then? Do you want people to say that you are an unjust God, destroying the good along with the wicked? And Abraham managed to whittle the number down to 10. So, Abraham bargained for two cities, but he did not bargain for his son. Why?
Because Abraham at Moriah, the site of the near sacrifice, is not the same man who argued with God about those two cities. He had been unable to find 10 just people, so he learned that God knew something he did not know. But here, there is a difference. It is not Abraham who does not know; it is God. God did not really know if Abraham will obey the command. Would he withhold his son from God? This story is a test, but it is also a temptation, an awful temptation. And though each week we pray in the Lord’s Prayer, ”Lead us not into temptation,” nonetheless, God that is exactly what God was doing to Abraham, leading him toward a temptation---not unlike Jesus, I might add, who immediately after his baptism, was led by the Spirit of God into the wilderness where he was tempted for 40 days and nights by Satan.
A temptation always means that there are choices, at least two, if not more. In this story the choice is to obey God or disobey God, or argue with God, which Abraham did not choose to do. He was willing to obey, trusting that whatever God commanded would be ultimately life giving, not life denying.
Again, we are righty horrified by the test, but the story is not first and foremost about us. It is about God and Abraham. Oh, we do enter into the story, of course, but only after we have learned what Abraham learned---that God is a God of grace, and God will provide. That is exactly what Abraham told Isaac when his son asked where the lamb for the sacrifice was. “God will provide,” or a better translation, “God will see it before us.” And for Abraham and for us that is the learning: God sees before Abraham; God sees before us. But, according to this story, God does not see and know everything, for if God did, why would God have bothered to test or to tempt Abraham? Staying within the boundaries of this story puts us face to face with a God who tempts, a God who tests. No wonder Jesus prayed, “Lead us not into temptation.” He knew God had led him and others straight into the depths of temptation---not as a trap, but that full and abundant life might be found.
This story shows us a real relationship between God and Abraham, where each learned something fundamental about the other. God learned that Abraham will trust God completely, will withhold nothing, and Abraham learned that God will provide. It is a terrifying story, because the God we meet here is not the God we want. We want a God who is safe and tame, who makes us feel completely secure. But there are times, when we meet a God who is not always comfortable, not always safe, as in C.S. Lewis’ famous Christian allegory, The Lion, Witch and Wardrobe, where Aslan, the lion, is a symbol for Christ. Is Aslan safe, the children want to know. No, he is not safe, but he is good. And the same can be said for the God we meet in Jesus Christ.
June 29, 2023
Dear Friends,
When Maya Shankar was six years old, she fell in love with the violin. And so, her parents made sure she had lessons. Her violin teacher had an unconventional method of teaching. While avoiding drills and scale playing, he began by having Maya play songs and as the years went by, she became quite proficient. One day, when she was nine, in New York with her mother, they visited Julliard. Her mother said, “Let’s go in and see how things look here.” Maya was shocked by her mother’s boldness. After all, people with no official business are not really invited to walk around Julliard’s halls. But they did more than walk around the halls; they actually managed to watch a lesson and then---because Maya’s mother was creatively imaginative and bold---Maya played a Beethoven piece for the renowned professor, who then offered her lessons. Maya had much to learn, because her technical education had been weak, but she worked extremely hard and then was admitted to a program for young, gifted musicians. At 13 she was invited to be a private student of Itzhak Perlman, but at 15, tragedy struck. While playing, she overstretched her hand, and she heard a pop. A tendon had ripped, finishing her aspiring career in music. Maya was devastated as she faced the loss of her identity as a violinist. But eventually Maya forged ahead, earning a PhD in cognitive psychology. And then one day, she stood before the graduating class at Julliard and gave the commencement speech, which consisted of three main points, applicable to LIFE.
The first thing Maya said is: Be bold, imaginatively creative. She gave the example of her mother having them enter into the Julliard building, talking to someone who was about to have a lesson, getting them into the lesson as observers and then suggesting to the professor that Maya play for him. Years later the professor admitted that though Maya had great passion for the instrument, she lacked technical skill, but he took her on, because he thought her love for the instrument was quite extraordinary in someone so young. Maya said she had AWE for music. The beauty of music stirred her so deeply that Maya’s awe also AWED the professor, who admitted that he did not think Maya would really be able to compete. But she did! She worked hard and overcame her technical deficit. So, her advice to the graduates was: “BE IN AWE.” Find something that awes you and pursue it, because awe brings depth and height to life.
Maya was awed by music, but she had to let it go professionally, because she suffered physical damage. Yet she told the graduates it is essential to ask yourself, What it is about the thing which awes you. Why does it awe you? Why do you do what you do? Maya had realized that music awed her because she witnessed how it made connections among people. Music, she had learned, was not simply her PRIVATE passion. She saw how music brought people together. At concerts she saw all these sundry persons moved by the experience of listening to music. And in realizing this Maya found a new way forward. She studied cognitive psychology because she understood she was fascinated by connections among people, and she wanted to help people make those connections.
Maya’s story reminds me of my husband’s experience when he was a graduate student at Tufts Medical School. One summer he went to Rockefeller University in New York to learn some techniques from a professor. Peter told Donald that after graduating from college he had worked on Wall Street for about five years. His father, by the way, had a seat on the New York Stock Exchange, so Peter had some knowledge of and facility with finance. But after a while, he realized that he did not want to be defined by money. He just did not care about it that much. And he also saw people, much older than he, who had spent their adult lives pursuing wealth, but the pursuit in many cases had not really brought them deep joy. They liked being rich; maybe some of them even loved being rich, but that was all. And that would not be enough for Peter. And so, he decided to go to graduate school in molecular biology, and he did become a very successful scientist. He had passion for his work, because he saw how the expansion of knowledge had profound impact on the lives of not only people, but also the planet. He was in awe of how much MORE was known NOW than when he was in graduate school many decades before. And my husband says the same thing. The introductory course in biology taught at universities and colleges today is NOTHING like the introductory course taught 50 years ago, when he was in college. So much more is now known and so some of the old knowledge, which though not wrong (like classification and evolutionary biology) has dropped off the introductory course, because it is not deemed as essential as some of the new knowledge. The “old stuff” is now taught in specialty courses for those who have a particular interest in it.
I was moved by Maya’s story, and her advice is universal: Be imaginatively bold and creative. Be in awe. And understand what it is that draws you to the awe. There is no doubt that the creation is awe-inspiring, and God, we believe, is the master artist of the creation---very awe-inspiring, indeed
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
When Maya Shankar was six years old, she fell in love with the violin. And so, her parents made sure she had lessons. Her violin teacher had an unconventional method of teaching. While avoiding drills and scale playing, he began by having Maya play songs and as the years went by, she became quite proficient. One day, when she was nine, in New York with her mother, they visited Julliard. Her mother said, “Let’s go in and see how things look here.” Maya was shocked by her mother’s boldness. After all, people with no official business are not really invited to walk around Julliard’s halls. But they did more than walk around the halls; they actually managed to watch a lesson and then---because Maya’s mother was creatively imaginative and bold---Maya played a Beethoven piece for the renowned professor, who then offered her lessons. Maya had much to learn, because her technical education had been weak, but she worked extremely hard and then was admitted to a program for young, gifted musicians. At 13 she was invited to be a private student of Itzhak Perlman, but at 15, tragedy struck. While playing, she overstretched her hand, and she heard a pop. A tendon had ripped, finishing her aspiring career in music. Maya was devastated as she faced the loss of her identity as a violinist. But eventually Maya forged ahead, earning a PhD in cognitive psychology. And then one day, she stood before the graduating class at Julliard and gave the commencement speech, which consisted of three main points, applicable to LIFE.
The first thing Maya said is: Be bold, imaginatively creative. She gave the example of her mother having them enter into the Julliard building, talking to someone who was about to have a lesson, getting them into the lesson as observers and then suggesting to the professor that Maya play for him. Years later the professor admitted that though Maya had great passion for the instrument, she lacked technical skill, but he took her on, because he thought her love for the instrument was quite extraordinary in someone so young. Maya said she had AWE for music. The beauty of music stirred her so deeply that Maya’s awe also AWED the professor, who admitted that he did not think Maya would really be able to compete. But she did! She worked hard and overcame her technical deficit. So, her advice to the graduates was: “BE IN AWE.” Find something that awes you and pursue it, because awe brings depth and height to life.
Maya was awed by music, but she had to let it go professionally, because she suffered physical damage. Yet she told the graduates it is essential to ask yourself, What it is about the thing which awes you. Why does it awe you? Why do you do what you do? Maya had realized that music awed her because she witnessed how it made connections among people. Music, she had learned, was not simply her PRIVATE passion. She saw how music brought people together. At concerts she saw all these sundry persons moved by the experience of listening to music. And in realizing this Maya found a new way forward. She studied cognitive psychology because she understood she was fascinated by connections among people, and she wanted to help people make those connections.
Maya’s story reminds me of my husband’s experience when he was a graduate student at Tufts Medical School. One summer he went to Rockefeller University in New York to learn some techniques from a professor. Peter told Donald that after graduating from college he had worked on Wall Street for about five years. His father, by the way, had a seat on the New York Stock Exchange, so Peter had some knowledge of and facility with finance. But after a while, he realized that he did not want to be defined by money. He just did not care about it that much. And he also saw people, much older than he, who had spent their adult lives pursuing wealth, but the pursuit in many cases had not really brought them deep joy. They liked being rich; maybe some of them even loved being rich, but that was all. And that would not be enough for Peter. And so, he decided to go to graduate school in molecular biology, and he did become a very successful scientist. He had passion for his work, because he saw how the expansion of knowledge had profound impact on the lives of not only people, but also the planet. He was in awe of how much MORE was known NOW than when he was in graduate school many decades before. And my husband says the same thing. The introductory course in biology taught at universities and colleges today is NOTHING like the introductory course taught 50 years ago, when he was in college. So much more is now known and so some of the old knowledge, which though not wrong (like classification and evolutionary biology) has dropped off the introductory course, because it is not deemed as essential as some of the new knowledge. The “old stuff” is now taught in specialty courses for those who have a particular interest in it.
I was moved by Maya’s story, and her advice is universal: Be imaginatively bold and creative. Be in awe. And understand what it is that draws you to the awe. There is no doubt that the creation is awe-inspiring, and God, we believe, is the master artist of the creation---very awe-inspiring, indeed
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Facing Conflict
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
June 25, 2023
Genesis 21: 8-21
Matthew 10: 34-39
There are some people, who look for conflict and thrive on it, but many, if not most people, will avoid it. Families can be full of conflict, though it is often not acknowledged directly, but if you scratch beneath the surface it will rise up. Conflicts cluster around multiple themes: politics, religion, money and inheritance and then there is the perennial favored child syndrome, where siblings harbor resentment because someone in the family has a favored status. Well, there is nothing new about any of these themes. They have been around as long as human beings have been on the planet, and such stories also fill the pages of the Bible. Jesus ended up on the cross because his politics, which were all about the first being last and the last being first did not square with either the Jewish leadership or Rome. And Jesus did not always get along with his family, who sometimes thought him out of his mind. He told them he must be about his father’s business, and the father he was referring to was not Joseph. He had a favored status as God’s son. And in our story from Genesis, we have another story about a favored son, Isaac.
God had told Abraham that he would be the father of a great nation, though he was an old man and his wife, Sarah, had not borne any children. As you heard in the introduction, Sarah was worried that God’s plan would be frustrated, so she got it into her head to tell her husband to sleep with her maid, Hagar, so she would conceive a child. And Abraham followed his wife’s plan with no protest, I might add. As you can imagine this dynamic is a set up for later problems, especially when Sarah, in her old age, did conceive and bore Isaac. And we just read what happened: jealous Sarah told Abraham to banish Ishmael and Hagar, which he promptly did. Now I would say the Bible covers Abraham’s cowardice in not standing up to Sarah by putting the blame on God. God told Abraham everything would be fine, and Abraham chose to believe what he heard God say. But notice Abraham did not bother to explain anything to Hagar, so she was essentially terrorized by the situation---left to die of thirst with her son. She did not even matter enough to Abraham for him to tell her what God had told him. Well, as we heard: God did provide. Ishmael and Hagar survived, and Ishmael became the father of the Arab people.
There is conflict in this story but notice how it was never squarely faced. The story tells us that Abraham was very distressed because he cared about his son. (Notice the text does not mention any care for Hagar, as if she were a throw away person. And let’s face it: that is often how women were treated and sometimes still are.) So, Abraham was distressed, but he didn’t say or do anything to show his distress to Sarah. He swallowed the conflict, and that is indeed a common human response. It happened then and it happens now. People simply do not want to deal with it and the rooms of therapists are filled with people who have unresolved conflicts, issues which would have been better dealt with years ago.
When we arrive at Matthew’s gospel for today, we hear Jesus saying what we really do not want to hear. Kind, gentle Jesus, who is all about love and acceptance speaks some harsh words. Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth, but a sword. Son will be against father, daughter against mother and one’s foes will be members of one’s household. Later Jesus will tell a man who wants to join him, but first must bury his father, Let the dead bury the dead, a grave insult, because filial piety was at the heart of life in Jesus’ day. Though we may be shocked to hear it from Jesus, we really should not be, since life does teach us that there are decisions which do tear families apart. Consider our nation’s Civil War. Families were quite literally torn apart, when one son chose to fight for the Confederacy, and another fought for the Union. The same thing happened in Vietnam. Other families have been broken when a son or daughter comes out as gay or lesbian or transgender. Some never come out at all, though most if not all in the family knows the truth. It is simply not spoken of.
Both my husband and I grew up in families where there was a great deal of arguing and even yelling, so I learned as a youngster to argue. My father and I would go head to head, even when we agreed. A great many of the arguments in my family, which included extended family, aunts, uncles, grandparents, were political in nature. My father in his younger years was a Norman Thomas socialist, later turned New Deal Democrat, and I can remember some pretty heavy arguments with my mother’s family, some of whom were business people and quite economically comfortable and conservative. But though they would argue and even yell at each other, it never became personal. They disagreed about ideas, but they could live with that difference. And at the end of the argument, they were still family, beloved members of the family. My husband’s family was the same way. My father in law was a professor, who loved to argue, and he would take a side just to start an argument. But as I became older, it was obvious to me that while my father and my father in law could take intellectual disagreements, they were terrible with emotional ones. Both would run away and hide from hard truths.
When my parents second child, Bobby, was two years old, he was diagnosed with leukemia a year before my birth, and my father kept the diagnosis to himself. He decided on no treatment, since there was almost none back then, except transfusion. He never told my mother, and so Bobby died in her arms, while my father was in Chicago on a business trip. Mercifully, he did not leave my mother and my older brother alone. He took them to be with her mother in Buffalo while he was away for a few days. Granted, no one, including the doctor, expected Bobby to die so quickly, but still, when I learned the truth, I thought it a terrible betrayal. And yet my mother understood. She was as strong as they come, and she would have faced the news head on. It was my father, who could not face the truth. And my husband’s family: they could argue about all kinds of things, but the big conflict in the family revolved around my mother in law’s OCD; she was a compulsive hoarder, and her house was eventually razed to the ground with all her junk in it. Yet no one in the family was ever allowed to name or talk about it-—even after my husband’s parents were divorced. The fear of the truth and the conflict that they feared would ensue were still that strong.
The conflict Jesus was referring to in today’s reading concerned how people would react to him and his teachings about ritual cleanliness, forgiveness, redistribution of wealth, filial loyalty, and the essence of Jewish law. What did it mean to be a faithful Jew? Was it all about conformity to 613 commandments, or could it be reduced to two: Love God with the fullness of your being and love neighbor as oneself. That question did set up tremendous conflict within the family and with Jewish authorities.
Sometimes conflicts cannot be easily resolved. The gauntlet is thrown down and you are on one side or the other. You know where you stand, and you know where others stand as well. But there are so many other times when conflict is not faced. I have heard people say, “Better the family survives in the dark than falls apart when the truth is fully seen in the light of day.” I understand that position all too well. And all of us make decisions about how much conflict we will take on and how much we will push away or push down. We decide on the price we are willing to pay. Jesus paid a very high price for the conflict he faced head on. Others pay a high price too---and sometimes the high price comes when they or we deny and run away.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
June 25, 2023
Genesis 21: 8-21
Matthew 10: 34-39
There are some people, who look for conflict and thrive on it, but many, if not most people, will avoid it. Families can be full of conflict, though it is often not acknowledged directly, but if you scratch beneath the surface it will rise up. Conflicts cluster around multiple themes: politics, religion, money and inheritance and then there is the perennial favored child syndrome, where siblings harbor resentment because someone in the family has a favored status. Well, there is nothing new about any of these themes. They have been around as long as human beings have been on the planet, and such stories also fill the pages of the Bible. Jesus ended up on the cross because his politics, which were all about the first being last and the last being first did not square with either the Jewish leadership or Rome. And Jesus did not always get along with his family, who sometimes thought him out of his mind. He told them he must be about his father’s business, and the father he was referring to was not Joseph. He had a favored status as God’s son. And in our story from Genesis, we have another story about a favored son, Isaac.
God had told Abraham that he would be the father of a great nation, though he was an old man and his wife, Sarah, had not borne any children. As you heard in the introduction, Sarah was worried that God’s plan would be frustrated, so she got it into her head to tell her husband to sleep with her maid, Hagar, so she would conceive a child. And Abraham followed his wife’s plan with no protest, I might add. As you can imagine this dynamic is a set up for later problems, especially when Sarah, in her old age, did conceive and bore Isaac. And we just read what happened: jealous Sarah told Abraham to banish Ishmael and Hagar, which he promptly did. Now I would say the Bible covers Abraham’s cowardice in not standing up to Sarah by putting the blame on God. God told Abraham everything would be fine, and Abraham chose to believe what he heard God say. But notice Abraham did not bother to explain anything to Hagar, so she was essentially terrorized by the situation---left to die of thirst with her son. She did not even matter enough to Abraham for him to tell her what God had told him. Well, as we heard: God did provide. Ishmael and Hagar survived, and Ishmael became the father of the Arab people.
There is conflict in this story but notice how it was never squarely faced. The story tells us that Abraham was very distressed because he cared about his son. (Notice the text does not mention any care for Hagar, as if she were a throw away person. And let’s face it: that is often how women were treated and sometimes still are.) So, Abraham was distressed, but he didn’t say or do anything to show his distress to Sarah. He swallowed the conflict, and that is indeed a common human response. It happened then and it happens now. People simply do not want to deal with it and the rooms of therapists are filled with people who have unresolved conflicts, issues which would have been better dealt with years ago.
When we arrive at Matthew’s gospel for today, we hear Jesus saying what we really do not want to hear. Kind, gentle Jesus, who is all about love and acceptance speaks some harsh words. Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth, but a sword. Son will be against father, daughter against mother and one’s foes will be members of one’s household. Later Jesus will tell a man who wants to join him, but first must bury his father, Let the dead bury the dead, a grave insult, because filial piety was at the heart of life in Jesus’ day. Though we may be shocked to hear it from Jesus, we really should not be, since life does teach us that there are decisions which do tear families apart. Consider our nation’s Civil War. Families were quite literally torn apart, when one son chose to fight for the Confederacy, and another fought for the Union. The same thing happened in Vietnam. Other families have been broken when a son or daughter comes out as gay or lesbian or transgender. Some never come out at all, though most if not all in the family knows the truth. It is simply not spoken of.
Both my husband and I grew up in families where there was a great deal of arguing and even yelling, so I learned as a youngster to argue. My father and I would go head to head, even when we agreed. A great many of the arguments in my family, which included extended family, aunts, uncles, grandparents, were political in nature. My father in his younger years was a Norman Thomas socialist, later turned New Deal Democrat, and I can remember some pretty heavy arguments with my mother’s family, some of whom were business people and quite economically comfortable and conservative. But though they would argue and even yell at each other, it never became personal. They disagreed about ideas, but they could live with that difference. And at the end of the argument, they were still family, beloved members of the family. My husband’s family was the same way. My father in law was a professor, who loved to argue, and he would take a side just to start an argument. But as I became older, it was obvious to me that while my father and my father in law could take intellectual disagreements, they were terrible with emotional ones. Both would run away and hide from hard truths.
When my parents second child, Bobby, was two years old, he was diagnosed with leukemia a year before my birth, and my father kept the diagnosis to himself. He decided on no treatment, since there was almost none back then, except transfusion. He never told my mother, and so Bobby died in her arms, while my father was in Chicago on a business trip. Mercifully, he did not leave my mother and my older brother alone. He took them to be with her mother in Buffalo while he was away for a few days. Granted, no one, including the doctor, expected Bobby to die so quickly, but still, when I learned the truth, I thought it a terrible betrayal. And yet my mother understood. She was as strong as they come, and she would have faced the news head on. It was my father, who could not face the truth. And my husband’s family: they could argue about all kinds of things, but the big conflict in the family revolved around my mother in law’s OCD; she was a compulsive hoarder, and her house was eventually razed to the ground with all her junk in it. Yet no one in the family was ever allowed to name or talk about it-—even after my husband’s parents were divorced. The fear of the truth and the conflict that they feared would ensue were still that strong.
The conflict Jesus was referring to in today’s reading concerned how people would react to him and his teachings about ritual cleanliness, forgiveness, redistribution of wealth, filial loyalty, and the essence of Jewish law. What did it mean to be a faithful Jew? Was it all about conformity to 613 commandments, or could it be reduced to two: Love God with the fullness of your being and love neighbor as oneself. That question did set up tremendous conflict within the family and with Jewish authorities.
Sometimes conflicts cannot be easily resolved. The gauntlet is thrown down and you are on one side or the other. You know where you stand, and you know where others stand as well. But there are so many other times when conflict is not faced. I have heard people say, “Better the family survives in the dark than falls apart when the truth is fully seen in the light of day.” I understand that position all too well. And all of us make decisions about how much conflict we will take on and how much we will push away or push down. We decide on the price we are willing to pay. Jesus paid a very high price for the conflict he faced head on. Others pay a high price too---and sometimes the high price comes when they or we deny and run away.
June 17, 2023
Dear Friends,
I was reading an article just yesterday about a psychiatrist, who was having trouble with one of her clients. The man, usually quite talkative, was shutting down, withdrawing into himself, and nothing she said seemed to help draw him out. Then she had an idea, something she almost never did with her clients. “Let’s take a walk together,” she suggested. At first, he was totally silent with his head cast down, but as they moved along, she saw him looking all around him---trees, sky, birds. He still did not say much, but when they returned to her office, and he was getting ready to depart, he looked at her and with a tear choked voice said, “I am so lonely.”
Loneliness: it’s a persistent theme in our device obsessed culture. Just the other day I was talking with a parishioner about how all this technology has made it more difficult for people to really talk to one another. I had recently read about high schools that were making a strong effort to ban completely the use of cell phones in school. Teachers and administrators were convinced that cell phones were damaging their students’ ability to concentrate not only on their schoolwork, but also on other people. “They don’t know how to have face to face conversations and navigate conflict in real time with the physical presence of people,” one principal said. “They are also not learning how to read the signs and signals that body language gives,’ a teacher commented. Other teachers were concerned that for their students, reality was all about screen time, and if something could not be pulled up on the screen, it did not have any reality for them. Research has shown that persons between the ages of 15 to 24 spend 70% less time in social interaction compared to 20 years ago. All this is leading to a greater sense of loneliness.
Indeed, the Surgeon General of the United States, Dr. Vivek Murthy, recently said that there is an epidemic of loneliness not only in our country but also in the western world, where technology is readily available to so many people. There are those who refer to their many friends on Face Book, but friendship and meaningful relationships are about the quality of connections, not the number of people you can count as Face Book friends.
Dr. Murthy made a few claims that he said are borne out by scientific research. First, loneliness cannot be reduced to a feeling. It actually impacts the body, putting it at risk, comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Those who suffer from loneliness increase the risk of heart disease by 29%, stroke by 32% and an increased risk of 50% for dementia in older adults. What is being referred to here is a sustained loneliness, a feeling that one’s human connections are interchangeable. If one friend departs, then another can easily take her or his place. The uniqueness of people, the sense that this particular person matters and cannot be easily replaced by another Face Book friend----these are the qualities that are being lost.
The world is very fast paced these days, and one might even wonder how God keeps pace with all the changes. Consider the story of Moses, who went up Mount Sinai to receive the Law from God, remained there for 40 days, and during that time, the Israelites built an altar to other gods. Forty days were simply too long to wait for Moses’ return. I doubt that most people today would wait 40 days. If there were no cell phone contact, a rescue team would have been sent out searching for the leader. Technology has probably made us a less patient and a lonelier people. Christianity posits God as triune, Three in One, so the very nature and being of God is relationship, and we, made in the image and likeness of God, are called to be in relationship as well. When we ignore or deny or deface our image and likeness, we suffer the consequences of loneliness.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
I was reading an article just yesterday about a psychiatrist, who was having trouble with one of her clients. The man, usually quite talkative, was shutting down, withdrawing into himself, and nothing she said seemed to help draw him out. Then she had an idea, something she almost never did with her clients. “Let’s take a walk together,” she suggested. At first, he was totally silent with his head cast down, but as they moved along, she saw him looking all around him---trees, sky, birds. He still did not say much, but when they returned to her office, and he was getting ready to depart, he looked at her and with a tear choked voice said, “I am so lonely.”
Loneliness: it’s a persistent theme in our device obsessed culture. Just the other day I was talking with a parishioner about how all this technology has made it more difficult for people to really talk to one another. I had recently read about high schools that were making a strong effort to ban completely the use of cell phones in school. Teachers and administrators were convinced that cell phones were damaging their students’ ability to concentrate not only on their schoolwork, but also on other people. “They don’t know how to have face to face conversations and navigate conflict in real time with the physical presence of people,” one principal said. “They are also not learning how to read the signs and signals that body language gives,’ a teacher commented. Other teachers were concerned that for their students, reality was all about screen time, and if something could not be pulled up on the screen, it did not have any reality for them. Research has shown that persons between the ages of 15 to 24 spend 70% less time in social interaction compared to 20 years ago. All this is leading to a greater sense of loneliness.
Indeed, the Surgeon General of the United States, Dr. Vivek Murthy, recently said that there is an epidemic of loneliness not only in our country but also in the western world, where technology is readily available to so many people. There are those who refer to their many friends on Face Book, but friendship and meaningful relationships are about the quality of connections, not the number of people you can count as Face Book friends.
Dr. Murthy made a few claims that he said are borne out by scientific research. First, loneliness cannot be reduced to a feeling. It actually impacts the body, putting it at risk, comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Those who suffer from loneliness increase the risk of heart disease by 29%, stroke by 32% and an increased risk of 50% for dementia in older adults. What is being referred to here is a sustained loneliness, a feeling that one’s human connections are interchangeable. If one friend departs, then another can easily take her or his place. The uniqueness of people, the sense that this particular person matters and cannot be easily replaced by another Face Book friend----these are the qualities that are being lost.
The world is very fast paced these days, and one might even wonder how God keeps pace with all the changes. Consider the story of Moses, who went up Mount Sinai to receive the Law from God, remained there for 40 days, and during that time, the Israelites built an altar to other gods. Forty days were simply too long to wait for Moses’ return. I doubt that most people today would wait 40 days. If there were no cell phone contact, a rescue team would have been sent out searching for the leader. Technology has probably made us a less patient and a lonelier people. Christianity posits God as triune, Three in One, so the very nature and being of God is relationship, and we, made in the image and likeness of God, are called to be in relationship as well. When we ignore or deny or deface our image and likeness, we suffer the consequences of loneliness.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
June 15, 2023
Dear Friends,
I have always been an admirer of Albert Einstein, and in my study at home, I have a huge poster of his picture with these words: “I want to know God’s thoughts. The rest are details.” I don’t know if Einstein knew what many theologians have argued: God IS in the details. I also have in my office at work another picture of Einstein, which one of my brothers gave me over 30 years ago.
I think part of the reason Einstein impresses me so much is that his story and his achievements did not move in a straight line. His life was full of surprises and sometimes even contradictions. He apparently talked very late, and when he did begin to speak, he would whisper the words to himself before saying them out loud. He was also a very mediocre student. Even in graduate school, when earning his PhD, no one thought his work would set the world on fire.
In 1905 he published a series of revolutionary articles, but no one paid much attention, and in 1915, when he published the equations to support his theory o relativity, still he was ignored. Germany was fighting World War l, and Einstein did not even register as a blip on a screen. England had been one of Germany’s enemies in World War l, so how ironic that it was two English astronomers, Arthur Eddington and Frank Watson Dyson, who decided to take a serious look at Einstein’s work. In examining the solar eclipse of May 29, 1919, they confirmed that Einstein’s equations worked, and that gravity would indeed cause light to bend around the sun. Suddenly Einstein genius was recognized.
Einstein had other interests besides physics. He was an amateur musician, and he loved to play the violin and the piano. In fact, it was noted that he often carried his violin everywhere he went. He owned more than several in his life, but he gave all of them the same name: Lina. While living in Princeton, New Jersey, he would host weekly chamber music sessions. He was a good violinist, not a great one, but no matter, the music brought him great joy.
Einstein was, of course, Jewish, and he did come to the United States from Germany in 1932 before it would be too late. He was an early supporter of the Zionist Movement in Israel, though he could also be critical of it. Following the death of Israel’s second president in 1952, Einstein was offered the presidency. In a letter from Israel’s ambassador to the United States he was promised “the freedom to pursue his great scientific work,” but it was expected he must live in Israel. Einstein wrote back that he was “saddened and ashamed” to turn the position down.
Though his physics led to the creation of the atomic bomb, in 1950 he came out against the bomb, and the FBI began to keep a file on him. He was a strong advocate for peace, and had some far left wing friends, such as the singer and political activist, Paul Robeson. J. Edgar Hoover tried to obtain permission to wiretap his phone and even have him deported---all without success. When Einstein died in 1955 his FBI file consisted of 1,427 pages! After Einstein’s death, his Princeton home was cleaned up, and piles of uncashed checks from Princeton University were found. He just was too busy pursuing God’s thoughts and making music and protesting against war and injustice to be concerned about such mundane matters as money and his paychecks. I don’t know if Einstein ever truly believed he had successfully probed God’s thoughts, but he certainly did.
Perhaps toward the end of his life he became more humble, realizing that the great joy was in the search and the closer he came to knowing God’s thoughts, the more mysterious they seemed.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
I have always been an admirer of Albert Einstein, and in my study at home, I have a huge poster of his picture with these words: “I want to know God’s thoughts. The rest are details.” I don’t know if Einstein knew what many theologians have argued: God IS in the details. I also have in my office at work another picture of Einstein, which one of my brothers gave me over 30 years ago.
I think part of the reason Einstein impresses me so much is that his story and his achievements did not move in a straight line. His life was full of surprises and sometimes even contradictions. He apparently talked very late, and when he did begin to speak, he would whisper the words to himself before saying them out loud. He was also a very mediocre student. Even in graduate school, when earning his PhD, no one thought his work would set the world on fire.
In 1905 he published a series of revolutionary articles, but no one paid much attention, and in 1915, when he published the equations to support his theory o relativity, still he was ignored. Germany was fighting World War l, and Einstein did not even register as a blip on a screen. England had been one of Germany’s enemies in World War l, so how ironic that it was two English astronomers, Arthur Eddington and Frank Watson Dyson, who decided to take a serious look at Einstein’s work. In examining the solar eclipse of May 29, 1919, they confirmed that Einstein’s equations worked, and that gravity would indeed cause light to bend around the sun. Suddenly Einstein genius was recognized.
Einstein had other interests besides physics. He was an amateur musician, and he loved to play the violin and the piano. In fact, it was noted that he often carried his violin everywhere he went. He owned more than several in his life, but he gave all of them the same name: Lina. While living in Princeton, New Jersey, he would host weekly chamber music sessions. He was a good violinist, not a great one, but no matter, the music brought him great joy.
Einstein was, of course, Jewish, and he did come to the United States from Germany in 1932 before it would be too late. He was an early supporter of the Zionist Movement in Israel, though he could also be critical of it. Following the death of Israel’s second president in 1952, Einstein was offered the presidency. In a letter from Israel’s ambassador to the United States he was promised “the freedom to pursue his great scientific work,” but it was expected he must live in Israel. Einstein wrote back that he was “saddened and ashamed” to turn the position down.
Though his physics led to the creation of the atomic bomb, in 1950 he came out against the bomb, and the FBI began to keep a file on him. He was a strong advocate for peace, and had some far left wing friends, such as the singer and political activist, Paul Robeson. J. Edgar Hoover tried to obtain permission to wiretap his phone and even have him deported---all without success. When Einstein died in 1955 his FBI file consisted of 1,427 pages! After Einstein’s death, his Princeton home was cleaned up, and piles of uncashed checks from Princeton University were found. He just was too busy pursuing God’s thoughts and making music and protesting against war and injustice to be concerned about such mundane matters as money and his paychecks. I don’t know if Einstein ever truly believed he had successfully probed God’s thoughts, but he certainly did.
Perhaps toward the end of his life he became more humble, realizing that the great joy was in the search and the closer he came to knowing God’s thoughts, the more mysterious they seemed.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
JOURNEYING BY STAGES
Preached By: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
June 11, 2023
Genesis 12: 1-9
Matthew 9: 9-13; 18-26
Tradition says that Abram---his name was later changed to Abraham---was 75 years old, when God told him to move. Now some people do move at that stage of life. They might sell the large home in which they raised their family and move into a smaller place, or perhaps they will move into assisted living. But making a major change like this---going to a completely new land, where all the familiarity of home is absent---because God tells you a new destiny awaits---that is really hard. And very few would do it. But Abram went, taking with him his extended family. He heard God and he obeyed. He did not argue, and he did not question---though there will be later instances where Abram will question and argue with God, but not here. He went where he was told to go; he pitched his tent and built an altar to the Lord. And then comes this sentence: And Abram journeyed by stages toward the Negeb, which today is the Negev Desert.
Journeyed by stages: let’s consider those words. Though Abram got up and left his home, he apparently did not arrive at the designated place all at once. He took his time; he journeyed by stages. And let’s face it: that is how life often is. We don’t immediately arrive at our destination. We move and grow by stages, because life takes time, and though it would seem that Abram as an old man did not have a great deal of time, but still, even he moved by stages. He did not make his journey all at once.
I have watched people make changes in their lives, sometimes because they must adjust to a new reality, like a health threat or a divorce they did not see coming, or the death of a spouse or partner. Some people do adjust quickly. They face the hard truth and accept what is facing them without mounting any fight. It is what it is, some might say. But many others take time to adjust. They move in stages, getting used to the idea not all at once, but in little bites they can manage to take.
I knew these two brothers, one, John, was an anesthesiologist and the other, Michael, was a missionary in South Africa. John had been an anesthesiologist for 10 years, and he found his work very stressful. “You get into these power plays with the surgeon,” he said. “It’s my job to make sure the patient remains stable, and sometimes I have to tell the surgeon to get out soon, or else the patient will crash. The blood pressure is going down; the heartrate is erratic, and some surgeons are so full of themselves, they don’t want to hear it. It is so stressful, and over the years I have considered many alternatives. You don’t easily change your specialty when you have trained for it for years.
Well, his brother, the missionary, who was back in the U.S. on a leave with his family, said that John had been talking about change for a long time. “He considers this specialty and that one, but he stays put. He is stuck.” But being stuck is not how John understood his situation. He had to move by stages, and he finally decided on a residency in psychiatry at Duke Medical School. It meant starting over, a big move for not only him, but also for his wife, who was a cardiac surgeon, and his three kids. When John talked about his brother, he was in awe of his decision-making prowess. “He just never seems to struggle with his decisions the way I do. We are just different; it is as simple and as complicated as that.”
Consider now our text from Matthew. Here we see Jesus, working at breakneck speed. In the chapters leading up to our reading for today, Jesus has been going around healing people: a demonic, a paralytic, a leper, Peter’s mother and others. He also stilled a storm on the Sea of Galilee. So, he has been very, very busy. Then he came upon Matthew, who was at his tax collecting booth, trying to wheedle money out of people, and Jesus said to him, “Follow me.” And Matthew followed---no discussion, no questions, no arguments. Whether or not this is historically true does not matter. The gospel writer, Matthew, who, by the way, was NOT the disciple, Matthew, was trying to make the point that Jesus was very compelling, hard to resist. And yet we do know that many people resisted Jesus, so there was something in Matthew that allowed him to respond so quickly. At least in this instance, he did not move by stages. He made his decision quickly.
And in this instance the Pharisees seemed to decide quickly as well. We are so attuned to prejudice toward the Pharisees that we too often ignore their good points. They were progressive in so many ways, wanting to stretch the meaning of the Jewish law beyond the literal written word and embrace the reflections and thoughts of other leaders and rabbis, which is, the oral interpretation of the law. They asked deep questions, and they pondered their tradition. And so, they had every good reason to ask why Jesus was hanging out with tax collectors and sinners. Such people were considered ritually unclean, bad influences---not the sort of people good and upstanding persons would want to be around. I mean virtue can be taught, and if you are trying to teach people to be virtuous, in this case to follow the Jewish Law, these are not the kinds of examples you want others to follow. It is not an unreasonable position to take. But notice Jesus had an answer: his ministry was for people who needed help. The righteous had no need of him.
Of course, there is another layer of meaning, which Jesus did not name, but it was implied. Who are the righteous ones? Is it always so easy to tell? Furthermore, are people truly as righteous as they think? The Pharisees thought they knew exactly who fit into what category. But, if you stop and consider carefully; if you pull back and think hard, you might not be so quick to conclude as the Pharisees did---that they, being righteous, had no need of Jesus and these other sinners are to be avoided. The implied truth here is that we are never as good as we think we are. Our goodness, in fact, is not why God loves us. And it was not why Jesus healed people. Their worthiness was not the issue; their need was.
And the father of the dead girl and the woman with an issue of blood realized this truth. They did not think they were owed healings. The father, a leader of the synagogue, humbly approached Jesus by kneeling. He had faith that Jesus could raise his daughter, but he did not use his leadership position to coax a miracle from Jesus. And the woman, who had been bleeding for 12 years, did not even presume to ask. Perhaps she felt she was not even worthy to make such a request. She would, after all, have been considered contaminated, ritually unclean, someone no one, certainly no male, should ever touch. “If I can only touch his cloak, I will be healed.,” she said to herself. She had that much faith, and when Jesus saw her, he recognized that her faith has made her well.
Some people came quickly to Jesus; others took their time. Some would never come. People have all kinds of reasons for doing what they do or don’t do. Whatever the goal may be, my experience has taught me that many people move by stages. They don’t usually arrive all at once, but when they do arrive, they are often grateful---not only for their arrival, but also for the journey, which, when they look back, appears as a blessing---even if they did not know it at the time.
Preached By: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
June 11, 2023
Genesis 12: 1-9
Matthew 9: 9-13; 18-26
Tradition says that Abram---his name was later changed to Abraham---was 75 years old, when God told him to move. Now some people do move at that stage of life. They might sell the large home in which they raised their family and move into a smaller place, or perhaps they will move into assisted living. But making a major change like this---going to a completely new land, where all the familiarity of home is absent---because God tells you a new destiny awaits---that is really hard. And very few would do it. But Abram went, taking with him his extended family. He heard God and he obeyed. He did not argue, and he did not question---though there will be later instances where Abram will question and argue with God, but not here. He went where he was told to go; he pitched his tent and built an altar to the Lord. And then comes this sentence: And Abram journeyed by stages toward the Negeb, which today is the Negev Desert.
Journeyed by stages: let’s consider those words. Though Abram got up and left his home, he apparently did not arrive at the designated place all at once. He took his time; he journeyed by stages. And let’s face it: that is how life often is. We don’t immediately arrive at our destination. We move and grow by stages, because life takes time, and though it would seem that Abram as an old man did not have a great deal of time, but still, even he moved by stages. He did not make his journey all at once.
I have watched people make changes in their lives, sometimes because they must adjust to a new reality, like a health threat or a divorce they did not see coming, or the death of a spouse or partner. Some people do adjust quickly. They face the hard truth and accept what is facing them without mounting any fight. It is what it is, some might say. But many others take time to adjust. They move in stages, getting used to the idea not all at once, but in little bites they can manage to take.
I knew these two brothers, one, John, was an anesthesiologist and the other, Michael, was a missionary in South Africa. John had been an anesthesiologist for 10 years, and he found his work very stressful. “You get into these power plays with the surgeon,” he said. “It’s my job to make sure the patient remains stable, and sometimes I have to tell the surgeon to get out soon, or else the patient will crash. The blood pressure is going down; the heartrate is erratic, and some surgeons are so full of themselves, they don’t want to hear it. It is so stressful, and over the years I have considered many alternatives. You don’t easily change your specialty when you have trained for it for years.
Well, his brother, the missionary, who was back in the U.S. on a leave with his family, said that John had been talking about change for a long time. “He considers this specialty and that one, but he stays put. He is stuck.” But being stuck is not how John understood his situation. He had to move by stages, and he finally decided on a residency in psychiatry at Duke Medical School. It meant starting over, a big move for not only him, but also for his wife, who was a cardiac surgeon, and his three kids. When John talked about his brother, he was in awe of his decision-making prowess. “He just never seems to struggle with his decisions the way I do. We are just different; it is as simple and as complicated as that.”
Consider now our text from Matthew. Here we see Jesus, working at breakneck speed. In the chapters leading up to our reading for today, Jesus has been going around healing people: a demonic, a paralytic, a leper, Peter’s mother and others. He also stilled a storm on the Sea of Galilee. So, he has been very, very busy. Then he came upon Matthew, who was at his tax collecting booth, trying to wheedle money out of people, and Jesus said to him, “Follow me.” And Matthew followed---no discussion, no questions, no arguments. Whether or not this is historically true does not matter. The gospel writer, Matthew, who, by the way, was NOT the disciple, Matthew, was trying to make the point that Jesus was very compelling, hard to resist. And yet we do know that many people resisted Jesus, so there was something in Matthew that allowed him to respond so quickly. At least in this instance, he did not move by stages. He made his decision quickly.
And in this instance the Pharisees seemed to decide quickly as well. We are so attuned to prejudice toward the Pharisees that we too often ignore their good points. They were progressive in so many ways, wanting to stretch the meaning of the Jewish law beyond the literal written word and embrace the reflections and thoughts of other leaders and rabbis, which is, the oral interpretation of the law. They asked deep questions, and they pondered their tradition. And so, they had every good reason to ask why Jesus was hanging out with tax collectors and sinners. Such people were considered ritually unclean, bad influences---not the sort of people good and upstanding persons would want to be around. I mean virtue can be taught, and if you are trying to teach people to be virtuous, in this case to follow the Jewish Law, these are not the kinds of examples you want others to follow. It is not an unreasonable position to take. But notice Jesus had an answer: his ministry was for people who needed help. The righteous had no need of him.
Of course, there is another layer of meaning, which Jesus did not name, but it was implied. Who are the righteous ones? Is it always so easy to tell? Furthermore, are people truly as righteous as they think? The Pharisees thought they knew exactly who fit into what category. But, if you stop and consider carefully; if you pull back and think hard, you might not be so quick to conclude as the Pharisees did---that they, being righteous, had no need of Jesus and these other sinners are to be avoided. The implied truth here is that we are never as good as we think we are. Our goodness, in fact, is not why God loves us. And it was not why Jesus healed people. Their worthiness was not the issue; their need was.
And the father of the dead girl and the woman with an issue of blood realized this truth. They did not think they were owed healings. The father, a leader of the synagogue, humbly approached Jesus by kneeling. He had faith that Jesus could raise his daughter, but he did not use his leadership position to coax a miracle from Jesus. And the woman, who had been bleeding for 12 years, did not even presume to ask. Perhaps she felt she was not even worthy to make such a request. She would, after all, have been considered contaminated, ritually unclean, someone no one, certainly no male, should ever touch. “If I can only touch his cloak, I will be healed.,” she said to herself. She had that much faith, and when Jesus saw her, he recognized that her faith has made her well.
Some people came quickly to Jesus; others took their time. Some would never come. People have all kinds of reasons for doing what they do or don’t do. Whatever the goal may be, my experience has taught me that many people move by stages. They don’t usually arrive all at once, but when they do arrive, they are often grateful---not only for their arrival, but also for the journey, which, when they look back, appears as a blessing---even if they did not know it at the time.
June 8, 2023
Dear Friends,
The Greek philosopher, Aristotle, believed that virtue could be taught. It requires, however, habitual practice, which means that at first virtue is difficult, but when it becomes habit, it is less challenging to be virtuous. So, Aristotle was a big believer that virtue education should start young that in time virtuous behavior would become part of the personality. His teacher, Plato, believed the opposite---that virtue was endemic to the person, a gift from God.
Shakespeare would seem to come down on the side of Aristotle for in his play, Hamlet, the son, Hamlet, is trying to persuade his mother, Gertrude, to stay away from her new husband, who had murdered Hamlet’s father. Hamlet said, “Assume a virtue, if you have it not.” And then a bit later he said, “Refrain tonight,/And that shall lend a kind of easiness/To the next abstinence: the next more easy;/For use almost can change the stamp of nature.” That last line seems straight out of Aristotle, since it is the argument for habit. The more we do something, the more we practice, the easier it becomes.” And this is true, whether we are speaking of virtue or vice.
Last month the Beckman Friedman Institute of the University of Chicago released a paper by a Nobel economic laureate and two postdoctoral fellows that came down very heavily on the side of Aristotle. This was not a paper published in an ethics or philosophy or religion journal, but rather one whose concern was economics. The title of the paper was The Economic Approach to Personality, Character, and Virtue. Apparently, the paper is going to be a chapter in a soon to be published book.
James Heckman, the Nobel laureate in economics, has had a long term interest in early childhood education and the benefits that can accrue from teaching virtue to the very young. The paper referred to the Perry Preschool Project, which was conducted for three and four year old disadvantaged children over a five year period, from 1962 to 1967. During this time the intensive program showed that children, who were taught virtue, were far less likely to lie, cheat, steal and miss school. And 50 years later, when the students, then grown, were revisited, the research indicated that they did much better in life than others, who were not so fortunate to be exposed to early childhood education with a strong dose of teaching about right and wrong.
This is certainly something to consider, because there does seem to be a scarcity of virtue education these days. So many children have nothing to do with church or Sunday School, and public schools are wary of teaching ethics, when they can so easily be accused of pushing a form of behavior that comes from the dominant class, gender, sexual orientation, race, or ethnicity. No wonder schools often avoid the subject. And yet schools readily admit they have deep challenges when it comes to bullying. How can you talk about bullying without clearly stating that it is wrong? Why is it wrong? On what basis do you make that claim? Is it simply a matter of personal opinion? Or is there a universal ethic that can make claims on everyone?
When I was growing up in suburban Buffalo, New York, I attended a very progressive elementary school, where we had a virtue of the month and a historical character who instantiated the virtue. The principal chose the virtue and the character, and it was the job of the teachers to talk and teach about it on the appropriate grade level. This is where I learned about such people as Albert Schweitzer, Dr. Tom Dooley, Florence Nightingale, Abraham Lincoln, Clara Barton, etc. I remember some of those lessons quite well, and I think it was a very positive experience. However, a few years ago, I had an elementary school teacher tell me, “That would never work today. There would be disagreements about the historical figure chosen. There would be all kinds of charges leveled like sexism, racism, classism, etc.” She claimed it would just be too hard to do. I understand her concern and her point, but by avoiding some of these hard issues and discussions, we cheat ourselves and our children out of an education. No education is perfect; something important is always left out, but an education without ethics is no education at all.
There is a line from the Old Testament, the Book of Deuteronomy, where God has given the Law and God says to the people, I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you, life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore, choose life, that you and your offspring may live. How do you choose the good, if you have not learned the critical tools that help us to think deeply about what goodness is? Remember, even Jesus said, when someone called him, "Good Teacher. Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
The Greek philosopher, Aristotle, believed that virtue could be taught. It requires, however, habitual practice, which means that at first virtue is difficult, but when it becomes habit, it is less challenging to be virtuous. So, Aristotle was a big believer that virtue education should start young that in time virtuous behavior would become part of the personality. His teacher, Plato, believed the opposite---that virtue was endemic to the person, a gift from God.
Shakespeare would seem to come down on the side of Aristotle for in his play, Hamlet, the son, Hamlet, is trying to persuade his mother, Gertrude, to stay away from her new husband, who had murdered Hamlet’s father. Hamlet said, “Assume a virtue, if you have it not.” And then a bit later he said, “Refrain tonight,/And that shall lend a kind of easiness/To the next abstinence: the next more easy;/For use almost can change the stamp of nature.” That last line seems straight out of Aristotle, since it is the argument for habit. The more we do something, the more we practice, the easier it becomes.” And this is true, whether we are speaking of virtue or vice.
Last month the Beckman Friedman Institute of the University of Chicago released a paper by a Nobel economic laureate and two postdoctoral fellows that came down very heavily on the side of Aristotle. This was not a paper published in an ethics or philosophy or religion journal, but rather one whose concern was economics. The title of the paper was The Economic Approach to Personality, Character, and Virtue. Apparently, the paper is going to be a chapter in a soon to be published book.
James Heckman, the Nobel laureate in economics, has had a long term interest in early childhood education and the benefits that can accrue from teaching virtue to the very young. The paper referred to the Perry Preschool Project, which was conducted for three and four year old disadvantaged children over a five year period, from 1962 to 1967. During this time the intensive program showed that children, who were taught virtue, were far less likely to lie, cheat, steal and miss school. And 50 years later, when the students, then grown, were revisited, the research indicated that they did much better in life than others, who were not so fortunate to be exposed to early childhood education with a strong dose of teaching about right and wrong.
This is certainly something to consider, because there does seem to be a scarcity of virtue education these days. So many children have nothing to do with church or Sunday School, and public schools are wary of teaching ethics, when they can so easily be accused of pushing a form of behavior that comes from the dominant class, gender, sexual orientation, race, or ethnicity. No wonder schools often avoid the subject. And yet schools readily admit they have deep challenges when it comes to bullying. How can you talk about bullying without clearly stating that it is wrong? Why is it wrong? On what basis do you make that claim? Is it simply a matter of personal opinion? Or is there a universal ethic that can make claims on everyone?
When I was growing up in suburban Buffalo, New York, I attended a very progressive elementary school, where we had a virtue of the month and a historical character who instantiated the virtue. The principal chose the virtue and the character, and it was the job of the teachers to talk and teach about it on the appropriate grade level. This is where I learned about such people as Albert Schweitzer, Dr. Tom Dooley, Florence Nightingale, Abraham Lincoln, Clara Barton, etc. I remember some of those lessons quite well, and I think it was a very positive experience. However, a few years ago, I had an elementary school teacher tell me, “That would never work today. There would be disagreements about the historical figure chosen. There would be all kinds of charges leveled like sexism, racism, classism, etc.” She claimed it would just be too hard to do. I understand her concern and her point, but by avoiding some of these hard issues and discussions, we cheat ourselves and our children out of an education. No education is perfect; something important is always left out, but an education without ethics is no education at all.
There is a line from the Old Testament, the Book of Deuteronomy, where God has given the Law and God says to the people, I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you, life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore, choose life, that you and your offspring may live. How do you choose the good, if you have not learned the critical tools that help us to think deeply about what goodness is? Remember, even Jesus said, when someone called him, "Good Teacher. Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
What are Human Beings That God is Mindful of Them?
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
June 4, 2023
Psalm 8
Genesis 1: 26-31
The psalmist, whose tradition names as David, asks a profound question: What is the human being that God, the mighty creator of all that is, should be mindful of her or him? We can imagine David, the shepherd, lying on his back, gazing at the expanse of the starry sky, watching the moon send forth its shafts of light into the darkness of the night, and he ponders: Why would a God who created all this magnificence, pay any attention to human beings? David knows we are not only puny and weak in our strength, compared to many other animals, but we also sin. We rebel against God; we resist the limits, which forbid us to lie, cheat, covet and kill. And yet even with all those limitations, David marvels that God has given human beings incredible power and responsibility over the creation. We have a place, like all animals, but it seems that we alone of the creatures can consciously transcend our place. We reach for the stars and though we have not reached them, we have built a telescope that allows us to see stars being born and dying. And we have landed on the moon and are about to go again. Such feats would have been beyond David’s wildest imagination.
In 1969 Apollo 11 took off for the moon and 73 countries sent messages that they wanted planted there. The Vatican sent the entire words to Psalm 8, the only psalm that ever made it to the moon. And we human beings---weak, puny, and sinful creatures that we are---we are the ones who engineered that fantastic feat. So, God pays attention to human beings, close attention, to the point that we Christians say, God has fully entered into the human condition. In Jesus Christ we see what God is like when God is expressed in what is not God---that is, a limited human being, because whatever we want to say about Jesus, he was limited. He had the consciousness and the knowledge of a first century Jew, which means that he knew nothing about the Big Bang or the huge expanse of space beyond the earth. He had no knowledge of atoms and DNA and evolution and the age of the universe. All that knowledge was not his to know. But he knew how to love human beings and he knew how to love God. He was in right relationship with God, so intimate with God that his identity could not be known apart from God. So yes, God pays close attention to human beings, so closely attending that God expressed god-self in humanity. Why should this be so? What is it about human beings that is so extraordinary?
Our text from Genesis tells us that we are made in the image and likeness of God. Notice too that this text tells us that God made male and female at the same time; woman here is not derivative from man. We call God the creator, and we too create. When you consider where and how we began, struggling to make the first tools and then develop language---it is extraordinary to contemplate the human journey. Modern homo sapiens have been around about 160,000 years, and in that time, we have been very busy. Some years ago, my husband and I were in Padua, Italy, the site of one of the great universities, where both Copernicus and Galileo taught. The Church did not approve that Galileo said the earth was not the center of the universe, and he was forced to recant or face the stake. Never mind, he knew the truth would win out, which it did. Pushing against all kinds of limits, we human beings have done marvelous things. No wonder the Psalmist asks: What is the human being that God is mindful of him or her?
Walk into a European Gothic cathedral, and you will be awed. Without the benefit of modern machines, people constructed these massive structures, filled with the light shining through the iridescent stained glass. The human brain figured out without calculators and computers the mathematics that would allow flying buttresses to support the weight of the cathedral without collapsing. It is beyond impressive. So, like God we are creative. But I read somewhere that dolphins and killer whales (more properly called orcas) have cerebral cortexes structurally capable of doing tensor calculus. Yet they do not do it. Calculus is a human activity these mammals have no interest in pursuing. Why? Perhaps because they have reached their nirvana. They are environmentally at home, and whales have no natural predators, except human beings. We humans, on the other hand are not so comfortable in our world. We have had to fight and claw and invent our way to the comfort we now have. We are restless creatures, and perhaps because we are not completely at home in our world, we have a need for God in a way that other creatures do not have. We ask questions about reality and God that drive us beyond the mundane, which make us seem a little lower than the angels.
But there is something else about us that evidence the image and likeness of God. And this is the human capacity to have great heart---to feel and experience compassion, to care deeply for others. And it is not simply care for other human beings. Last week I read this article about a man in LA, who saw a mother duck trying to cross the street with her ducklings---right out of the famous children’s book, Make Way for Ducklings. And with his children in the car, he pulled his car over and got out and stopped the traffic, so the ducks could cross. Sadly, as he returned to his car, someone came around the corner, hit and killed him. A stranger, who was at the scene of the accident said, “His last act on earth was to show compassion for life, the life of ducks. Surely God takes notice.”
On the May 14 edition of the Sunday New York Times, there was a front page article with the picture of a man named Abdul Curry, known as the Homeless Mayor of San Diego. Abdul has mental illness and addiction issues, and the closest thing Abdul has to permanent shelter was a parking garage overlooking downtown San Diego. Laine Goettsch is a medic, whose job it is to work in the forgotten alleyways and parking garages of San Diego. Abdul is her favorite client, and there was this picture of the two of them sitting together, he resting his shoulder on hers. He’s a charmer, which is how he has managed to stay in the parking garage. The man whose job it is to make sure the garage is clear overlooks Abdul, because not only is he a nice guy, but he also keeps the garage clean, even washing and detailing customer’s cars.
Laine, Abdul’s medic, whom he is supposed to see once a week, compulsively looks for him, if she cannot find him. She cares that much about a man, whom many would judge to be a throw away human being, the same way more than a few thought Jordan Neely got what he deserved, when he was recently killed in a subway with a chokehold because he was acting erratically. And Laine cares about others, trying to stabilize a man, who was throwing rocks onto a freeway from an overpass during a psychotic episode. She stopped to treat a man with second degree burns and open wounds on his feet. How much are you drinking, she asked? Profusely, he replied. It’s the only thing that stops the pain---and he meant more than the physical ones. Most people simply could not do Laine’s job, caring for the least of these as she does. She cares deeply and that too is what it means to be made in the image and likeness of God. “You are wasting your time on such people,” others might say dismissively, but Laine knows and believes differently. And surely God takes notice and smiles.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
June 4, 2023
Psalm 8
Genesis 1: 26-31
The psalmist, whose tradition names as David, asks a profound question: What is the human being that God, the mighty creator of all that is, should be mindful of her or him? We can imagine David, the shepherd, lying on his back, gazing at the expanse of the starry sky, watching the moon send forth its shafts of light into the darkness of the night, and he ponders: Why would a God who created all this magnificence, pay any attention to human beings? David knows we are not only puny and weak in our strength, compared to many other animals, but we also sin. We rebel against God; we resist the limits, which forbid us to lie, cheat, covet and kill. And yet even with all those limitations, David marvels that God has given human beings incredible power and responsibility over the creation. We have a place, like all animals, but it seems that we alone of the creatures can consciously transcend our place. We reach for the stars and though we have not reached them, we have built a telescope that allows us to see stars being born and dying. And we have landed on the moon and are about to go again. Such feats would have been beyond David’s wildest imagination.
In 1969 Apollo 11 took off for the moon and 73 countries sent messages that they wanted planted there. The Vatican sent the entire words to Psalm 8, the only psalm that ever made it to the moon. And we human beings---weak, puny, and sinful creatures that we are---we are the ones who engineered that fantastic feat. So, God pays attention to human beings, close attention, to the point that we Christians say, God has fully entered into the human condition. In Jesus Christ we see what God is like when God is expressed in what is not God---that is, a limited human being, because whatever we want to say about Jesus, he was limited. He had the consciousness and the knowledge of a first century Jew, which means that he knew nothing about the Big Bang or the huge expanse of space beyond the earth. He had no knowledge of atoms and DNA and evolution and the age of the universe. All that knowledge was not his to know. But he knew how to love human beings and he knew how to love God. He was in right relationship with God, so intimate with God that his identity could not be known apart from God. So yes, God pays close attention to human beings, so closely attending that God expressed god-self in humanity. Why should this be so? What is it about human beings that is so extraordinary?
Our text from Genesis tells us that we are made in the image and likeness of God. Notice too that this text tells us that God made male and female at the same time; woman here is not derivative from man. We call God the creator, and we too create. When you consider where and how we began, struggling to make the first tools and then develop language---it is extraordinary to contemplate the human journey. Modern homo sapiens have been around about 160,000 years, and in that time, we have been very busy. Some years ago, my husband and I were in Padua, Italy, the site of one of the great universities, where both Copernicus and Galileo taught. The Church did not approve that Galileo said the earth was not the center of the universe, and he was forced to recant or face the stake. Never mind, he knew the truth would win out, which it did. Pushing against all kinds of limits, we human beings have done marvelous things. No wonder the Psalmist asks: What is the human being that God is mindful of him or her?
Walk into a European Gothic cathedral, and you will be awed. Without the benefit of modern machines, people constructed these massive structures, filled with the light shining through the iridescent stained glass. The human brain figured out without calculators and computers the mathematics that would allow flying buttresses to support the weight of the cathedral without collapsing. It is beyond impressive. So, like God we are creative. But I read somewhere that dolphins and killer whales (more properly called orcas) have cerebral cortexes structurally capable of doing tensor calculus. Yet they do not do it. Calculus is a human activity these mammals have no interest in pursuing. Why? Perhaps because they have reached their nirvana. They are environmentally at home, and whales have no natural predators, except human beings. We humans, on the other hand are not so comfortable in our world. We have had to fight and claw and invent our way to the comfort we now have. We are restless creatures, and perhaps because we are not completely at home in our world, we have a need for God in a way that other creatures do not have. We ask questions about reality and God that drive us beyond the mundane, which make us seem a little lower than the angels.
But there is something else about us that evidence the image and likeness of God. And this is the human capacity to have great heart---to feel and experience compassion, to care deeply for others. And it is not simply care for other human beings. Last week I read this article about a man in LA, who saw a mother duck trying to cross the street with her ducklings---right out of the famous children’s book, Make Way for Ducklings. And with his children in the car, he pulled his car over and got out and stopped the traffic, so the ducks could cross. Sadly, as he returned to his car, someone came around the corner, hit and killed him. A stranger, who was at the scene of the accident said, “His last act on earth was to show compassion for life, the life of ducks. Surely God takes notice.”
On the May 14 edition of the Sunday New York Times, there was a front page article with the picture of a man named Abdul Curry, known as the Homeless Mayor of San Diego. Abdul has mental illness and addiction issues, and the closest thing Abdul has to permanent shelter was a parking garage overlooking downtown San Diego. Laine Goettsch is a medic, whose job it is to work in the forgotten alleyways and parking garages of San Diego. Abdul is her favorite client, and there was this picture of the two of them sitting together, he resting his shoulder on hers. He’s a charmer, which is how he has managed to stay in the parking garage. The man whose job it is to make sure the garage is clear overlooks Abdul, because not only is he a nice guy, but he also keeps the garage clean, even washing and detailing customer’s cars.
Laine, Abdul’s medic, whom he is supposed to see once a week, compulsively looks for him, if she cannot find him. She cares that much about a man, whom many would judge to be a throw away human being, the same way more than a few thought Jordan Neely got what he deserved, when he was recently killed in a subway with a chokehold because he was acting erratically. And Laine cares about others, trying to stabilize a man, who was throwing rocks onto a freeway from an overpass during a psychotic episode. She stopped to treat a man with second degree burns and open wounds on his feet. How much are you drinking, she asked? Profusely, he replied. It’s the only thing that stops the pain---and he meant more than the physical ones. Most people simply could not do Laine’s job, caring for the least of these as she does. She cares deeply and that too is what it means to be made in the image and likeness of God. “You are wasting your time on such people,” others might say dismissively, but Laine knows and believes differently. And surely God takes notice and smiles.
READINGS FROM MAY 28TH 2023 SERVICE
Introduction:
In July, 1943 my father landed on Utah Beach in Normandy. It was a month after the Normandy Invasion, and he wrote in a letter to my mother that the locals were swimming. There was very little evidence of the mayhem that had occurred just a month before. In 2006 my mother, husband, youngest daughter, who was in Paris for her junior year in college, all visited the Normandy beaches. To see all those white crosses and Stars of David, each representing a life lost, was beyond description. My mother cried and so did I. We also went to a cemetery, where German soldiers were buried, their graves marked by dark crosses. Over the entrance to the cemetery was a sign, reading, “Not All Who Lie Here Chose the Cause for Which They died. Indeed, they did not. Unlike the American cemetery, which only noted the date of death, the German one gave the date of birth as well, so you could see how old the victim was. Many of them were only 14 or 15 years old. Toward the end of the war, Hitler was so desperate, he had children drafted. My mother cried again, this time even harder.
In 1970 the War in Viet Nam was raging. My older brother, an officer in the Air Force, educated as a mechanical engineer, was also a very gifted mathematician. His team’s job was to have the bombs dropped on Viet Nam detonate at the right time---not too early, or the plane could be negatively impacted. He was accused of insubordination, when he told his commanding officer that his math was not right, and that accusation almost ended his career. But he managed to hang on for another 14 years and then he left the Air Force and earned a PhD and then taught in college.
In 1970, the same year my older brother was working on bomb safety, my younger brother, a gentle soul, if there ever was one, applied for and received conscientious objector status. In his essay he not only wrote about how he could not and would not kill any human being, but also he wrote that he could not harm nature. He wrote about bombs destroying trees and foliage and how this was a sacrilege against the creation. The committee that examined him told him, “No one had ever mentioned the earth as a casualty of war.”
You are about to hear some reflections and some letters about peace and war and also this beautiful earth, which we call our home.
1. Lewis Thomas, a biologist. (Susan Keenan)
The most beautiful object I have ever seen in a photograph, in all my life, is the planet Earth seen from the distance of the moon, hanging there in space, obviously alive. Although it seems at first glance to be made up of innumerable separate species of living things, on closer examination every one of its working parts, including us, is interdependently connected to all the other working parts. It is the only truly closed ecosystem any of us knows about. It is a living organism that came alive about 3.8 billion years ago. I wish it a Happy Birthday and a long life ahead, for our children and their grandchildren and theirs and theirs.
2. Lt. James Trathen of the ship, The MS Bark. November 29, 1861, writing to a friend. (Susan Keenan)
It is with much pleasure that I write to you today. I left New York on the 5th, and when we entered the Gulf Stream the storm was terrible, raging wind and fierce waves all around us. In the midst of all this turmoil, one of best Seaman fell from the mast head very. Near the place where my first officer and I were standing, which instantly killed him. A gloom then descended over the whole ship.
There is nothing that can happen on board ships that will affect a sailor more than the death of a shipmate in this way. Ten men killed in a battle produces less despondency. It was two days after the sad incident when we could finally bury him at sea, and it was the most impressive scene I had ever beheld. The gale was still fierce and the sea running very high making it impossible to stand on deck without having a firm hold of some support. The corpse lay on the deck secured up in a hammock. The whole crew grouped around in front of me bareheaded with their hair streaming in the wind, looking both wild and sad. I read part of the funeral service of our Church, as much as the wind would allow, and then the body was launched into the sea. The gloom seemed immediately to pass away from the faces of all, and then things returned to normal.
The magnitude of the work before us becomes more apparent as I get into it. Our country seems sad and bleeding a every pore. I cannot think our People of the North are yet into this, and they won’t be until they see us suffer even more. This war will bring universal ruin and exhaustion to both sides.
- From Dwight Eisenhower, General from World War ll and President of the United States during the Cold War. (Cindy Nye)
- From a Union Soldier, Columbus Huddle, writing to his father about the Battle of Shiloh, April 10, 1962. We do not know who George is, perhaps a relative, even a brother or a close friend. ( Cindy Nye
With sadness I sit down to write you a few lines to let you know that I am still living, but poor George was laid low by a rebel ball Sunday morning. A musket ball went through his left hip. I did not think when he first fell that he was killed I thought that he was just wounded, but when I went back to see how bad it was, he was lying on his face, dead. I had to leave him there, because our regiment was retreating back, but the next day we buried him. He was put in a separate grave, but we had no coffins for any of our dead.
I was in the terrible fight from Sunday morning till Monday afternoon. I saw the rebels run like turkeys, but after the fight the scene was terrible, all these soldiers, both rebels and Union men, lying on the blood soaked ground TOGETHER. That scene really got to me, seeing all the dead together. In life we are enemies, but what are we in death? Are we all the same to God.
- Carl Sagan, astronomer (Julie Dyer)
- First Lieutenant Schnaittacher writing home to his parents after walking through the concentration camp, Dachau after General Eisenhower ordered American troops near the camp to see the outrage. (Julie Dyer)
A year ago I was sweating out shells on Anzio Beachhead and today I am sitting in Hitler’s luxuriously furnished apartment in Munich. What a contrast! I had the misfortune of seeing the camp yesterday. In my two years in combat, I have seen a lot of death, but nothing has ever stirred me like this. I’ve shot at Germans with intent to kill before but only because I had to or else it was me. Now I hold no hesitancy whatsoever.
The first boxcar I came to had about 30 bodies in it. Most of them had their eyes opened with an indescribable look on their faces, What did I do to deserve this look. I cannot describe how awful it was. How can people do things like this? I never believed they could until now.
The only good thing I noticed in the camp were the scores of SS guards freshly killed. Some of the prisoners could not control themselves and went from German to German bashing their heads in with rocks and stones. No one tried to stop them. We realized it was payback time for all they had suffered.
Your Son,
Horace
- West Street was a Federal Prison that held few murderers, only if they had committed some other crime. There was a famous inmate there, Louis Letke, who was guilty of murder and was wanted by New York State, so he could be executed at Sing Sing. Letke was liked by the other prisoners, because he was friendly and funny. Next to Lepke’s cell was a young conscientious objector from Iowa, a man named Lowell Naeve. Lowell tried to explain to Lepke what a conscientious objector was, but the gangster had a great deal of trouble understanding. You mean to tell me, that you are here for NOT KILLING. And then he laughed and laughed. (Julie Thureson)
- Sgt. Richard Leonard, stationed in Japan at the end of World War ll writes to a friend after walking through the city of Kure, only miles from Hiroshima. He was 24 years old when he wrote this letter. (Julie Thuerson)
Dear Arlene,
Greetings from downtown Kure. Only it really isn’t downtown, because there isn’t a town. And Nagoya that once had 3 million people now has only 10 buildings left standing. Japan is at least 50% destroyed and its cities 90% destroyed.
Meanwhile we are fraternizing to beat hell. The Japs are being as polite to us as can be, treating us like kings. They bow, salute and felicitate us into extreme egotism and you just can’t hate them for hate’s sake. The average Jap doesn’t give a damn about ruling the world anymore than you or I do. He’s just an ordinary joker who went to war because he was told told to, and he did the joy the way he was told.
War is all phony in the first place. I know that now. It’s just the vested economic, political and military leaders of the world fighting for personal prestige and fortune at the expense of their citizens. I believe the common people the world over share the same dreams of peace and security. I mixed quite thoroughly with German POW’s and now the Japs. I have been to their homes for dinner and crowded into streetcars with them, and they are all as human as people I have seen.
It would have been easy for me to hate blindly. I hated their guts when they killed my brother a year ago, but hate leads only to more hate and its only if we can get together---work and live together---and develop confidence in each other that there is any hope for a better tomorrow. Sure, we have to occupy them now, but we must watch them and help them and do everything we can to restructure them as a peace loving nation. And all this must be done through the common man.
Anti-Gun Violence Vigil, June 1 at 7 PM at the First Church in Farmington.
These are the words spoken by Sandra.
A few weeks ago, I was reading in the New York Times Opinion section an article by a mother who had lost her 14 year old daughter to cancer. And she said that the word grief is so inadequate to describe what she is going through. Of course, there is sadness that descends so deeply its depths cannot be found. But so is there also anger and frustration, protest and even the awful agony of the temptation to self-blame. Is there something more we could have/should have done? And her description of her lying next to her dead daughter for hours before the funeral home arrived to take away her body was almost more than I could read, since my eyesight was blurry from the tears flooding my eyes. And as I take that article, and apply it to the people, especially the parents, who have lost children to gun violence, yes, grief does seem like a completely inadequate word.
Those of us who have gathered here this evening, even if we have not lost someone to gun violence, can imagine the depths of such grief and anger and protest. Possibly we can do more than imagine because we can also feel those emotions. We too are frustrated and angry and we too raise our voices in protest: This should not be; this must not be, and yet tragically, it is. A tragedy is a fall from a higher state to a lower one. In the Greek dramas the fall is more often than not due to arrogance. And is there any doubt among us that in refusing to ban assault weapons, in refusing to make age and mental health appropriate decisions about who should be permitted to buy a gun, in refusing to do something about laws that allow people to carry hidden, loaded weapons on their persons, because it is deemed an act of freedom to do so---the ugly arrogance of it all, an arrogance that finally sits on the graves of so many people, children, whose futures have been robbed from them and from us.
And so we gather here, because we are called to be responsible, and at the heart of the word responsible is the word RESPOND. And so, we respond. We respond by remembering names and faces and stories of real human beings. And sometimes what we must remember is almost too horrible to be named. No parent or sibling or aunt or uncle or friend wants to recall images of bodies blown apart, heads decapitated. Of course, it is horrible, and I give the Washington Post great credit for describing what happens to a body when bullets from an AR-15 make contact. The mother who lay next to her dead 14 year old from cancer could do what none of the people whose loved ones were shot to death by assault rifles could ever do. Yes, it is horrible, but when we speak truth to power, we sometimes must remind people of the horror and refuse them the right to deny and lie. Our outrage will not permit us silence, and we should be empowered by words from George Sand, who wrote: Sometimes our outrage is our most passionate form of love.
And memory too can be a form of passionate love. I was reading not too long ago an article in the Christian Science Monitor called Ukraine Remembers. By refusing to forget all it is losing, a nation asserts its identity. The powerful have always had at their disposal the human tendency to forget, and they have used it and will use it to their advantage. Stories are wiped out; memories rewritten and remade and when that happens, we witness another tragedy, another fall. But we are here tonight to promise that we will not permit this to happen. We will remember and our memories are powerful, powerful enough to change this nation’s laws and its direction. We will march; we will vote, and though our goal will most likely take longer than any of us wish, we are in this battle for the long haul, and we will not be turned back.
We will not forget who we are, and we will not forget who they are, the ones we have lost to gun violence. And most of all, we will not forget who it is we are called to be and become: a compassionate community of people, committed to peace and the love and protection of all God’s people.
Blessings for Peace,
Sandra
These are the words spoken by Sandra.
A few weeks ago, I was reading in the New York Times Opinion section an article by a mother who had lost her 14 year old daughter to cancer. And she said that the word grief is so inadequate to describe what she is going through. Of course, there is sadness that descends so deeply its depths cannot be found. But so is there also anger and frustration, protest and even the awful agony of the temptation to self-blame. Is there something more we could have/should have done? And her description of her lying next to her dead daughter for hours before the funeral home arrived to take away her body was almost more than I could read, since my eyesight was blurry from the tears flooding my eyes. And as I take that article, and apply it to the people, especially the parents, who have lost children to gun violence, yes, grief does seem like a completely inadequate word.
Those of us who have gathered here this evening, even if we have not lost someone to gun violence, can imagine the depths of such grief and anger and protest. Possibly we can do more than imagine because we can also feel those emotions. We too are frustrated and angry and we too raise our voices in protest: This should not be; this must not be, and yet tragically, it is. A tragedy is a fall from a higher state to a lower one. In the Greek dramas the fall is more often than not due to arrogance. And is there any doubt among us that in refusing to ban assault weapons, in refusing to make age and mental health appropriate decisions about who should be permitted to buy a gun, in refusing to do something about laws that allow people to carry hidden, loaded weapons on their persons, because it is deemed an act of freedom to do so---the ugly arrogance of it all, an arrogance that finally sits on the graves of so many people, children, whose futures have been robbed from them and from us.
And so we gather here, because we are called to be responsible, and at the heart of the word responsible is the word RESPOND. And so, we respond. We respond by remembering names and faces and stories of real human beings. And sometimes what we must remember is almost too horrible to be named. No parent or sibling or aunt or uncle or friend wants to recall images of bodies blown apart, heads decapitated. Of course, it is horrible, and I give the Washington Post great credit for describing what happens to a body when bullets from an AR-15 make contact. The mother who lay next to her dead 14 year old from cancer could do what none of the people whose loved ones were shot to death by assault rifles could ever do. Yes, it is horrible, but when we speak truth to power, we sometimes must remind people of the horror and refuse them the right to deny and lie. Our outrage will not permit us silence, and we should be empowered by words from George Sand, who wrote: Sometimes our outrage is our most passionate form of love.
And memory too can be a form of passionate love. I was reading not too long ago an article in the Christian Science Monitor called Ukraine Remembers. By refusing to forget all it is losing, a nation asserts its identity. The powerful have always had at their disposal the human tendency to forget, and they have used it and will use it to their advantage. Stories are wiped out; memories rewritten and remade and when that happens, we witness another tragedy, another fall. But we are here tonight to promise that we will not permit this to happen. We will remember and our memories are powerful, powerful enough to change this nation’s laws and its direction. We will march; we will vote, and though our goal will most likely take longer than any of us wish, we are in this battle for the long haul, and we will not be turned back.
We will not forget who we are, and we will not forget who they are, the ones we have lost to gun violence. And most of all, we will not forget who it is we are called to be and become: a compassionate community of people, committed to peace and the love and protection of all God’s people.
Blessings for Peace,
Sandra
May 24, 2023
Dear Friends,
When I was growing up, Memorial Day was called Decoration Day, because the graves of veterans were decorated with flowers. Many families, in fact, used this day to visit cemeteries where their ancestors were buried and decorated them as well. It was always celebrated on May 30, no matter what day of the week May 30 was. I remember Decoration Day as “a big deal,” probably because the parent generation, whom Tom Brokaw called “The Greatest Generation,” had just fought World War ll. Almost everyone my family knew, had a friend or family member who had been wounded or had died in the War. And there were still many World War I veterans around as well, and people would discuss the horrors of each war: the introduction of gas warfare in World War l and the atomic bombs of World War ll. The latter was said to have prevented an invasion of Japan, which saved many thousands of lives on both sides, and then in the early 90’s, a new story was told. The Japanese code had been broken, and we knew they were secretly negotiating a surrender through Russia. And so the claim is we dropped the atomic bombs to show Russia, which was becoming our new enemy, the horrific power of this new weapon. Whatever the full truth is, we all can agree that war is terrible.
It is not exactly clear when Decoration Day first began. Soon after the end of the Civil War in 1865 many towns and cities across the nation gathered to remember the dead. Waterloo, New York had set aside a day to honor the war dead on May 5, 1866, and in 1966 the Federal Government declared this site the beginning of Decoration Day. But some credit General John A. Logan as the one who first made honoring the war dead an official act. In 1868 he used General Order Number 1l, designating May 30 as the day to honor the war dead. The observance took place at Arlington National Cemetery, where both Union and Confederate soldiers were buried. Logan declared, “This day would be for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in the defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village and hamlet churchyard in the land.”
Decoration Day later became known as Memorial Day, and now as the two World Wars are farther away from living memory, we don’t pay as close attention to the day. The wars that have followed, like Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan did not involve mass mobilization as did the world wars, so perhaps these later wars have been easier to forget or ignore. Now Memorial Day is celebrated as the initiation of summer activities. Few people go to the cemeteries to pay homage to those who paid the ultimate price.
Memorial Day this year is May 29, and the day after, May 30, is the 101st anniversary of the dedication of the Lincoln Memorial in 1922. Henry Bacon was the architect of the Memorial, and he modeled it on the Parthenon in Greece, the birthplace of democracy. Daniel Chester French was the sculptor who made the massive figure of Lincoln, stoically sitting in the Memorial. The first time I laid eyes on the Memorial, when I was 18 and in Washington, DC to protest the Vietnam War, I cried, so struck was I by the marbled beauty of Lincoln’s face and his massive hands holding the arms of the chair. French’s summer estate and workshop are located in Stockbridge, MA in the Berkshires, and it is well worth a visit. French also designed and sculpted the famous Minuteman Monument in Concord, MA.
The marble and granite that went into making the Lincoln Memorial came from many different states: Massachusetts, Georgia, Colorado, Indiana, Tennessee, and Alabama, symbolizing the divided states that fought on different sides in the Civil War, coming together to make something beautiful. And yet divisions were apparent on the day of the dedication. 50,000 people gathered to dedicate the Memorial, but the audience was segregated and the keynote speaker, Robert Moton, who was a black man and president of the Tuskegee Institute, was not permitted to sit on the speakers’ platform. Forty one years after that dedication, The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and delivered his famous, “I Have a Dream Speech.” History moves on and moves the people along with it. We should never forget that one of the major contributions of the Jewish scriptures is its insistence that God is a God of history, who meets God’s people in the details of their individual lives as well as in the drama that we know, interpret, and remember as history.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
When I was growing up, Memorial Day was called Decoration Day, because the graves of veterans were decorated with flowers. Many families, in fact, used this day to visit cemeteries where their ancestors were buried and decorated them as well. It was always celebrated on May 30, no matter what day of the week May 30 was. I remember Decoration Day as “a big deal,” probably because the parent generation, whom Tom Brokaw called “The Greatest Generation,” had just fought World War ll. Almost everyone my family knew, had a friend or family member who had been wounded or had died in the War. And there were still many World War I veterans around as well, and people would discuss the horrors of each war: the introduction of gas warfare in World War l and the atomic bombs of World War ll. The latter was said to have prevented an invasion of Japan, which saved many thousands of lives on both sides, and then in the early 90’s, a new story was told. The Japanese code had been broken, and we knew they were secretly negotiating a surrender through Russia. And so the claim is we dropped the atomic bombs to show Russia, which was becoming our new enemy, the horrific power of this new weapon. Whatever the full truth is, we all can agree that war is terrible.
It is not exactly clear when Decoration Day first began. Soon after the end of the Civil War in 1865 many towns and cities across the nation gathered to remember the dead. Waterloo, New York had set aside a day to honor the war dead on May 5, 1866, and in 1966 the Federal Government declared this site the beginning of Decoration Day. But some credit General John A. Logan as the one who first made honoring the war dead an official act. In 1868 he used General Order Number 1l, designating May 30 as the day to honor the war dead. The observance took place at Arlington National Cemetery, where both Union and Confederate soldiers were buried. Logan declared, “This day would be for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in the defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village and hamlet churchyard in the land.”
Decoration Day later became known as Memorial Day, and now as the two World Wars are farther away from living memory, we don’t pay as close attention to the day. The wars that have followed, like Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan did not involve mass mobilization as did the world wars, so perhaps these later wars have been easier to forget or ignore. Now Memorial Day is celebrated as the initiation of summer activities. Few people go to the cemeteries to pay homage to those who paid the ultimate price.
Memorial Day this year is May 29, and the day after, May 30, is the 101st anniversary of the dedication of the Lincoln Memorial in 1922. Henry Bacon was the architect of the Memorial, and he modeled it on the Parthenon in Greece, the birthplace of democracy. Daniel Chester French was the sculptor who made the massive figure of Lincoln, stoically sitting in the Memorial. The first time I laid eyes on the Memorial, when I was 18 and in Washington, DC to protest the Vietnam War, I cried, so struck was I by the marbled beauty of Lincoln’s face and his massive hands holding the arms of the chair. French’s summer estate and workshop are located in Stockbridge, MA in the Berkshires, and it is well worth a visit. French also designed and sculpted the famous Minuteman Monument in Concord, MA.
The marble and granite that went into making the Lincoln Memorial came from many different states: Massachusetts, Georgia, Colorado, Indiana, Tennessee, and Alabama, symbolizing the divided states that fought on different sides in the Civil War, coming together to make something beautiful. And yet divisions were apparent on the day of the dedication. 50,000 people gathered to dedicate the Memorial, but the audience was segregated and the keynote speaker, Robert Moton, who was a black man and president of the Tuskegee Institute, was not permitted to sit on the speakers’ platform. Forty one years after that dedication, The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and delivered his famous, “I Have a Dream Speech.” History moves on and moves the people along with it. We should never forget that one of the major contributions of the Jewish scriptures is its insistence that God is a God of history, who meets God’s people in the details of their individual lives as well as in the drama that we know, interpret, and remember as history.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
The Long Good-bye
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
May 21, 2023
John 16: 16-20
In John’s Gospel Jesus’ farewell discourse to his disciples---the long goodbye---goes on and on. It begins in chapter 14 and ends with a long prayer in chapter 17. He tells them things he wants them to know, but they don’t understand. He’s going away, he says, but they don’t know where he is going, and they don’t understand how they are to follow him. He promises them the Spirit of Truth, and when he appeared to them after his resurrection, he breathed on them The Holy Spirit. So, they are receiving power to do their work. And now in chapter 16, he tells them in a little while they will no longer see him, for he is going to the Father. And they wonder: what does a little while mean? How long is that? And he does not really explain, but he reassures them that their suffering and pain will one day turn to joy.
You have heard me say a number of times that while the bible does not always give us an accurate historical portrayal of what has happened, it does give us existential truth, that is, it reveals something deeply true about the human condition. And certainly learning to say good bye is a very important task we all need to learn. We teach little children to do it by waving their hands before they can even talk. Saying good bye is a way of separating ourselves from people, places, even things. And separation isn’t easy. Consider how hard it is when people downsize. Getting rid of stuff can be agony. I remember one of my elderly parishioners in Middletown, who was a retired Wesleyan University librarian. Books were her life, and her house was full of them. When at age 99, she had to go into assisted living, getting rid of so many of her books was pure torture. Quite frankly, she had an easier time letting go of life than she did letting go of her books.
Now Jesus was trying to help his disciples let go of him---not completely of course, since he has spent time telling them that he is in them, and they are in him as God is also in him and in them. But still, he will not be with them in the same way, and that is for them very troubling. In the reading from Acts, we hear a story about Jesus’ ascension into heaven, which is a way of talking about his separation from his disciples as well as earthly time, but also it is a symbolic way of saying that the full humanity of Jesus is now taken up into God. So, even God is changed---changed by the human story that Jesus lived, which is fully incorporated into God. And the disciples---well, they are left behind, left to live their own lives, using the wisdom and teaching Jesus gave them and the assurance he is with them always.
The same is true for us. We have our lives to live, and we can use the wisdom and knowledge we have received from Jesus and the assurance he is with us. And that assurance can help us, especially as we face tough times. And saying good bye and letting go are part of those tough times. Just this past week, while walking across the Wesleyan campus, I saw these two students, clinging to each other and crying. “You are my best friend, one said to the other. We have been together for four years and now in a few weeks, it will all be over. Our lives are going to change, but I hope our friendship won’t.” They hope they will remain best friends for life, and perhaps they will, but they are old enough to realize that time does bring change, and not all the changes time brings are what we want. It hurts to say good bye. No wonder people sometimes refuse to say it.
We have this funny notion in our heads that if we refuse to acknowledge something it won’t happen. While denial may be a strong coping mechanism, it does not control future events. In my last church there was this man, dying of congestive heart failure in the hospital, and when his wife bent down to kiss him, she said. “Good night, my darling.” “You mean goodbye, don’t you”, he answered her. “No”, she insisted. “I mean good night”. She was not ready to say goodbye, though he was. He died the next morning before she arrived at the hospital, and she deeply regretted that she had not said goodbye. But as she told me, “I was not ready to face the hard truth of saying good bye.”
There are many different kinds of good-byes, and our culture, like all cultures, has evolved rituals to bring situations to closure. Graduations, weddings, funerals, and memorial services are all ways we say good-bye, while moving toward a new beginning. They are acknowledgements that life will now be lived a bit differently. While some of our good byes are finished sentences, a completion, a moving on, there are other good byes that are more like a retreat----as when we decide we must end or give up on something---like these lines from an Emily Dickinson poem:
We learn in the retreating
How vast a One
Was recently among us
A perished sun.
Not all our perished suns are people. Sometimes we say goodbye to hopes and dreams, to youth, vitality, and energy, and finally even to life itself. We have all been beaten by certain circumstances. There are among us failed marriages, broken relationships with friends, family members, which may never heal. Some people have spent huge expanses of energy living toward a dream that may never come to fruition. It hurts to let dreams go, and yet sometimes that is what must be done. I am not sure from where the wisdom comes to know when to retreat or give up, sometimes the wisdom does come. We reach limits of strength and stamina. We retreat, not because our goal is unworthy, but because we no longer know how to work towards its birth. And when we close that door, when we stammer the words good-bye, we do so with a haunting feeling that yes, a sun indeed has perished from our lives. And yet we learn in the retreating.
When I was serving a church in New Haven, I met this woman, around the age of 30, a graduate of Julliard and a very fine violinist. But she had reached the point where she was giving up her dream of being a concert violinist. “I have made myself sick over it,” she said, “and now it is time to let go. Some are calling me a quitter, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t go to any more try outs with the hope that this time---it will happen. Maybe it will, but maybe it won’t. And I can’t live with the won’t. It’s time for me to move on and do something else.” Indeed, we learn in the retreating.
And Jesus’ disciples learned in the retreating. Consider what they had once expected: a king, like King David, who ruled a sovereign nation. They had lived with Rome’s boot on the necks of the Jewish people, and they wanted it off. They wanted to be their own nation again. Isn’t this what the Messiah was supposed to accomplish? And then along came Jesus, who overturned those expectations. He did not lead the way they thought he should lead. He taught them strange things about the first being last and the last being first and loving their enemies and forgiving over and over again. And now in this long, protracted farewell discourse, he is telling them good bye. He is going away, but he insists they will not be abandoned. They have the Holy Spirit and the Spirit of Truth. He tells them they will face very tough times; they will suffer, but finally their sorrow will turn to joy. They could not see around the corner; they did not understand what he meant. And so, they would have to trust that there was a new beginning waiting for them. And so do we all have to trust. We trust in a future we cannot see. There is always change; nothing stays the same. People come into our lives, and people go out of our lives, but God goes with us and is with us through all that coming and going. On this we can rely.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
May 21, 2023
John 16: 16-20
In John’s Gospel Jesus’ farewell discourse to his disciples---the long goodbye---goes on and on. It begins in chapter 14 and ends with a long prayer in chapter 17. He tells them things he wants them to know, but they don’t understand. He’s going away, he says, but they don’t know where he is going, and they don’t understand how they are to follow him. He promises them the Spirit of Truth, and when he appeared to them after his resurrection, he breathed on them The Holy Spirit. So, they are receiving power to do their work. And now in chapter 16, he tells them in a little while they will no longer see him, for he is going to the Father. And they wonder: what does a little while mean? How long is that? And he does not really explain, but he reassures them that their suffering and pain will one day turn to joy.
You have heard me say a number of times that while the bible does not always give us an accurate historical portrayal of what has happened, it does give us existential truth, that is, it reveals something deeply true about the human condition. And certainly learning to say good bye is a very important task we all need to learn. We teach little children to do it by waving their hands before they can even talk. Saying good bye is a way of separating ourselves from people, places, even things. And separation isn’t easy. Consider how hard it is when people downsize. Getting rid of stuff can be agony. I remember one of my elderly parishioners in Middletown, who was a retired Wesleyan University librarian. Books were her life, and her house was full of them. When at age 99, she had to go into assisted living, getting rid of so many of her books was pure torture. Quite frankly, she had an easier time letting go of life than she did letting go of her books.
Now Jesus was trying to help his disciples let go of him---not completely of course, since he has spent time telling them that he is in them, and they are in him as God is also in him and in them. But still, he will not be with them in the same way, and that is for them very troubling. In the reading from Acts, we hear a story about Jesus’ ascension into heaven, which is a way of talking about his separation from his disciples as well as earthly time, but also it is a symbolic way of saying that the full humanity of Jesus is now taken up into God. So, even God is changed---changed by the human story that Jesus lived, which is fully incorporated into God. And the disciples---well, they are left behind, left to live their own lives, using the wisdom and teaching Jesus gave them and the assurance he is with them always.
The same is true for us. We have our lives to live, and we can use the wisdom and knowledge we have received from Jesus and the assurance he is with us. And that assurance can help us, especially as we face tough times. And saying good bye and letting go are part of those tough times. Just this past week, while walking across the Wesleyan campus, I saw these two students, clinging to each other and crying. “You are my best friend, one said to the other. We have been together for four years and now in a few weeks, it will all be over. Our lives are going to change, but I hope our friendship won’t.” They hope they will remain best friends for life, and perhaps they will, but they are old enough to realize that time does bring change, and not all the changes time brings are what we want. It hurts to say good bye. No wonder people sometimes refuse to say it.
We have this funny notion in our heads that if we refuse to acknowledge something it won’t happen. While denial may be a strong coping mechanism, it does not control future events. In my last church there was this man, dying of congestive heart failure in the hospital, and when his wife bent down to kiss him, she said. “Good night, my darling.” “You mean goodbye, don’t you”, he answered her. “No”, she insisted. “I mean good night”. She was not ready to say goodbye, though he was. He died the next morning before she arrived at the hospital, and she deeply regretted that she had not said goodbye. But as she told me, “I was not ready to face the hard truth of saying good bye.”
There are many different kinds of good-byes, and our culture, like all cultures, has evolved rituals to bring situations to closure. Graduations, weddings, funerals, and memorial services are all ways we say good-bye, while moving toward a new beginning. They are acknowledgements that life will now be lived a bit differently. While some of our good byes are finished sentences, a completion, a moving on, there are other good byes that are more like a retreat----as when we decide we must end or give up on something---like these lines from an Emily Dickinson poem:
We learn in the retreating
How vast a One
Was recently among us
A perished sun.
Not all our perished suns are people. Sometimes we say goodbye to hopes and dreams, to youth, vitality, and energy, and finally even to life itself. We have all been beaten by certain circumstances. There are among us failed marriages, broken relationships with friends, family members, which may never heal. Some people have spent huge expanses of energy living toward a dream that may never come to fruition. It hurts to let dreams go, and yet sometimes that is what must be done. I am not sure from where the wisdom comes to know when to retreat or give up, sometimes the wisdom does come. We reach limits of strength and stamina. We retreat, not because our goal is unworthy, but because we no longer know how to work towards its birth. And when we close that door, when we stammer the words good-bye, we do so with a haunting feeling that yes, a sun indeed has perished from our lives. And yet we learn in the retreating.
When I was serving a church in New Haven, I met this woman, around the age of 30, a graduate of Julliard and a very fine violinist. But she had reached the point where she was giving up her dream of being a concert violinist. “I have made myself sick over it,” she said, “and now it is time to let go. Some are calling me a quitter, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t go to any more try outs with the hope that this time---it will happen. Maybe it will, but maybe it won’t. And I can’t live with the won’t. It’s time for me to move on and do something else.” Indeed, we learn in the retreating.
And Jesus’ disciples learned in the retreating. Consider what they had once expected: a king, like King David, who ruled a sovereign nation. They had lived with Rome’s boot on the necks of the Jewish people, and they wanted it off. They wanted to be their own nation again. Isn’t this what the Messiah was supposed to accomplish? And then along came Jesus, who overturned those expectations. He did not lead the way they thought he should lead. He taught them strange things about the first being last and the last being first and loving their enemies and forgiving over and over again. And now in this long, protracted farewell discourse, he is telling them good bye. He is going away, but he insists they will not be abandoned. They have the Holy Spirit and the Spirit of Truth. He tells them they will face very tough times; they will suffer, but finally their sorrow will turn to joy. They could not see around the corner; they did not understand what he meant. And so, they would have to trust that there was a new beginning waiting for them. And so do we all have to trust. We trust in a future we cannot see. There is always change; nothing stays the same. People come into our lives, and people go out of our lives, but God goes with us and is with us through all that coming and going. On this we can rely.
May 15, 2023
Dear Friends,
Recently I heard a mother talking about her 8 month old baby, whom, she discovered, loves Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. As soon as the baby hears the notes, she immediately becomes attentive and calm. At first the mother thought it was just a chance occurrence. They were driving in the car, and the baby was crying, because she had no interest in being in the car seat. But as the music played, she ceased her crying, listened, and soon fell asleep. This pattern has repeated itself numerous times. There is something about the 9th Symphony that soothes her, though not all the symphony is soothing. Yet there is no doubt that his baby responds to what she hears.
Music is quite extraordinary. A man described his wife’s Alzheimer’s, which had reached a stage, where she failed to recognize him or their three children. But if he turned on a Simon and Garfunkel Album, she could sing perfectly the words to A Bridge Over Troubled Waters and The Sounds of Silence. And when she finished the songs, she would smile. Scientists are familiar with music’s ability to open up doors from the past and trigger memories and emotions that would seem long ago forgotten. Andrew Budson, chief of cognitive and behavioral neurology at the Center for Translational Cognitive Neuroscience at Veterans Affairs Boston Healthcare System and a professor at Boston University, claims that music provides an auditory and emotional setting that allows people to retrieve memories that they may not be able to consciously access. There is hope that music will be an aid in dealing with all kinds of challenges, including dementia, anxiety, depression and even physical disorders, like cancer and Parkinson’s.
What scientists do know is that music signals the brain to secrete neurotransmitters, such as dopamine, which is part of the brain’s reward/pleasure system. Other studies indicate that music can reduce the secretion of cortisol, a stress producing hormone and increase the secretion of oxytocin, which plays a role in labor and delivery and also parental bonding. Music activates different parts of the brain and can be used to elevate mood, support learning and create bonds with other human beings. The music we love and attach ourselves to then becomes part of our human identity as it did with the Alzheimer woman, who could not remember her family but could recall the words to her beloved Simon and Garfunkel music. And the baby who loves Beethoven’s 9th Symphony is laying down the soundtrack for her life, something that might well serve her in later years. The future may look to a time when music will be used as an alternative to medication without all the side effects of the latter. Right now, there is a company that is working to develop a music player that uses artificial intelligence “to curate” an individualized play list that hopefully can be used to guide a person from an agitated state into a calm one. Music therapists say they have witnessed changed behavior when a certain piece of music is played, and connections are made that seem consciously lost.
The brain has different types of memory. Procedural memory is the unconscious ability to remember a routine or a habit, such as touch typing or bike riding. Episodic memory, on the other hand, involves conscious recollection as when we remember what is on our “to do list.” The latter type of memory originates in the hippocampus region, which is often the first attacked, when dementia strikes. And so, the Alzheimer patient could recall songs from her adolescence, because her brain bypassed the episodic way of remembering and used the unconscious procedural way. A very well known recent example is the singer, Tony Bennett, who at 96, suffering from Alzheimer’s, could still perform his classic hits. If episodic memories are more than two years old, they have become consolidated, and though the hippocampus has been compromised or even destroyed, memories can still be accessed, because the memory is not directly or solely stored in the hippocampus. Memories, after all, are composed of different aspects—sounds, sights, smells, thought and emotion, and all this is represented by patterns of neural activity that are stored in different parts of the cerebral cortex.
One professor describes memories as “little balloons floating in different areas of the brain. When a new memory is formed, the hippocampus ties together the strings of the balloon, but if the hippocampus is destroyed, the balloons become untied and fly away. But after consolidation takes place, the various balloons become linked together by different heavy cords, and so the hippocampus is no longer required.
Research indicates that memories connected with music are more powerfully remembered than those connected with places or people. Thirty participants were exposed to 15 second music clips that were popular when they were young and then they were shown pictures of people famous during this same time frame. The participants were then asked questions about their lives---details they could recall from that past time. The result: music prompted many more detailed (autobiographical) memories than the faces. In another study participants were asked to keep a diary over a four day period recording their responses to both music and the food they ate, prepared or saw in a supermarket. Music elicited a much deeper response.
The Church should not be surprised by this. After all, throughout its long history, music has helped to carry the gospel. Nathan Soderblom, a Swedish Bishop, said in 1929, “Bach’s Cantatas are the fifth gospel.” And indeed, Japan today, which is a very secular nation and has never been particularly receptive to Christianity, is witnessing conversations to Christianity through the music of J.S. Bach. Music finds a way to communicate when words fail.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Recently I heard a mother talking about her 8 month old baby, whom, she discovered, loves Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. As soon as the baby hears the notes, she immediately becomes attentive and calm. At first the mother thought it was just a chance occurrence. They were driving in the car, and the baby was crying, because she had no interest in being in the car seat. But as the music played, she ceased her crying, listened, and soon fell asleep. This pattern has repeated itself numerous times. There is something about the 9th Symphony that soothes her, though not all the symphony is soothing. Yet there is no doubt that his baby responds to what she hears.
Music is quite extraordinary. A man described his wife’s Alzheimer’s, which had reached a stage, where she failed to recognize him or their three children. But if he turned on a Simon and Garfunkel Album, she could sing perfectly the words to A Bridge Over Troubled Waters and The Sounds of Silence. And when she finished the songs, she would smile. Scientists are familiar with music’s ability to open up doors from the past and trigger memories and emotions that would seem long ago forgotten. Andrew Budson, chief of cognitive and behavioral neurology at the Center for Translational Cognitive Neuroscience at Veterans Affairs Boston Healthcare System and a professor at Boston University, claims that music provides an auditory and emotional setting that allows people to retrieve memories that they may not be able to consciously access. There is hope that music will be an aid in dealing with all kinds of challenges, including dementia, anxiety, depression and even physical disorders, like cancer and Parkinson’s.
What scientists do know is that music signals the brain to secrete neurotransmitters, such as dopamine, which is part of the brain’s reward/pleasure system. Other studies indicate that music can reduce the secretion of cortisol, a stress producing hormone and increase the secretion of oxytocin, which plays a role in labor and delivery and also parental bonding. Music activates different parts of the brain and can be used to elevate mood, support learning and create bonds with other human beings. The music we love and attach ourselves to then becomes part of our human identity as it did with the Alzheimer woman, who could not remember her family but could recall the words to her beloved Simon and Garfunkel music. And the baby who loves Beethoven’s 9th Symphony is laying down the soundtrack for her life, something that might well serve her in later years. The future may look to a time when music will be used as an alternative to medication without all the side effects of the latter. Right now, there is a company that is working to develop a music player that uses artificial intelligence “to curate” an individualized play list that hopefully can be used to guide a person from an agitated state into a calm one. Music therapists say they have witnessed changed behavior when a certain piece of music is played, and connections are made that seem consciously lost.
The brain has different types of memory. Procedural memory is the unconscious ability to remember a routine or a habit, such as touch typing or bike riding. Episodic memory, on the other hand, involves conscious recollection as when we remember what is on our “to do list.” The latter type of memory originates in the hippocampus region, which is often the first attacked, when dementia strikes. And so, the Alzheimer patient could recall songs from her adolescence, because her brain bypassed the episodic way of remembering and used the unconscious procedural way. A very well known recent example is the singer, Tony Bennett, who at 96, suffering from Alzheimer’s, could still perform his classic hits. If episodic memories are more than two years old, they have become consolidated, and though the hippocampus has been compromised or even destroyed, memories can still be accessed, because the memory is not directly or solely stored in the hippocampus. Memories, after all, are composed of different aspects—sounds, sights, smells, thought and emotion, and all this is represented by patterns of neural activity that are stored in different parts of the cerebral cortex.
One professor describes memories as “little balloons floating in different areas of the brain. When a new memory is formed, the hippocampus ties together the strings of the balloon, but if the hippocampus is destroyed, the balloons become untied and fly away. But after consolidation takes place, the various balloons become linked together by different heavy cords, and so the hippocampus is no longer required.
Research indicates that memories connected with music are more powerfully remembered than those connected with places or people. Thirty participants were exposed to 15 second music clips that were popular when they were young and then they were shown pictures of people famous during this same time frame. The participants were then asked questions about their lives---details they could recall from that past time. The result: music prompted many more detailed (autobiographical) memories than the faces. In another study participants were asked to keep a diary over a four day period recording their responses to both music and the food they ate, prepared or saw in a supermarket. Music elicited a much deeper response.
The Church should not be surprised by this. After all, throughout its long history, music has helped to carry the gospel. Nathan Soderblom, a Swedish Bishop, said in 1929, “Bach’s Cantatas are the fifth gospel.” And indeed, Japan today, which is a very secular nation and has never been particularly receptive to Christianity, is witnessing conversations to Christianity through the music of J.S. Bach. Music finds a way to communicate when words fail.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Included in Christ’s Love
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
May 14, 2023
John 14: 15-21
When I worked in New Haven at Center Church, I would periodically get a student from Yale, who had some question or concern. There was one young woman, studying sociology, who came to talk to me after she had returned from a year studying abroad in Liberia. She had not been raised in the church and had very little interest in Christianity until she noticed in her year abroad that many of the people trying to help solve some of the problems---hunger, Aids, education for females, were Christians. And that made a deep impression on her, so when she returned to the United States, she decided to investigate Christianity.
I could not help but think about her observation and wonder about the relationship between Christianity and the commitment to improve the world. Who are the people who volunteer at soup kitchens, homeless shelters and all the other sundry organizations that try to make life better for those who are hurting? Who are the people most likely to speak out in defense of those oppressed by unjust social and political structures? Who is most concerned about torture or war or capital punishment? I don’t know the statistics, but I have never been impressed that Christians have any kind of monopoly on virtue. There are many people, people from other religions and people with no religion at all, who are out in the world, trying to repair what is broken. And that is a good thing, because the world needs all the help it can get.
What is distinctive about being a Christian? Of course, Christ is central. Christians say and believe that in the life, death and destiny of Jesus Christ, God is revealed in a very special and intimate way. We see what God is like when God is expressed in what is not God---that is, when God is expressed in a human being. Faith in God means for us faith in Christ; Christ is the way we Christians know God. But what does it mean to have faith in Christ? Is it an intellectual consent, believing certain doctrines about Christ, that he is, for example, Lord and Savior? Is faith in Christ primarily about following Christ, that is, doing the kinds of things that he did----showing care and love for the least among us, refusing to do violence, and living a life, predicated on love and forgiveness?
Now surely it is unwise to separate belief from ethics, but when the Reformation battle was fought in the 16th century, one unfortunate result was a separation between faith and ethics. Luther told us we are freed from the burden of the law; it is not what we do that saves us; it is faith, which comes as God’s gift, which saves us. Though Luther certainly taught that ethics flow from faith, he also said that works with no faith provide no route to salvation. And so sometimes it seemed as if the church were more concerned about what people believe with their minds than what they actually do with their lives.
Yet when we look at Jesus, when we consider the multiple stories we have in the gospels, we do not meet a man primarily concerned with belief. On the contrary, we meet someone who wants people to do something---be a good neighbor to those who are not like you; forgive those who do you wrong; care for the poor and the hungry. Even in John’s Gospel, which most scholars interpret as portraying the risen Christ rather than the historical Jesus, we meet a man who commands his disciples to do certain things. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”
Now much has been made in Christianity about the virtue of obedience. Be obedient to Christ’s commands and life will flourish. But more is going on in this reading from John than mere obedience. There are consequences and benefits to loving Jesus, one of them being a movement beyond self-centeredness. To love Jesus as the Christ is to be given the gift of the Spirit, which intrudes into our lives, helping us to do things we are not at all comfortable doing. In fact, to love and follow Jesus as the Christ means that we can find ourselves doing precisely what does not come easily or naturally. It sometimes means we are called to do things we really do not want to do.
I have told you before in a sermon about Elizabeth, a neurosurgeon, afflicted with a brain tumor. She was one of my former patients and her husband, who was a surgeon---they were the love of each other’s lives, she told me, lost courage and ran. He could not bear to see the love of his life die and he could not face his two young children, 6 and 8 at the time, with the awful truth. And so, he abandoned her. She went home to her parents, her father, a retired cardiac surgeon. Though Elizabeth died broken hearted, she did not die bitter. She knew her husband well, and she said, she understood. He never dealt well with death. Elizabeth’s parents raised the children with generous financial support from their father. But he would not see them.
Long after I had left the hospital and was living here in CT, at least 17 or 18 years after Elizabeth’s death, I heard from my former boss, who was head of pastoral care, a professor of ethics at the medical school and a Roman Catholic priest. Elizabeth’s husband made contact through my boss, Bob, who was a personal friend of Elizabeth’s parents. He wanted to see his children and his in-laws. The children were grown, one of them in medical school and the other in law school.
Elizabeth’s parents were beyond rage and furious with their friend for even suggesting such a meeting. But Bob was not afraid to push hard, so eventually they agreed to talk to their two grandchildren and set up a meeting. It had been the grandmother, who had been the most passionately opposed to any meeting or reconciliation. Even after all those years, she told Bob that she had never hated anyone so deeply in her whole life. And yet she changed her mind. Why?
‘Well,” she told Bob, “you know I have been a faithful Roman Catholic my entire life. I love the church, and I do try to follow Jesus. But I could not forgive. And I did not want to forgive. In a moment I would have cut off my friendship with you in order to prevent any meeting with my son in law. One night after we had a particularly hard conversation, I went to bed and could not sleep, so in the middle of the night, I got up, went into the living room, and started to read. No, it was not the Bible. I did not need to be reminded what Jesus would have me do. Jesus was not a mother, and he did not have to see a heart broken daughter die a horrendous death and then turn around and raise two grandchildren, who not only lost their mother but also their father.
I picked up a collection of short stories and started reading one by Wendell Berry, “Pray Without Ceasing.” I should have known better than to read something with that title, but I read anyway. It was the story of a man named Thad Coulter, who in a drunken stupor killed his best friend, because his friend refused to loan him money. Arrested and then jailed, filled with horror and loathing for himself, Thad would have welcomed death, had it been offered to him. And then one day his daughter arrived, and Thad covered his face, not simply because of his guilt and shame, but because in the moment he saw his daughter he saw his guilt included in love. And then came these words: “Surely God’s love includes people who cannot bear it.” Those words, she told Bob, changed the way I saw my son in law. It helped me to do the right thing.”
God’s love, as the narrator to the story said, can be a terrible thing for those who cannot bear it. It includes Thad Coulter, mean and drunk and foolish, before he killed his friend, and it included him afterwards. It includes the disciples before they betrayed Christ, and it includes them after. It includes Mark before he abandoned Elizabeth and his children, and it includes him after. It includes you and me before we trip over our egos and do something stupid and mean spirited, and it includes us after we have fallen.
In today’s Gospel reading we heard Jesus’ command his followers to keep his commandments. That is how we as Christians are known and recognized---by keeping Christ’s commandments. And he told them (and us) that we will not be alone; his Spirit will be with us to help us do what we are commanded to do. Well, sometimes we do keep his commandments and other times we fail miserably. Faith is supposed to make us a different kind of people, but sometimes we do not live up to the faith. Sometimes we cannot live up to the faith. So isn’t it good news that even when we fail, we are included in the love that will not let us go, the love that will not abandon us, even when we abandon it.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
May 14, 2023
John 14: 15-21
When I worked in New Haven at Center Church, I would periodically get a student from Yale, who had some question or concern. There was one young woman, studying sociology, who came to talk to me after she had returned from a year studying abroad in Liberia. She had not been raised in the church and had very little interest in Christianity until she noticed in her year abroad that many of the people trying to help solve some of the problems---hunger, Aids, education for females, were Christians. And that made a deep impression on her, so when she returned to the United States, she decided to investigate Christianity.
I could not help but think about her observation and wonder about the relationship between Christianity and the commitment to improve the world. Who are the people who volunteer at soup kitchens, homeless shelters and all the other sundry organizations that try to make life better for those who are hurting? Who are the people most likely to speak out in defense of those oppressed by unjust social and political structures? Who is most concerned about torture or war or capital punishment? I don’t know the statistics, but I have never been impressed that Christians have any kind of monopoly on virtue. There are many people, people from other religions and people with no religion at all, who are out in the world, trying to repair what is broken. And that is a good thing, because the world needs all the help it can get.
What is distinctive about being a Christian? Of course, Christ is central. Christians say and believe that in the life, death and destiny of Jesus Christ, God is revealed in a very special and intimate way. We see what God is like when God is expressed in what is not God---that is, when God is expressed in a human being. Faith in God means for us faith in Christ; Christ is the way we Christians know God. But what does it mean to have faith in Christ? Is it an intellectual consent, believing certain doctrines about Christ, that he is, for example, Lord and Savior? Is faith in Christ primarily about following Christ, that is, doing the kinds of things that he did----showing care and love for the least among us, refusing to do violence, and living a life, predicated on love and forgiveness?
Now surely it is unwise to separate belief from ethics, but when the Reformation battle was fought in the 16th century, one unfortunate result was a separation between faith and ethics. Luther told us we are freed from the burden of the law; it is not what we do that saves us; it is faith, which comes as God’s gift, which saves us. Though Luther certainly taught that ethics flow from faith, he also said that works with no faith provide no route to salvation. And so sometimes it seemed as if the church were more concerned about what people believe with their minds than what they actually do with their lives.
Yet when we look at Jesus, when we consider the multiple stories we have in the gospels, we do not meet a man primarily concerned with belief. On the contrary, we meet someone who wants people to do something---be a good neighbor to those who are not like you; forgive those who do you wrong; care for the poor and the hungry. Even in John’s Gospel, which most scholars interpret as portraying the risen Christ rather than the historical Jesus, we meet a man who commands his disciples to do certain things. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”
Now much has been made in Christianity about the virtue of obedience. Be obedient to Christ’s commands and life will flourish. But more is going on in this reading from John than mere obedience. There are consequences and benefits to loving Jesus, one of them being a movement beyond self-centeredness. To love Jesus as the Christ is to be given the gift of the Spirit, which intrudes into our lives, helping us to do things we are not at all comfortable doing. In fact, to love and follow Jesus as the Christ means that we can find ourselves doing precisely what does not come easily or naturally. It sometimes means we are called to do things we really do not want to do.
I have told you before in a sermon about Elizabeth, a neurosurgeon, afflicted with a brain tumor. She was one of my former patients and her husband, who was a surgeon---they were the love of each other’s lives, she told me, lost courage and ran. He could not bear to see the love of his life die and he could not face his two young children, 6 and 8 at the time, with the awful truth. And so, he abandoned her. She went home to her parents, her father, a retired cardiac surgeon. Though Elizabeth died broken hearted, she did not die bitter. She knew her husband well, and she said, she understood. He never dealt well with death. Elizabeth’s parents raised the children with generous financial support from their father. But he would not see them.
Long after I had left the hospital and was living here in CT, at least 17 or 18 years after Elizabeth’s death, I heard from my former boss, who was head of pastoral care, a professor of ethics at the medical school and a Roman Catholic priest. Elizabeth’s husband made contact through my boss, Bob, who was a personal friend of Elizabeth’s parents. He wanted to see his children and his in-laws. The children were grown, one of them in medical school and the other in law school.
Elizabeth’s parents were beyond rage and furious with their friend for even suggesting such a meeting. But Bob was not afraid to push hard, so eventually they agreed to talk to their two grandchildren and set up a meeting. It had been the grandmother, who had been the most passionately opposed to any meeting or reconciliation. Even after all those years, she told Bob that she had never hated anyone so deeply in her whole life. And yet she changed her mind. Why?
‘Well,” she told Bob, “you know I have been a faithful Roman Catholic my entire life. I love the church, and I do try to follow Jesus. But I could not forgive. And I did not want to forgive. In a moment I would have cut off my friendship with you in order to prevent any meeting with my son in law. One night after we had a particularly hard conversation, I went to bed and could not sleep, so in the middle of the night, I got up, went into the living room, and started to read. No, it was not the Bible. I did not need to be reminded what Jesus would have me do. Jesus was not a mother, and he did not have to see a heart broken daughter die a horrendous death and then turn around and raise two grandchildren, who not only lost their mother but also their father.
I picked up a collection of short stories and started reading one by Wendell Berry, “Pray Without Ceasing.” I should have known better than to read something with that title, but I read anyway. It was the story of a man named Thad Coulter, who in a drunken stupor killed his best friend, because his friend refused to loan him money. Arrested and then jailed, filled with horror and loathing for himself, Thad would have welcomed death, had it been offered to him. And then one day his daughter arrived, and Thad covered his face, not simply because of his guilt and shame, but because in the moment he saw his daughter he saw his guilt included in love. And then came these words: “Surely God’s love includes people who cannot bear it.” Those words, she told Bob, changed the way I saw my son in law. It helped me to do the right thing.”
God’s love, as the narrator to the story said, can be a terrible thing for those who cannot bear it. It includes Thad Coulter, mean and drunk and foolish, before he killed his friend, and it included him afterwards. It includes the disciples before they betrayed Christ, and it includes them after. It includes Mark before he abandoned Elizabeth and his children, and it includes him after. It includes you and me before we trip over our egos and do something stupid and mean spirited, and it includes us after we have fallen.
In today’s Gospel reading we heard Jesus’ command his followers to keep his commandments. That is how we as Christians are known and recognized---by keeping Christ’s commandments. And he told them (and us) that we will not be alone; his Spirit will be with us to help us do what we are commanded to do. Well, sometimes we do keep his commandments and other times we fail miserably. Faith is supposed to make us a different kind of people, but sometimes we do not live up to the faith. Sometimes we cannot live up to the faith. So isn’t it good news that even when we fail, we are included in the love that will not let us go, the love that will not abandon us, even when we abandon it.
May 10, 2023
Dear friends,
I realize it is Mother’s Day this Sunday, but I have written about Mother’s Day in at least a few past reflection letters. So, I won’t say much about it, except to remind you that Mother’s Day began as a protest against war: women gathering together and refusing to give their husbands, sons, brothers, lovers up to the grinding war machine. Julia Ward Howe wrote in 1870 this stinging rebuke against war, a clarion call to all women: It reads in part:
Arise, then, women of this day! Arise, all women who have hearts, whether our baptism be of water or of tears! Say firmly: "We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies, our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."
When you consider that we human beings have only been on this planet for less than 0.01% of its existence, it is startling to consider all the trouble we have managed to make in our short time. War is one example, and the creeping devastation of climate change is another. But then, of course, there is art and music and science, and all the incredible things human beings have achieved. No wonder the psalmist intones: O God, what are mortals that you are mindful of them? It’s a profound question, one we don’t have an exact answer to, though we are told in the Bible that we are the creatures made in the image and likeness of God. I am not sure if that is our human arrogance speaking, or if somehow we really are able to read God’s thoughts on this matter.
Anyway, it is very instructive to consider our place in the universe as well as on our planet earth. Earth’s story began about 4.6 billion years ago. It took about 600 million years for the earth’s crust to cool down and take its shape. And then the earth needed another 300 million years for the first signs of microbial life to make itself known. Another 3.2 billion years after that the Cambrian Era issued in an explosive evolutionary story, even as there were mass extinction events during that time. But then 465 million years later, something quite extraordinary happened: mammals began to make their appearance. And then 300,000 years later the first homo sapiens came on the scene. So, consider how much time it took for us to appear on this planet!
During on our short time on earth, we have been quite busy. While living the life of nomads, we humans did manage to use fire to push our species forward. In the 4th millennium B.C.E. the first civilizations made their appearance and after that our history really did speed up! Consider this: In less than 6000 years we went from gathering berries and hunting the big animals to exploring space. If you drew a huge circle, marking it with 365 days, and placed the Big Bang on January 1, it is at 10:30 PM, December 31 that human beings appear. And all of recorded history only appears during the last few seconds. But what a story those last seconds tell! As Elie Wiesel once said, “God made human beings, because God loves a good story.” I just wonder if the story God has received from us is a bit more dramatic than God wanted. But once written, erasing is not an option---not even for God.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear friends,
I realize it is Mother’s Day this Sunday, but I have written about Mother’s Day in at least a few past reflection letters. So, I won’t say much about it, except to remind you that Mother’s Day began as a protest against war: women gathering together and refusing to give their husbands, sons, brothers, lovers up to the grinding war machine. Julia Ward Howe wrote in 1870 this stinging rebuke against war, a clarion call to all women: It reads in part:
Arise, then, women of this day! Arise, all women who have hearts, whether our baptism be of water or of tears! Say firmly: "We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies, our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."
When you consider that we human beings have only been on this planet for less than 0.01% of its existence, it is startling to consider all the trouble we have managed to make in our short time. War is one example, and the creeping devastation of climate change is another. But then, of course, there is art and music and science, and all the incredible things human beings have achieved. No wonder the psalmist intones: O God, what are mortals that you are mindful of them? It’s a profound question, one we don’t have an exact answer to, though we are told in the Bible that we are the creatures made in the image and likeness of God. I am not sure if that is our human arrogance speaking, or if somehow we really are able to read God’s thoughts on this matter.
Anyway, it is very instructive to consider our place in the universe as well as on our planet earth. Earth’s story began about 4.6 billion years ago. It took about 600 million years for the earth’s crust to cool down and take its shape. And then the earth needed another 300 million years for the first signs of microbial life to make itself known. Another 3.2 billion years after that the Cambrian Era issued in an explosive evolutionary story, even as there were mass extinction events during that time. But then 465 million years later, something quite extraordinary happened: mammals began to make their appearance. And then 300,000 years later the first homo sapiens came on the scene. So, consider how much time it took for us to appear on this planet!
During on our short time on earth, we have been quite busy. While living the life of nomads, we humans did manage to use fire to push our species forward. In the 4th millennium B.C.E. the first civilizations made their appearance and after that our history really did speed up! Consider this: In less than 6000 years we went from gathering berries and hunting the big animals to exploring space. If you drew a huge circle, marking it with 365 days, and placed the Big Bang on January 1, it is at 10:30 PM, December 31 that human beings appear. And all of recorded history only appears during the last few seconds. But what a story those last seconds tell! As Elie Wiesel once said, “God made human beings, because God loves a good story.” I just wonder if the story God has received from us is a bit more dramatic than God wanted. But once written, erasing is not an option---not even for God.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
On Heaven
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
May 7, 2023
John 14: 1-14
Some years ago, while working at the church in Middletown, one of my parishioners, Betty to whom I was quite close, asked me why she had never heard me preach a sermon on heaven. “Oh, Betty”, I said. “I really don’t know anything about heaven, and Jesus said nothing much about it. Why do you ask?” “Oh,” she said, “ I just want to know that Tammy is o.k.” It was such a poignant moment. Tammy was her 6 year old granddaughter, who had died of Ryes Syndrome nearly 20 years before. All she wanted was the reassurance that Tammy was o.k.
And who can blame her? Isn’t that what most of us want? When we lose someone we love, we do want the reassurance that they are o.k.---even though we have no clear idea about heaven. When someone dies, it is not uncommon to hear something like, “She’s in a better place?” But as someone said to me after hearing this a few times from various people, “Really, and how do they know where she is? Who gave them that information?” The simple truth is that Jesus never really spoke about heaven as a place after death. He used terms like Kingdom of God and Kingdom of Heaven, but those references concerned present reality as much as a future fulfillment, when God’s work of justice and mercy were being done on earth as in heaven. Also, consider Jesus after his resurrection. Did he come back and give a description of heaven? No; he told his disciples to get busy and do something: Teach, baptize, make disciples, heal; help the poor, the widows and the orphans. He did not return after his resurrection for the purpose of telling his disciples that they should get ready for heaven. And yet when Jesus taught his disciples how to pray, he did say: Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. So, we have this idea that heaven is the place where God fully rules, the place where God’s will is finally and completely realized. But more than this Jesus did not say.
In John’s Gospel we have this long discourse where Jesus is preparing to go to the cross. And, as I pointed out in the introduction to the text, John’s gospel doesn’t portray the way a first century Jew would have spoken. Instead, we have the resurrected Christ speaking---that is, how the writer imagined him to speak. And we hear Jesus (as the resurrected Christ) telling his disciples that he is going away, but they are not to worry, for he is going to prepare a place for them. And there are some beautifully comforting images here, a place of many rooms or dwelling places, which suggest that there is diversity in heaven, a place for different kinds of people with different beliefs and perspectives. Jesus speaks here as if he expects his disciples to know and understand where he is going. And what does Thomas say? Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way? And then Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, the life”.
Now let’s revisit Thomas’ words, which I find so poignantly honest. He freely admits his ignorance, which is also shared by the other disciples, who don’t dare say a word. They too are wallowing in ignorance, but they don’t admit it. Thomas, however, is not afraid to speak the truth as he understands it. And he asks the right question, “How can we know the way?” What he means here is that they are all mere mortals, living with the limitations that mortality implies. They have no direct experience of being resurrected; they do not know what heaven is really like----just as we do not know. How can we know? All we can do is imagine, using the tools and images and thoughts at our disposal coming from a variety of sources, including the bible and tradition. We have this tendency to dismiss the products of the imagination as fairy tales. But C.S. Lewis, the Oxford don, also known for his Narnia Chronicles, was a convert to the Christian faith later in life. He said, “While reason is the natural organ of truth, imagination is the organ of meaning.” And indeed, we do use our imaginations to construct meaning.
Many people, for example, including many in this church, imagine that after death, they will be reunited in heaven with loved ones. It is a very common belief, and yet there is no real biblical warrant for it. Jesus never said any such thing. Now, that does mean it is false. We human beings intuit and imagine all kinds of things about which we have no direct information. And heaven is indeed one of those things. And we, as well as theologians throughout the millennia, use biblical images to construct a picture of heaven. The Bible pictures heaven as a garden---the Garden of Eden, also a heavenly city---the new city of Jerusalem, all imaginatively constructed as a place of comfort and peace, where there is no more pain and sorrow, where God’s love and mercy shine forth and there is finally nothing to fear, nothing that can hurt or destroy. And, of course, why would we not want to share that peace and comfort with those whom we have loved and lost?
I read very recently about some of the early Christian martyrs, who also believed they would be reunited with loved ones after death. Bishop Cyprian of Carthage, who was martyred for his faith in 258, tried to encourage his fellow Christians as they faced suffering and death. He told them to imagine heaven as a place where they would meet face to face the apostles and Jesus and be reunited with their loved ones. “Heaven,” he said, “s our native land, our true home, and we have been exiled from our home while we live on earth. But soon we shall return.” And indeed, for many people, the idea of heaven as our true home is a very comforting image.
Some years ago, when I worked as a chaplain at Nassau County Medical Center, I had a patient, a 12 year old boy, who had a lethal brain tumor. While his parents could not bear to tell him he would die, his grandmother had no such hesitation, and she spoke to him of heaven, how God reigned there, how beautiful it was, a place where pain and suffering are forever banished. After some of these conversations, he would say to me something like this. “Oh, I know heaven is beautiful, but I don’t really want to go there. I want to stay here.” About a month before he died, he began to have dreams, where he would be climbing up a long, long flight of stairs, and he told me, he was sure the stairs were leading to heaven, because he was surrounded by such beauty--- waterfalls, and sunshine and blossoming flowers. But just as he arrived at the top of the stairs and was about to open the door, he would fall down the entire flight. And this dream repeated itself over and over again. Finally, one morning, with great excitement he told me, “Sandra, I finally made it up the stairs and I opened the door. It was so big and heavy; I didn’t think I would have the strength. And when I pulled it open and went in, all I saw was this great big hand, and I understood immediately that it was the hand which had opened the door for me. The hand reached out to grab me and I was terrified. I tried to run away, but I could not move. And then the hand grabbed me. But it didn’t feel like a grab; it felt like I was being gently held. Two days later he went into a coma and a few days after that, he died---being gently held.
The human imagination is a wonderful gift, and God can speak through it, just as God speaks through our reason and feelings. Recall these wise words from Albert Einstein: “There are times when imagination is more important than knowledge”. And I would say that is especially true when knowledge fails us, because there are some things beyond our capacity to know. But we can imagine, and thank God that we can.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
May 7, 2023
John 14: 1-14
Some years ago, while working at the church in Middletown, one of my parishioners, Betty to whom I was quite close, asked me why she had never heard me preach a sermon on heaven. “Oh, Betty”, I said. “I really don’t know anything about heaven, and Jesus said nothing much about it. Why do you ask?” “Oh,” she said, “ I just want to know that Tammy is o.k.” It was such a poignant moment. Tammy was her 6 year old granddaughter, who had died of Ryes Syndrome nearly 20 years before. All she wanted was the reassurance that Tammy was o.k.
And who can blame her? Isn’t that what most of us want? When we lose someone we love, we do want the reassurance that they are o.k.---even though we have no clear idea about heaven. When someone dies, it is not uncommon to hear something like, “She’s in a better place?” But as someone said to me after hearing this a few times from various people, “Really, and how do they know where she is? Who gave them that information?” The simple truth is that Jesus never really spoke about heaven as a place after death. He used terms like Kingdom of God and Kingdom of Heaven, but those references concerned present reality as much as a future fulfillment, when God’s work of justice and mercy were being done on earth as in heaven. Also, consider Jesus after his resurrection. Did he come back and give a description of heaven? No; he told his disciples to get busy and do something: Teach, baptize, make disciples, heal; help the poor, the widows and the orphans. He did not return after his resurrection for the purpose of telling his disciples that they should get ready for heaven. And yet when Jesus taught his disciples how to pray, he did say: Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. So, we have this idea that heaven is the place where God fully rules, the place where God’s will is finally and completely realized. But more than this Jesus did not say.
In John’s Gospel we have this long discourse where Jesus is preparing to go to the cross. And, as I pointed out in the introduction to the text, John’s gospel doesn’t portray the way a first century Jew would have spoken. Instead, we have the resurrected Christ speaking---that is, how the writer imagined him to speak. And we hear Jesus (as the resurrected Christ) telling his disciples that he is going away, but they are not to worry, for he is going to prepare a place for them. And there are some beautifully comforting images here, a place of many rooms or dwelling places, which suggest that there is diversity in heaven, a place for different kinds of people with different beliefs and perspectives. Jesus speaks here as if he expects his disciples to know and understand where he is going. And what does Thomas say? Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way? And then Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, the life”.
Now let’s revisit Thomas’ words, which I find so poignantly honest. He freely admits his ignorance, which is also shared by the other disciples, who don’t dare say a word. They too are wallowing in ignorance, but they don’t admit it. Thomas, however, is not afraid to speak the truth as he understands it. And he asks the right question, “How can we know the way?” What he means here is that they are all mere mortals, living with the limitations that mortality implies. They have no direct experience of being resurrected; they do not know what heaven is really like----just as we do not know. How can we know? All we can do is imagine, using the tools and images and thoughts at our disposal coming from a variety of sources, including the bible and tradition. We have this tendency to dismiss the products of the imagination as fairy tales. But C.S. Lewis, the Oxford don, also known for his Narnia Chronicles, was a convert to the Christian faith later in life. He said, “While reason is the natural organ of truth, imagination is the organ of meaning.” And indeed, we do use our imaginations to construct meaning.
Many people, for example, including many in this church, imagine that after death, they will be reunited in heaven with loved ones. It is a very common belief, and yet there is no real biblical warrant for it. Jesus never said any such thing. Now, that does mean it is false. We human beings intuit and imagine all kinds of things about which we have no direct information. And heaven is indeed one of those things. And we, as well as theologians throughout the millennia, use biblical images to construct a picture of heaven. The Bible pictures heaven as a garden---the Garden of Eden, also a heavenly city---the new city of Jerusalem, all imaginatively constructed as a place of comfort and peace, where there is no more pain and sorrow, where God’s love and mercy shine forth and there is finally nothing to fear, nothing that can hurt or destroy. And, of course, why would we not want to share that peace and comfort with those whom we have loved and lost?
I read very recently about some of the early Christian martyrs, who also believed they would be reunited with loved ones after death. Bishop Cyprian of Carthage, who was martyred for his faith in 258, tried to encourage his fellow Christians as they faced suffering and death. He told them to imagine heaven as a place where they would meet face to face the apostles and Jesus and be reunited with their loved ones. “Heaven,” he said, “s our native land, our true home, and we have been exiled from our home while we live on earth. But soon we shall return.” And indeed, for many people, the idea of heaven as our true home is a very comforting image.
Some years ago, when I worked as a chaplain at Nassau County Medical Center, I had a patient, a 12 year old boy, who had a lethal brain tumor. While his parents could not bear to tell him he would die, his grandmother had no such hesitation, and she spoke to him of heaven, how God reigned there, how beautiful it was, a place where pain and suffering are forever banished. After some of these conversations, he would say to me something like this. “Oh, I know heaven is beautiful, but I don’t really want to go there. I want to stay here.” About a month before he died, he began to have dreams, where he would be climbing up a long, long flight of stairs, and he told me, he was sure the stairs were leading to heaven, because he was surrounded by such beauty--- waterfalls, and sunshine and blossoming flowers. But just as he arrived at the top of the stairs and was about to open the door, he would fall down the entire flight. And this dream repeated itself over and over again. Finally, one morning, with great excitement he told me, “Sandra, I finally made it up the stairs and I opened the door. It was so big and heavy; I didn’t think I would have the strength. And when I pulled it open and went in, all I saw was this great big hand, and I understood immediately that it was the hand which had opened the door for me. The hand reached out to grab me and I was terrified. I tried to run away, but I could not move. And then the hand grabbed me. But it didn’t feel like a grab; it felt like I was being gently held. Two days later he went into a coma and a few days after that, he died---being gently held.
The human imagination is a wonderful gift, and God can speak through it, just as God speaks through our reason and feelings. Recall these wise words from Albert Einstein: “There are times when imagination is more important than knowledge”. And I would say that is especially true when knowledge fails us, because there are some things beyond our capacity to know. But we can imagine, and thank God that we can.
May 3, 2023
Dear Friends,
Many Americans, if not most, think of May 1 as just the first day of the month of May. But May Day, as it was traditionally called, has a long history. In old Great Britain the Celts believed that May 1 was the day of division, a half year mark, when the dark receded and the light ascended, and so May Day was a celebration of the sun and the light and warmth it brought. The ancient Romans devoted May 1 to Flora, goddess of flowers. And in Europe and Russia May 1 became The International Workers Day, when labor rights were celebrated. Even in the United States May 1 was celebrated as Labor Day. But in 1894 when the Pullman Strike occurred and violence ensued, President Grover Cleveland moved Labor Day to September in order to disconnect it from the demand for workers’ rights!
And then there is the May Basket, which has a long history, stretching back to the European pagan spring festival, known as Beltane. It could be quite a raucous celebration, but in time it was toned down with elements such as the Maypole dance and the May Day Basket surviving even in the United States. New England boasted a proud tradition of the May Day Basket, when people would hang a basket full of flowers and other little gifts on someone’s front door. It could be a romantic gesture, but it was also used as a simple act of kindness, letting the person know he or she is regarded and respected. Louisa May Alcott, author of Little Women, wrote about May Basket Day in her 1880 children’s book, Jack and Jill: "Such a twanging of bells and rapping of knockers; such a scampering of feet in the dark; such droll collisions as boys came racing round corners, or girls ran into one another's arms as they crept up and down steps on the sly; such laughing, whistling, flying about of flowers and friendly feeling—it was almost a pity that May-day did not come oftener."
There is another tradition regarding May. It was moving day in New York City. You could see the population filling the streets with their personal belongings as they moved to a different address. Leases in New York City expired on May 1, and an article in the New York Times described moving day this way: "Everybody in a hurry, smashing mirrors in his haste … and many a good piece of furniture badly bruised in consequence. It was a harrowing experience." Rent increases were announced on February 1, to take effect three months later, and those who did not accept the new rents had to vacate their apartments by 9 AM on May 1. The experience was made even more harrowing because movers, known as carmen, hiked up their fees for the day, and so the city of New York finally regulated moving fees in 1890.
By the early 20th century moving day in New York had changed from May 1 to October 1. But by World War ll, moving day was no longer a frenzy. For one thing, most of the able bodied movers were pressed into military service. Then came the housing shortage after the war and rent control and other housing regulations, all of which cut down substantially the amount of moving. As someone recently said, “Moving in New York City is still stressful, but at least not everyone is doing it the same day.”
May Day for most of us is only the first day of May---nothing more. But May Day’s history reminds us that culture changes, and what was once a celebration, can easily become only a distant memory. A 98 year old woman said she remembers quite well making May Day Baskets for her grandparents and elderly aunts. “Perhaps,” she said, “our nation has fallen from its innocence, and so we don’t do simple acts of kindness like this anymore. Now privacy rules, and who knows what would happen if you went up to someone’s front door to hang a basket on the doorknob.”
Given our nation’s recent history with guns and the fear filled environment so many people inhabit, we know what can and does happen. And that should make all of us weep.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Many Americans, if not most, think of May 1 as just the first day of the month of May. But May Day, as it was traditionally called, has a long history. In old Great Britain the Celts believed that May 1 was the day of division, a half year mark, when the dark receded and the light ascended, and so May Day was a celebration of the sun and the light and warmth it brought. The ancient Romans devoted May 1 to Flora, goddess of flowers. And in Europe and Russia May 1 became The International Workers Day, when labor rights were celebrated. Even in the United States May 1 was celebrated as Labor Day. But in 1894 when the Pullman Strike occurred and violence ensued, President Grover Cleveland moved Labor Day to September in order to disconnect it from the demand for workers’ rights!
And then there is the May Basket, which has a long history, stretching back to the European pagan spring festival, known as Beltane. It could be quite a raucous celebration, but in time it was toned down with elements such as the Maypole dance and the May Day Basket surviving even in the United States. New England boasted a proud tradition of the May Day Basket, when people would hang a basket full of flowers and other little gifts on someone’s front door. It could be a romantic gesture, but it was also used as a simple act of kindness, letting the person know he or she is regarded and respected. Louisa May Alcott, author of Little Women, wrote about May Basket Day in her 1880 children’s book, Jack and Jill: "Such a twanging of bells and rapping of knockers; such a scampering of feet in the dark; such droll collisions as boys came racing round corners, or girls ran into one another's arms as they crept up and down steps on the sly; such laughing, whistling, flying about of flowers and friendly feeling—it was almost a pity that May-day did not come oftener."
There is another tradition regarding May. It was moving day in New York City. You could see the population filling the streets with their personal belongings as they moved to a different address. Leases in New York City expired on May 1, and an article in the New York Times described moving day this way: "Everybody in a hurry, smashing mirrors in his haste … and many a good piece of furniture badly bruised in consequence. It was a harrowing experience." Rent increases were announced on February 1, to take effect three months later, and those who did not accept the new rents had to vacate their apartments by 9 AM on May 1. The experience was made even more harrowing because movers, known as carmen, hiked up their fees for the day, and so the city of New York finally regulated moving fees in 1890.
By the early 20th century moving day in New York had changed from May 1 to October 1. But by World War ll, moving day was no longer a frenzy. For one thing, most of the able bodied movers were pressed into military service. Then came the housing shortage after the war and rent control and other housing regulations, all of which cut down substantially the amount of moving. As someone recently said, “Moving in New York City is still stressful, but at least not everyone is doing it the same day.”
May Day for most of us is only the first day of May---nothing more. But May Day’s history reminds us that culture changes, and what was once a celebration, can easily become only a distant memory. A 98 year old woman said she remembers quite well making May Day Baskets for her grandparents and elderly aunts. “Perhaps,” she said, “our nation has fallen from its innocence, and so we don’t do simple acts of kindness like this anymore. Now privacy rules, and who knows what would happen if you went up to someone’s front door to hang a basket on the doorknob.”
Given our nation’s recent history with guns and the fear filled environment so many people inhabit, we know what can and does happen. And that should make all of us weep.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Comfort is Good, But It is Not Everything
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
April 30, 2023
Psalm 23
John 10: 1-10
There is probably no better-known psalm than the 23rd. Until very recently Psalm 23 was considered part of general cultural knowledge. If we grew up in the church and attended Sunday School, it was perhaps the one psalm we were expected to memorize. And because it was part of cultural knowledge, even people who were not religious, recognized the words. It is often the one scripture people will request at a funeral, sometimes because it is the only one they know or remember.
The words are very comforting. God is imaged here as the shepherd, who cares for and protects the flock. God leads the sheep to the meadows and the water, where they are fed, and their thirst is satisfied. The first line tells us that God is the shepherd, and so we shall not want---meaning that God provides whatever is needed, and so there is no reason to live in anxiety about what we shall have or get. Yet the psalm does not deny the difficulties and challenges in life---there are the dark valleys, including the valley of death, which comes to everyone and everything that lives. And yet, even in death, God is there.
Last summer I conducted a graveside service for the mother of a woman, who was very deep into the ecology movement. She asked me to read the 23rd Psalm because she found it deeply ecological. “You can just feel the balance in the psalm,” she said. “You have this sense there is enough grass and water to feed and satisfy, and when death comes, there is no need to grasp for more and more life, because at the end there is finally nothing to fear. There is God, and God’s presence is enough, enough to shepherd us through the darkest valley.” Now consider this word enough, because we live in a culture that thrives on creating desire, the desire for more and more and more. And maybe in the end enough is what the psalm is essentially all about---the realization that there is enough, and we do not need to grasp for more, because God is enough and has created a world full of enough.
At her mother’s graveside service, the daughter told this story about birds I had never heard of, red knots, which each season fly from Tierra del Fuego, located in both Argentina and Chile, to arctic islands north of Hudson Bay, a flight of 9000 miles! And in the middle of their journey, the birds stop at a particular beach along the Delaware Bay, where they feed on protein rich horseshoe crabs, which give them strength to continue their flight north. Well, people decided that these horseshoe crabs made great bait, and so they used and finally overused. And what happened? The red knots were not so much around anymore, though it took about 10 years to realize the reason and the uncomfortable truth that if they continued to use these horseshoe crabs in this excessive way, the red knots would go extinct, and so the crabs were protected, and the red knots returned. The woman finished her story with three words, “God makes enough.”
Now let’s switch scriptures and consider the reading from John, where Jesus calls himself both the good shepherd and the gate. First of all, we should understand that shepherds were of very low status; they were poor, and their lives were hard, having to endure being outside in all kinds of weather. Furthermore, shepherding was considered an unclean profession, probably because of their involvement with blood in the birth of lambs. So, that Jesus called himself the good shepherd and in Luke the lowly shepherds were the first ones to hear the good news of Jesus’ birth are ways of saying that what the world considers lowly is not how God sees things.
We are all familiar with Jesus being called a shepherd. But how often do we hear Jesus called a gate? Yet it is one of the 15 I AM statements, which are unique to John’s Gospel. I am the way, the truth, the life; I am the vine; I am the light of the world, etc. And now in John 10, Jesus calls himself the gate through which the sheep enter. And the scripture claims that there is no other legitimate way to get in except by going through this gate. If you climb over the wall, you are named a robber and a thief.
Now from our perspective, this sounds harsh in its exclusivity. But we need to understand what is going on in this text, because this passage immediately follows one in which Jesus was involved in a controversy with some Pharisees, because he had dared to heal a blind man on the Sabbath. So, Jesus was accused of being an enemy of the Jewish Law. But we should also understand that John’s Gospel was written around the year 90 or even 100, during a time of high tension between Jews, loyal to the synagogue and Jews, who were becoming Christians. Those who became followers of Jesus were expelled from the synagogues, and so the new Christian community responded by saying, no salvation except through Christ. In other words, the Christian community out of which the gospel of John emerged, declared that the Jewish Law as a means of salvation was dead. You must enter through the gate that is Christ. But these are the words of the newly formed Christian community, and we should always remember that God does not see as human beings do. Nor is God’s Word always what we directly read or hear. This is why each week when we read scripture, I say, Listen FOR the Word, rather than listen TO the Word. WE have to work to find and hear God’s Word in the midst of many words, some of which are not from God, but from limited human beings.
Now let’s consider the image of the gate, through which the sheep enter. We think of gates that open and close on hinges, but that is not how it was in Jesus’ day. At the end of the day, the shepherd led the sheep into an enclosure, surrounded by a wall. And the shepherd would lie down across the entrance to the enclosure, where the sheep would sleep. The shepherd’s body quite literally kept the sheep from wandering away. And in the morning, the shepherd would lead his sheep out. In fact, the Greek word, translated here in verse 4 as brought out---When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them---would more accurately be translated as cast or drive, the same verb John uses to describe Jesus casting out demons or driving out the money changers from the Temple. So, we are being challenged here with the suggestion that remaining safe and secure is not what God always desires and intends. Just as the sheep are driven out into a bigger and wider world, so are we. There are times we move out and take a big risk.
The woman who was deep into ecology and whose mother I buried told me about her mother, who at age 60 had joined the Peace Corps and worked in Africa. She was a nurse, and she taught health and nutrition to women. “My siblings and I were shocked”, the woman told me. “My mother loved comfort and her little luxuries, but after my father died very suddenly, she became a different person. And so, she went to Africa, and had quite a time of it, getting into some pretty heavy tussles there with the men, who became angry when she told them that their pregnant and nursing wives needed more of the meat the men thought belonged to them. She was actually beaten a few times. But my mother stayed and would not back down. My brother even tried to talk her into coming home. My dad had been a doctor and she a nurse, and they had plenty of money. And so, my brother told her, You should be comfortable now. You have earned your comfort. But you know what my mother told him. “I have lived long enough to know that comfort, while good is not everything.” A wise woman, she was, and I don’t think Jesus as the good shepherd could have said it any better.
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
April 30, 2023
Psalm 23
John 10: 1-10
There is probably no better-known psalm than the 23rd. Until very recently Psalm 23 was considered part of general cultural knowledge. If we grew up in the church and attended Sunday School, it was perhaps the one psalm we were expected to memorize. And because it was part of cultural knowledge, even people who were not religious, recognized the words. It is often the one scripture people will request at a funeral, sometimes because it is the only one they know or remember.
The words are very comforting. God is imaged here as the shepherd, who cares for and protects the flock. God leads the sheep to the meadows and the water, where they are fed, and their thirst is satisfied. The first line tells us that God is the shepherd, and so we shall not want---meaning that God provides whatever is needed, and so there is no reason to live in anxiety about what we shall have or get. Yet the psalm does not deny the difficulties and challenges in life---there are the dark valleys, including the valley of death, which comes to everyone and everything that lives. And yet, even in death, God is there.
Last summer I conducted a graveside service for the mother of a woman, who was very deep into the ecology movement. She asked me to read the 23rd Psalm because she found it deeply ecological. “You can just feel the balance in the psalm,” she said. “You have this sense there is enough grass and water to feed and satisfy, and when death comes, there is no need to grasp for more and more life, because at the end there is finally nothing to fear. There is God, and God’s presence is enough, enough to shepherd us through the darkest valley.” Now consider this word enough, because we live in a culture that thrives on creating desire, the desire for more and more and more. And maybe in the end enough is what the psalm is essentially all about---the realization that there is enough, and we do not need to grasp for more, because God is enough and has created a world full of enough.
At her mother’s graveside service, the daughter told this story about birds I had never heard of, red knots, which each season fly from Tierra del Fuego, located in both Argentina and Chile, to arctic islands north of Hudson Bay, a flight of 9000 miles! And in the middle of their journey, the birds stop at a particular beach along the Delaware Bay, where they feed on protein rich horseshoe crabs, which give them strength to continue their flight north. Well, people decided that these horseshoe crabs made great bait, and so they used and finally overused. And what happened? The red knots were not so much around anymore, though it took about 10 years to realize the reason and the uncomfortable truth that if they continued to use these horseshoe crabs in this excessive way, the red knots would go extinct, and so the crabs were protected, and the red knots returned. The woman finished her story with three words, “God makes enough.”
Now let’s switch scriptures and consider the reading from John, where Jesus calls himself both the good shepherd and the gate. First of all, we should understand that shepherds were of very low status; they were poor, and their lives were hard, having to endure being outside in all kinds of weather. Furthermore, shepherding was considered an unclean profession, probably because of their involvement with blood in the birth of lambs. So, that Jesus called himself the good shepherd and in Luke the lowly shepherds were the first ones to hear the good news of Jesus’ birth are ways of saying that what the world considers lowly is not how God sees things.
We are all familiar with Jesus being called a shepherd. But how often do we hear Jesus called a gate? Yet it is one of the 15 I AM statements, which are unique to John’s Gospel. I am the way, the truth, the life; I am the vine; I am the light of the world, etc. And now in John 10, Jesus calls himself the gate through which the sheep enter. And the scripture claims that there is no other legitimate way to get in except by going through this gate. If you climb over the wall, you are named a robber and a thief.
Now from our perspective, this sounds harsh in its exclusivity. But we need to understand what is going on in this text, because this passage immediately follows one in which Jesus was involved in a controversy with some Pharisees, because he had dared to heal a blind man on the Sabbath. So, Jesus was accused of being an enemy of the Jewish Law. But we should also understand that John’s Gospel was written around the year 90 or even 100, during a time of high tension between Jews, loyal to the synagogue and Jews, who were becoming Christians. Those who became followers of Jesus were expelled from the synagogues, and so the new Christian community responded by saying, no salvation except through Christ. In other words, the Christian community out of which the gospel of John emerged, declared that the Jewish Law as a means of salvation was dead. You must enter through the gate that is Christ. But these are the words of the newly formed Christian community, and we should always remember that God does not see as human beings do. Nor is God’s Word always what we directly read or hear. This is why each week when we read scripture, I say, Listen FOR the Word, rather than listen TO the Word. WE have to work to find and hear God’s Word in the midst of many words, some of which are not from God, but from limited human beings.
Now let’s consider the image of the gate, through which the sheep enter. We think of gates that open and close on hinges, but that is not how it was in Jesus’ day. At the end of the day, the shepherd led the sheep into an enclosure, surrounded by a wall. And the shepherd would lie down across the entrance to the enclosure, where the sheep would sleep. The shepherd’s body quite literally kept the sheep from wandering away. And in the morning, the shepherd would lead his sheep out. In fact, the Greek word, translated here in verse 4 as brought out---When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them---would more accurately be translated as cast or drive, the same verb John uses to describe Jesus casting out demons or driving out the money changers from the Temple. So, we are being challenged here with the suggestion that remaining safe and secure is not what God always desires and intends. Just as the sheep are driven out into a bigger and wider world, so are we. There are times we move out and take a big risk.
The woman who was deep into ecology and whose mother I buried told me about her mother, who at age 60 had joined the Peace Corps and worked in Africa. She was a nurse, and she taught health and nutrition to women. “My siblings and I were shocked”, the woman told me. “My mother loved comfort and her little luxuries, but after my father died very suddenly, she became a different person. And so, she went to Africa, and had quite a time of it, getting into some pretty heavy tussles there with the men, who became angry when she told them that their pregnant and nursing wives needed more of the meat the men thought belonged to them. She was actually beaten a few times. But my mother stayed and would not back down. My brother even tried to talk her into coming home. My dad had been a doctor and she a nurse, and they had plenty of money. And so, my brother told her, You should be comfortable now. You have earned your comfort. But you know what my mother told him. “I have lived long enough to know that comfort, while good is not everything.” A wise woman, she was, and I don’t think Jesus as the good shepherd could have said it any better.
April 28, 2023
Dear Friends,
Each week I write a reflection letter, based on something I have recently read or heard; topics I think have broad implications for the way we live our lives. This week I came across a letter written to Nick Cave, who is an Australian artist, writer, and actor, by a thirteen year old boy, named Ruben. I was so moved by the question posed by the letter as well as the response that I want to share it with you this week. Perhaps some of you might think that it was a failure of Nick’s to leave out God, but he did write about truth and beauty, which do participate in God’s being. And you don’t have to be thirteen years old to take Nick’s advice. His advice is good for any age.
Dear Nick,
I’m 13. In a world ridden with so much hate, and disconnect; How do I live life to its absolute fullest, and not waste my potential? Especially as a creative. Also, what is a great way to spiritually enrich myself? in general, and in my creative work.
RUBEN, MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA
Dear Ruben,
When I read this question, my initial thought was that the kid who wrote this has nothing to worry about, they’re going to be all right. Ruben, you are very smart, you are engaged with the world and I’m not sure what your creative interests are, but you can certainly already write. Not only that, you are also reaching out for answers. At thirteen, this is all brilliant! Luckily for you, Ruben, I have some! So here goes!
Read. Read as much as possible. Read the big stuff, the challenging stuff, the confronting stuff, and read the fun stuff too. Visit galleries and look at paintings, watch movies, listen to music, go to concerts – be a little vampire running around the place sucking up all the art and ideas you can. Fill yourself with the beautiful stuff of the world. Have fun. Get amazed. Get astonished. Get awed on a regular basis, so that getting awed is habitual and becomes a state of being. Fully understand your enormous value in the scheme of things because the planet needs people like you, smart young creatives full of awe, who can minister to the world with positive, mischievous energy, young people who seek spiritual enrichment and who see hatred and disconnection as the corrosive forces they are. These are manifest indicators of a human being with immense potential.
Absorb into yourself the world’s full richness and goodness and fun and genius, so that when someone tells you it’s not worth fighting for, you will stick up for it, protect it, run to its defense, because it is your world they’re talking about, then watch that world continue to pour itself into you in gratitude. A little smart vampire full of raging love, amazed by the world – that will be you, my young friend, the earth shaking at your feet.
Love, Nick
Dear Friends,
Each week I write a reflection letter, based on something I have recently read or heard; topics I think have broad implications for the way we live our lives. This week I came across a letter written to Nick Cave, who is an Australian artist, writer, and actor, by a thirteen year old boy, named Ruben. I was so moved by the question posed by the letter as well as the response that I want to share it with you this week. Perhaps some of you might think that it was a failure of Nick’s to leave out God, but he did write about truth and beauty, which do participate in God’s being. And you don’t have to be thirteen years old to take Nick’s advice. His advice is good for any age.
Dear Nick,
I’m 13. In a world ridden with so much hate, and disconnect; How do I live life to its absolute fullest, and not waste my potential? Especially as a creative. Also, what is a great way to spiritually enrich myself? in general, and in my creative work.
RUBEN, MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA
Dear Ruben,
When I read this question, my initial thought was that the kid who wrote this has nothing to worry about, they’re going to be all right. Ruben, you are very smart, you are engaged with the world and I’m not sure what your creative interests are, but you can certainly already write. Not only that, you are also reaching out for answers. At thirteen, this is all brilliant! Luckily for you, Ruben, I have some! So here goes!
Read. Read as much as possible. Read the big stuff, the challenging stuff, the confronting stuff, and read the fun stuff too. Visit galleries and look at paintings, watch movies, listen to music, go to concerts – be a little vampire running around the place sucking up all the art and ideas you can. Fill yourself with the beautiful stuff of the world. Have fun. Get amazed. Get astonished. Get awed on a regular basis, so that getting awed is habitual and becomes a state of being. Fully understand your enormous value in the scheme of things because the planet needs people like you, smart young creatives full of awe, who can minister to the world with positive, mischievous energy, young people who seek spiritual enrichment and who see hatred and disconnection as the corrosive forces they are. These are manifest indicators of a human being with immense potential.
Absorb into yourself the world’s full richness and goodness and fun and genius, so that when someone tells you it’s not worth fighting for, you will stick up for it, protect it, run to its defense, because it is your world they’re talking about, then watch that world continue to pour itself into you in gratitude. A little smart vampire full of raging love, amazed by the world – that will be you, my young friend, the earth shaking at your feet.
Love, Nick
A PLACE CALLED EMMAUS
Preached by Sandra Olsen
April 23, 2023
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
Luke 24: 13-35
No one really knows where Emmaus was. There have been a lot of guesses, but no evidence that any of the proposed sites is the real place. Perhaps it does not really matter where the original site was, because Emmaus for us is more a symbolic place than a real one. It is that place we want to go in order to forget, forget a painful past or escape from a hard truth we do not want to face. Ernest Hemingway once said, “The world in the end breaks everyone, but some grow strong in the broken places.” Well, we can guess that these two men on the road to Emmaus were not feeling particularly strong. They had just lived through a horrible experience---the crucifixion of their leader---and they were trying to get away from it all, away from painful memories, away from dashed hopes and dreams. This man, Jesus, was supposed to redeem Israel, but in Jerusalem they came face to face with the brutal recognition that even a redeemer can die.
Just as we do not know where Emmaus was, we also do not know very much bout the two men traveling there. One is named Cleopas, while the other remains unnamed, and though they are not disciples, they were followers. Disappointed, broken hearted, certainly frightened, they also must have been confused, because they had heard a story from some women, who had seen a vision of angels, who told them, “Jesus lives!” So is it any surprise they are on the road---on the road to forget, on the road to escape hurt, disappointment, and confusion.
Some of us, if not most of us, have already traveled down a road like the one leading to Emmaus. Don’t we know the experience of wanting to escape and forget, wanting to leave behind a place, filled with painful memories? It’s not an unfamiliar experience. My granddaughter’s French class went to Paris, France last week, and she told her mother that on the plane was a young woman going to make a new life in France after losing her husband in a car accident. She could no longer live in Boston because it is too haunted with his memories. But don’t we all wonder if there will be any real escape? After all, the memories are not simply attached to a place like Boston; they are in the head and heart.
Sometimes the road to Emmaus is littered with all kinds of baggage: drugs, alcohol, infidelities, even excessive work---things people think will help them blot whatever pain they are trying to run away from or forget. But sometimes our Emmaus is exactly the place where memories are stored---but different kinds of memories from the place we are trying to forget. One of my friend’s sons had a terrible break up with a girlfriend, who also happened to be a borderline personality, so things became very ugly, very quickly. He insisted on coming home, because his Emmaus is the place where he always felt safe and secure. And there he has remained for the past nine months---stuck in a comfort zone he does not know how to leave. But if you’re stuck there, it is never going to be as safe and secure as it once was.
And chances are these two followers of Jesus didn’t find Emmaus as they thought it would be. We are not sure if Emmaus was their home, but it did seem to have for them the comfortable appeal of home. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? After such a traumatic experience, after death brushes painfully close, going home is what many of us would do or want to do. And in the intimate space of home, the place where food is prepared and shared, where familiarity breeds security, the two men recognized the stranger whom they had invited to remain with them. At first, they did not know him. They talked with him on the road, and they invited him to stay with them. But still, they did not recognize him--- until the bread was blessed and broken. Then they saw him as the risen Christ. But noticed what immediately happened: as soon they recognized him, he vanished.
There was no possibility of hanging on to him, just as Jesus told Mary Magdalene in John’s Gospel that she could not cling to him. Jesus would offer no explanation of his resurrection. He would not give them one bit of information about what lay on the other side of life. No, in an instant, he was gone, and they were left wondering what in heaven’s name had happened. And so, they talked and marveled and reflected how their hearts had burned within them as Jesus had explained scripture while they were on the road. Within the hour the two men left the security and comfort of Emmaus and returned to Jerusalem. Jerusalem: the very place from which they had fled, the place of horrific defeat, the place of bad memories and dashed hopes---that was the place to which they returned. They went there to tell the disciples the good news: Jesus Christ is risen!
And isn’t that how life sometimes is. We go to the place where we think we will find comfort and safety, the place which we hope will help us to forget a painful past or at least help us to remember it in a new way, and what we discover is that we can’t stay, because things really are different. Life has changed, and we have changed along with it. Emmaus may be the place to which we return, but it is not the place in which we can remain, because if we do, we will be stuck, and if the Gospel is about anything, it is about NOT being stuck.
I have this friend from college, who is a very successful corporate lawyer. Alex can be very cynical about life and people. A classics major in college, he knows a great deal about Greek and Roman culture---but very little about the Bible. A few weeks ago, I suggested he read the Old Testament Book of Ecclesiastes, because I told him that he reminded me of the Teacher, a hard headed realist who mixes his realism with his cynicism. And so, Alex read the book and told me he has been pondering the Preacher’s words: There is nothing new under the sun. Whoever wrote that book, Alex said, was dealing with the boredom of life that can set in, especially as we age. We have to live a while, Alex insisted, before we can understand that the things we put so much of our effort and our trust in---including our work and even our families---are really not big enough to hold the meaning of life. And when you feel that way---you can find yourself overwhelmed by the idea that there is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done, all has happened before, as the Teacher said.
The two men on the road to Emmaus were not looking for something new. They knew intimately how hard life could be, and they were trying to escape from a painful place that was the site of a horrendous memory. And on the road, they met someone, who would change forever what they found in Emmaus. They had been blind; they could not see who Jesus was, but when they finally saw, they could not remain in Emmaus. They were driven back to Jerusalem, which they would now see with their eyes wide open. Who would have thought it? Certainly not these two men! As they walked that dusty road to Emmaus, they considered that everything concerning Jesus was swallowed up in a black hole of defeat. It was over, finished, but the surprising truth was: It had only just begun. And they would learn that indeed there is something new under the sun.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
April 23, 2023
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
Luke 24: 13-35
No one really knows where Emmaus was. There have been a lot of guesses, but no evidence that any of the proposed sites is the real place. Perhaps it does not really matter where the original site was, because Emmaus for us is more a symbolic place than a real one. It is that place we want to go in order to forget, forget a painful past or escape from a hard truth we do not want to face. Ernest Hemingway once said, “The world in the end breaks everyone, but some grow strong in the broken places.” Well, we can guess that these two men on the road to Emmaus were not feeling particularly strong. They had just lived through a horrible experience---the crucifixion of their leader---and they were trying to get away from it all, away from painful memories, away from dashed hopes and dreams. This man, Jesus, was supposed to redeem Israel, but in Jerusalem they came face to face with the brutal recognition that even a redeemer can die.
Just as we do not know where Emmaus was, we also do not know very much bout the two men traveling there. One is named Cleopas, while the other remains unnamed, and though they are not disciples, they were followers. Disappointed, broken hearted, certainly frightened, they also must have been confused, because they had heard a story from some women, who had seen a vision of angels, who told them, “Jesus lives!” So is it any surprise they are on the road---on the road to forget, on the road to escape hurt, disappointment, and confusion.
Some of us, if not most of us, have already traveled down a road like the one leading to Emmaus. Don’t we know the experience of wanting to escape and forget, wanting to leave behind a place, filled with painful memories? It’s not an unfamiliar experience. My granddaughter’s French class went to Paris, France last week, and she told her mother that on the plane was a young woman going to make a new life in France after losing her husband in a car accident. She could no longer live in Boston because it is too haunted with his memories. But don’t we all wonder if there will be any real escape? After all, the memories are not simply attached to a place like Boston; they are in the head and heart.
Sometimes the road to Emmaus is littered with all kinds of baggage: drugs, alcohol, infidelities, even excessive work---things people think will help them blot whatever pain they are trying to run away from or forget. But sometimes our Emmaus is exactly the place where memories are stored---but different kinds of memories from the place we are trying to forget. One of my friend’s sons had a terrible break up with a girlfriend, who also happened to be a borderline personality, so things became very ugly, very quickly. He insisted on coming home, because his Emmaus is the place where he always felt safe and secure. And there he has remained for the past nine months---stuck in a comfort zone he does not know how to leave. But if you’re stuck there, it is never going to be as safe and secure as it once was.
And chances are these two followers of Jesus didn’t find Emmaus as they thought it would be. We are not sure if Emmaus was their home, but it did seem to have for them the comfortable appeal of home. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? After such a traumatic experience, after death brushes painfully close, going home is what many of us would do or want to do. And in the intimate space of home, the place where food is prepared and shared, where familiarity breeds security, the two men recognized the stranger whom they had invited to remain with them. At first, they did not know him. They talked with him on the road, and they invited him to stay with them. But still, they did not recognize him--- until the bread was blessed and broken. Then they saw him as the risen Christ. But noticed what immediately happened: as soon they recognized him, he vanished.
There was no possibility of hanging on to him, just as Jesus told Mary Magdalene in John’s Gospel that she could not cling to him. Jesus would offer no explanation of his resurrection. He would not give them one bit of information about what lay on the other side of life. No, in an instant, he was gone, and they were left wondering what in heaven’s name had happened. And so, they talked and marveled and reflected how their hearts had burned within them as Jesus had explained scripture while they were on the road. Within the hour the two men left the security and comfort of Emmaus and returned to Jerusalem. Jerusalem: the very place from which they had fled, the place of horrific defeat, the place of bad memories and dashed hopes---that was the place to which they returned. They went there to tell the disciples the good news: Jesus Christ is risen!
And isn’t that how life sometimes is. We go to the place where we think we will find comfort and safety, the place which we hope will help us to forget a painful past or at least help us to remember it in a new way, and what we discover is that we can’t stay, because things really are different. Life has changed, and we have changed along with it. Emmaus may be the place to which we return, but it is not the place in which we can remain, because if we do, we will be stuck, and if the Gospel is about anything, it is about NOT being stuck.
I have this friend from college, who is a very successful corporate lawyer. Alex can be very cynical about life and people. A classics major in college, he knows a great deal about Greek and Roman culture---but very little about the Bible. A few weeks ago, I suggested he read the Old Testament Book of Ecclesiastes, because I told him that he reminded me of the Teacher, a hard headed realist who mixes his realism with his cynicism. And so, Alex read the book and told me he has been pondering the Preacher’s words: There is nothing new under the sun. Whoever wrote that book, Alex said, was dealing with the boredom of life that can set in, especially as we age. We have to live a while, Alex insisted, before we can understand that the things we put so much of our effort and our trust in---including our work and even our families---are really not big enough to hold the meaning of life. And when you feel that way---you can find yourself overwhelmed by the idea that there is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done, all has happened before, as the Teacher said.
The two men on the road to Emmaus were not looking for something new. They knew intimately how hard life could be, and they were trying to escape from a painful place that was the site of a horrendous memory. And on the road, they met someone, who would change forever what they found in Emmaus. They had been blind; they could not see who Jesus was, but when they finally saw, they could not remain in Emmaus. They were driven back to Jerusalem, which they would now see with their eyes wide open. Who would have thought it? Certainly not these two men! As they walked that dusty road to Emmaus, they considered that everything concerning Jesus was swallowed up in a black hole of defeat. It was over, finished, but the surprising truth was: It had only just begun. And they would learn that indeed there is something new under the sun.
April 19, 2023
Dear Friends,
Will Robinson served in Iraq for six months and then spent time in Germany receiving medical treatment. He was given a medical discharge from the Army in 2003, and at age 23 he thought of himself as a disabled person. Medications for his emotional pain were a daily trial, and he lived through numerous surgeries to help him cope with his physical challenges. Nothing seemed to help. On a fateful day in March, 2016 he was staring at the television screen when he had an encounter with the movie, Wild, the screen story of Cheryl Strayed, who walked the Pacific Crest Trail and was healed from the emotional trauma of her mother’s death and her broken apart family and marriage. She thought she had lost everything, but despite the loss, she found something she had not anticipated and was found by something she ds Something in Will clicked, and he recalled a time in Iraq when he poured over a guidebook to the Pacific Crest Trail that someone had sent to soldiers in a care package. That was a time he believed he had a future and he remembered thinking to himself, “Someday, I would like to walk that trail.
And that is how his journey began---a movie of Cheryl’s memoir that jogged his own memory of reading the guidebook of the Trail. He immediately went to his computer and ordered a free long distance permit to hike the Trail. On April 2 he arrived in Southern California to begin a journey that led to his healing.
Will had not intended to walk the entire trail, which begins on the Mexican border and runs to the Canadian border. His one goal was to find himself again, and he was willing to walk as many miles as it would take. Cheryl Strayed had written in her book, Wild, that she had begun her journey with the idea that her healing would come from contemplation, from reflecting on her varied experiences and integrating them into a coherent story. “But this is not how it happened,” she wrote. She was surprised by how healing the physical act of walking was. She was comforted and consoled by taking all those many steps.
And Will Robinson discovered something very similar. But he also learned that he could make connections with people. Very soon in his hike he met his trail family, who gave him his trail name, Akuna, a Swahili derived word, which roughly translates as “No Worries.” He met a woman named Cookie and n2Pie, a teacher from Ohio, and Nothing Yet, a veteran who had hiked the Appalachian trail the previous year to help calm his PTSD. After Will had returned from the trauma of war in Iraq, being around people had been almost impossible for him. He would suffer panic attacks, overcome by anxiety, but on the trail, he met people with whom he could connect, and they would help one another accomplish their goals. 100 miles into the trail, Will said that the dark clouds in his mind and spirit began to lift. “Maybe I can live again,” he began to think. “Maybe I can lead other people and inspire and motivate them to do what they need to do. And that is exactly what he did.
Since his first long distance hike in 2016 he has covered more than 11,000 miles. He has completed the 2650 mile Pacific Crest Trail from California to Washington, the 2194 mile Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine and the 3100 mile Continental Divide Trail from New Mexico to Montana. Then, during the pandemic he hiked the 165 mile Tahoe Rim Trail, the more than 800 mile Arizona Trail and the 270 mile Ozark Trail.
Scientists and physicians who study hiking say the research indicates that hiking in nature not only has physical benefits but also results in psychological virtues. Walking at least 90 minutes in nature can tame depression, lower anxiety and stress and “reduce rumination, “the endless loop of negative thoughts.” There is a 2019 study, Nature and Mental Health, which explored a multiple set of rewards that accrue from hiking, including more positive social interactions, a stronger sense of purpose and a keener grip on reality and the demands of living.
Before industrialization and the change in work habits, which have evolved over the centuries, our ancestors probably did not suffer from the same sort of ills we do, which often come from too much sitting and a lack of interaction with the natural world. All too often we are alienated from nature, and this has led to all kinds of problems and illnesses. Nature may not be a panacea for everything, but we should be encouraged to realize that Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau found themselves grasped by the healing power of nature, which helped them to recover from devastating personal losses.
There are city people, who cannot imagine living outside the hustle and bustle of urban life with all its excitement, artistic accomplishments and novelties. Yet, consider how many New Yorkers find themselves walking or running in Central Park to be uplifted and renewed by the trees, grass, and flowers, which on the scale of evolution came long before human beings made their appearance on this planet. Recall that Jesus in his Sermon on the Mount commented on the lilies of the field: “Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Will Robinson served in Iraq for six months and then spent time in Germany receiving medical treatment. He was given a medical discharge from the Army in 2003, and at age 23 he thought of himself as a disabled person. Medications for his emotional pain were a daily trial, and he lived through numerous surgeries to help him cope with his physical challenges. Nothing seemed to help. On a fateful day in March, 2016 he was staring at the television screen when he had an encounter with the movie, Wild, the screen story of Cheryl Strayed, who walked the Pacific Crest Trail and was healed from the emotional trauma of her mother’s death and her broken apart family and marriage. She thought she had lost everything, but despite the loss, she found something she had not anticipated and was found by something she ds Something in Will clicked, and he recalled a time in Iraq when he poured over a guidebook to the Pacific Crest Trail that someone had sent to soldiers in a care package. That was a time he believed he had a future and he remembered thinking to himself, “Someday, I would like to walk that trail.
And that is how his journey began---a movie of Cheryl’s memoir that jogged his own memory of reading the guidebook of the Trail. He immediately went to his computer and ordered a free long distance permit to hike the Trail. On April 2 he arrived in Southern California to begin a journey that led to his healing.
Will had not intended to walk the entire trail, which begins on the Mexican border and runs to the Canadian border. His one goal was to find himself again, and he was willing to walk as many miles as it would take. Cheryl Strayed had written in her book, Wild, that she had begun her journey with the idea that her healing would come from contemplation, from reflecting on her varied experiences and integrating them into a coherent story. “But this is not how it happened,” she wrote. She was surprised by how healing the physical act of walking was. She was comforted and consoled by taking all those many steps.
And Will Robinson discovered something very similar. But he also learned that he could make connections with people. Very soon in his hike he met his trail family, who gave him his trail name, Akuna, a Swahili derived word, which roughly translates as “No Worries.” He met a woman named Cookie and n2Pie, a teacher from Ohio, and Nothing Yet, a veteran who had hiked the Appalachian trail the previous year to help calm his PTSD. After Will had returned from the trauma of war in Iraq, being around people had been almost impossible for him. He would suffer panic attacks, overcome by anxiety, but on the trail, he met people with whom he could connect, and they would help one another accomplish their goals. 100 miles into the trail, Will said that the dark clouds in his mind and spirit began to lift. “Maybe I can live again,” he began to think. “Maybe I can lead other people and inspire and motivate them to do what they need to do. And that is exactly what he did.
Since his first long distance hike in 2016 he has covered more than 11,000 miles. He has completed the 2650 mile Pacific Crest Trail from California to Washington, the 2194 mile Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine and the 3100 mile Continental Divide Trail from New Mexico to Montana. Then, during the pandemic he hiked the 165 mile Tahoe Rim Trail, the more than 800 mile Arizona Trail and the 270 mile Ozark Trail.
Scientists and physicians who study hiking say the research indicates that hiking in nature not only has physical benefits but also results in psychological virtues. Walking at least 90 minutes in nature can tame depression, lower anxiety and stress and “reduce rumination, “the endless loop of negative thoughts.” There is a 2019 study, Nature and Mental Health, which explored a multiple set of rewards that accrue from hiking, including more positive social interactions, a stronger sense of purpose and a keener grip on reality and the demands of living.
Before industrialization and the change in work habits, which have evolved over the centuries, our ancestors probably did not suffer from the same sort of ills we do, which often come from too much sitting and a lack of interaction with the natural world. All too often we are alienated from nature, and this has led to all kinds of problems and illnesses. Nature may not be a panacea for everything, but we should be encouraged to realize that Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau found themselves grasped by the healing power of nature, which helped them to recover from devastating personal losses.
There are city people, who cannot imagine living outside the hustle and bustle of urban life with all its excitement, artistic accomplishments and novelties. Yet, consider how many New Yorkers find themselves walking or running in Central Park to be uplifted and renewed by the trees, grass, and flowers, which on the scale of evolution came long before human beings made their appearance on this planet. Recall that Jesus in his Sermon on the Mount commented on the lilies of the field: “Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Peace Be with You
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church, Unionville, CT
April 16, 2023
John 20: 19-31
On the evening of the day that Jesus appeared to Mary Magdalene, the disciples, with the exception of Thomas, were behind locked doors. They were afraid, the text says, afraid of the Jews. Now there is really no reason the disciples should have been more afraid of the Jews than of the Romans, but John’s gospel, written around the year 90 or so, when the distrust and tensions between the Christians and the Jews had grown very high, is reading the enmity back into the time after Jesus’ death. Here we see the beginning of Christian antisemitism. Of course, the fear after Jesus’ death was real. The disciples did not know what would happen next or who would accuse them of what crime. So being behind locked doors made complete sense.
And then Jesus came among them. How he gained entrance, we do not know, but he was there, and the first thing he said was, “Peace be with you.” Then he showed them his hands and his side, and though the text does not say the wounds were still visible, the implication is that they were, marking his suffering and death. A little later, Thomas will be invited to put his hand in Jesus’ side, where he was pierced by a sword. So, whatever we say about Jesus’ resurrection, it did not erase his history. His story ended with wounds and death, and though death was overcome, his wounds did not magically disappear. And isn’t that how it often is in real life? People are wounded, sometimes grievously so, and though those wounds can be overcome and healed, so they no longer hold the person in bondage, yet those wounds can remain a vital part of their story. They are not so easily forgotten or ignored.
Now imagine the fear of those disciples, and then Jesus’ sudden appearance among them and his words, “Peace be with you.” Don’t you wonder how they can possibly know peace after all they have lived through and witnessed? What did Jesus mean here by peace. Obviously, he could not have meant the absence of conflict. The disciples were surrounded by conflict with the Romans and some Jews. And though they did not know it then, the conflict would only grow. Perhaps what Jesus meant was an inner balance and calm, a sense of confidence and wellbeing that can face chaos and even evil and yet know that God, not human beings, speaks the final word. And the final word is good news. Though earlier in John‘s gospel, Jesus had spoken of peace in his long farewell address to his disciples before going to the cross, he did not yet give them peace. It was only after his death and resurrection that he uttered the words, “Peace be with you.” He could give peace only after he had lived and suffered and then was granted by God new life.
And in giving his disciples that peace---he said it a second time--- he also commissioned them to go out into the world, As the Father has sent me, so I send you. And they will be sent with the power of the Holy Spirit. So, now they have something new. The Holy Spirit is with them, and notice what the Spirit allows them to do: Offer forgiveness. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained. This does not mean that the disciples cause or create the forgiveness. It does not mean that they are given the power to decide who can be forgiven. They are commissioned to offer what God has already done. God forgives. God is always forgiving, but not everyone accepts the forgiveness, and so the sins are retained (not by God) but by the person who does not let the sin go.
After everything that had happened---the experience of utter catastrophe that Jesus’ execution was, what they end up with is the power of the Holy Spirit, who pronounces God’s forgiveness. There was going to be no payback here, no vengeance allowed---though vengeance is exactly what so many people demand and want after a terrible catastrophe. But as is often the case with Jesus Christ and God, what people are looking for is not necessarily what they receive.
Some years ago, when I was serving a church in New Haven, I was visiting one of my parishioners in the hospital, where I overheard this surgeon talking to his patient in the next bed. He was trying to calm down this utterly terrified woman, who was facing cardiac surgery the next day. Now over the years I have heard many doctors talk to many patients, but there was something different about this doctor, a quality of calmness and assurance I had never before heard. I was more than impressed; I was deeply touched.
A few days later, back at the hospital for another visit, I went to the café to get something to drink, and there was the doctor, sitting alone at a table. And so, I decided to tell him how moved I was by his interaction with his patient. He thanked me and asked me to sit down, and then he told me his story, how he had been in Iraq during the war, part of a Mash like surgical team, except, he said, “we had a lot more equipment and know how than existed back in the 50’s. We were being driven back to our residence one night after a particularly grueling day of surgery, when suddenly, we hit a roadside bomb. I was completely thrown out of the car, while two other surgeons and two nurses and the driver were instantly killed. I alone survived with a few bruises and cuts. Survived physically, but mentally I was a wreck. I was consumed with rage and all I wanted was revenge against the Iraqis.
Well, I was assigned to a new team and the supervising surgeon was quite a bit older than I, and I wondered why he was even here, and so I asked him. He told me he was a Viet Nam vet, who had operated on soldiers during the Viet Nam War. He could save people now he could not back then, so he volunteered to help. He was an incredibly skillful surgeon; I learned a lot from him. But the most valuable lesson I learned was the power of life. He told me about his losses---two close friends and comrades who died in Viet Nam. And then he said, “There is no payback, no real compensation for loss and pain. The only thing you can do is come down on the healing side of life.” And so, I did, and I have. But even now I don’t know if it was a decision I made, or perhaps something bigger than I made it for me. I am not a very religious person, not even a spiritual one, but I do believe there are powers in the world that can take hold of us for good and for ill. I think a good one got ahold of me.
And so, it had---just as a good power---the Holy Spirit---got ahold of the disciples after all the terror and failure they had lived through. With Jesus’ blessing they were sent on a mission into the world. That mission had much to do with the pronouncement of forgiveness, which indeed is a healing force in the world. If you can forgive, if you can be free of the desire to pay back evil with evil; if you can move beyond your anger and rage, even when that anger and rage are well deserved----if in the midst of such pain, you can grab hold of forgiveness, then be assured that this is not your work alone and that the Peace of Christ is surely with you.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church, Unionville, CT
April 16, 2023
John 20: 19-31
On the evening of the day that Jesus appeared to Mary Magdalene, the disciples, with the exception of Thomas, were behind locked doors. They were afraid, the text says, afraid of the Jews. Now there is really no reason the disciples should have been more afraid of the Jews than of the Romans, but John’s gospel, written around the year 90 or so, when the distrust and tensions between the Christians and the Jews had grown very high, is reading the enmity back into the time after Jesus’ death. Here we see the beginning of Christian antisemitism. Of course, the fear after Jesus’ death was real. The disciples did not know what would happen next or who would accuse them of what crime. So being behind locked doors made complete sense.
And then Jesus came among them. How he gained entrance, we do not know, but he was there, and the first thing he said was, “Peace be with you.” Then he showed them his hands and his side, and though the text does not say the wounds were still visible, the implication is that they were, marking his suffering and death. A little later, Thomas will be invited to put his hand in Jesus’ side, where he was pierced by a sword. So, whatever we say about Jesus’ resurrection, it did not erase his history. His story ended with wounds and death, and though death was overcome, his wounds did not magically disappear. And isn’t that how it often is in real life? People are wounded, sometimes grievously so, and though those wounds can be overcome and healed, so they no longer hold the person in bondage, yet those wounds can remain a vital part of their story. They are not so easily forgotten or ignored.
Now imagine the fear of those disciples, and then Jesus’ sudden appearance among them and his words, “Peace be with you.” Don’t you wonder how they can possibly know peace after all they have lived through and witnessed? What did Jesus mean here by peace. Obviously, he could not have meant the absence of conflict. The disciples were surrounded by conflict with the Romans and some Jews. And though they did not know it then, the conflict would only grow. Perhaps what Jesus meant was an inner balance and calm, a sense of confidence and wellbeing that can face chaos and even evil and yet know that God, not human beings, speaks the final word. And the final word is good news. Though earlier in John‘s gospel, Jesus had spoken of peace in his long farewell address to his disciples before going to the cross, he did not yet give them peace. It was only after his death and resurrection that he uttered the words, “Peace be with you.” He could give peace only after he had lived and suffered and then was granted by God new life.
And in giving his disciples that peace---he said it a second time--- he also commissioned them to go out into the world, As the Father has sent me, so I send you. And they will be sent with the power of the Holy Spirit. So, now they have something new. The Holy Spirit is with them, and notice what the Spirit allows them to do: Offer forgiveness. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained. This does not mean that the disciples cause or create the forgiveness. It does not mean that they are given the power to decide who can be forgiven. They are commissioned to offer what God has already done. God forgives. God is always forgiving, but not everyone accepts the forgiveness, and so the sins are retained (not by God) but by the person who does not let the sin go.
After everything that had happened---the experience of utter catastrophe that Jesus’ execution was, what they end up with is the power of the Holy Spirit, who pronounces God’s forgiveness. There was going to be no payback here, no vengeance allowed---though vengeance is exactly what so many people demand and want after a terrible catastrophe. But as is often the case with Jesus Christ and God, what people are looking for is not necessarily what they receive.
Some years ago, when I was serving a church in New Haven, I was visiting one of my parishioners in the hospital, where I overheard this surgeon talking to his patient in the next bed. He was trying to calm down this utterly terrified woman, who was facing cardiac surgery the next day. Now over the years I have heard many doctors talk to many patients, but there was something different about this doctor, a quality of calmness and assurance I had never before heard. I was more than impressed; I was deeply touched.
A few days later, back at the hospital for another visit, I went to the café to get something to drink, and there was the doctor, sitting alone at a table. And so, I decided to tell him how moved I was by his interaction with his patient. He thanked me and asked me to sit down, and then he told me his story, how he had been in Iraq during the war, part of a Mash like surgical team, except, he said, “we had a lot more equipment and know how than existed back in the 50’s. We were being driven back to our residence one night after a particularly grueling day of surgery, when suddenly, we hit a roadside bomb. I was completely thrown out of the car, while two other surgeons and two nurses and the driver were instantly killed. I alone survived with a few bruises and cuts. Survived physically, but mentally I was a wreck. I was consumed with rage and all I wanted was revenge against the Iraqis.
Well, I was assigned to a new team and the supervising surgeon was quite a bit older than I, and I wondered why he was even here, and so I asked him. He told me he was a Viet Nam vet, who had operated on soldiers during the Viet Nam War. He could save people now he could not back then, so he volunteered to help. He was an incredibly skillful surgeon; I learned a lot from him. But the most valuable lesson I learned was the power of life. He told me about his losses---two close friends and comrades who died in Viet Nam. And then he said, “There is no payback, no real compensation for loss and pain. The only thing you can do is come down on the healing side of life.” And so, I did, and I have. But even now I don’t know if it was a decision I made, or perhaps something bigger than I made it for me. I am not a very religious person, not even a spiritual one, but I do believe there are powers in the world that can take hold of us for good and for ill. I think a good one got ahold of me.
And so, it had---just as a good power---the Holy Spirit---got ahold of the disciples after all the terror and failure they had lived through. With Jesus’ blessing they were sent on a mission into the world. That mission had much to do with the pronouncement of forgiveness, which indeed is a healing force in the world. If you can forgive, if you can be free of the desire to pay back evil with evil; if you can move beyond your anger and rage, even when that anger and rage are well deserved----if in the midst of such pain, you can grab hold of forgiveness, then be assured that this is not your work alone and that the Peace of Christ is surely with you.
Dear Friends,
Remember when you were a child, and your mother or father insisted you apologize for some infraction you committed. If you were like most children, apologizing does not come easily. Children often resist. I remember my own children standing there, pouting, refusing to say the words, “I’m sorry,” to me or someone else. But children are not the only ones who have difficulty with apologies. Adults do as well, especially when it comes to the sins and crimes of history. Governments simply do not like to admit wrongdoing. Has the United States ever apologized for slavery, or its treatment of the Native Americans or for Viet Nam, Iraq, or Afghanistan? We did apologize for the incarceration of Japanese people on the West Coast in prison camps during the Second World War. In 1988 President Ronald Reagan formally apologized, and reparations of $20,000 were offered to those who had suffered the incarceration. Considering that their property had been confiscated, $20,000 was a pittance---but it was better than nothing.
There are other examples of governments apologizing. The German government did apologize for the Holocaust and made payments to the nation of Israel. True, nothing could compensate for such evil, but at least there was an admission of guilt. And then there is the example of Australia. On February 13, 2008, Kevin Rudd, Australia’s new prime minister, acknowledged the systemic dehumanization and degradation of Australia’s Aboriginal population. One of the persons present at the apology was Lorna Nungali, who had been four years old when she was stolen from her parents. She lived in an isolated village in the Australian outback, and the community had been hearing that children were being kidnapped by the government. Families dug holes in creek beds and had their children practice hiding there. But one day, with help from “trackers,” welfare men showed up and suddenly grabbed Lorna, her cousins and siblings and threw them in the back of a truck. Lorna can still recall her mother, screaming and crying as she clung to the side of the truck. Lorna never saw her mother again. A few days before Rudd’s apology, Lorna had sat with him and described that terrible day. He understood the depth of the injustice that had been committed against the Aboriginal people, and his speech that day was his first official parliamentary act. His apology was historic, a reminder that words do matter. Yet no American leader has ever dared to emulate what Rudd had done.
It is true that American officials have twice formally apologized for the treatment of indigenous people, but the apologies fall short in some very significant ways. On September 8, 2000, Assistant Secretary of Indian Affairs, Kevin Gover, delivered a speech, acknowledging the abuse the United States had inflicted on native populations. The Agency of Indian Affairs was tasked with the responsibility of protecting the Indian population, he said, but had failed miserably. Gover’s apology was heartfelt, but he was NOT speaking on behalf of the President, Bill Clinton, in any official capacity. Besides, Gover was a member of the Pawnee nation. Rudd, on the other hand, claimed that his apology was effective, precisely because he is “a white, eighth-generation Australian male, whose ancestors were criminals.” (His exact words, by the way.)
On December 19, 2009, President Barack Obama signed an “Apology to Native Peoples of the United States” into law. Here was the official policy from the President, certainly a big deal. But unlike Rudd’s apology there was no public event to mark the admission of guilt, and the sponsor of the bill, Senator Sam Brownback of Kansas, actually read the statement aloud five months later in a ceremony, hardly attended by anyone. The news coverage was almost non-existent, and very few people are even aware of the apology.
To be effective, an apology of this kind needs three elements: (1) the admission of wrongdoing (2) a demonstration of regret and remorse (3) a stated commitment to work toward a new future, which would not repeat the wrongs of the past. While the apologies of 2008 and 2009 did include these elements, the 2009 apology contained a disclaimer, stating that this should not be taken to mean that a financial claim against the United States Government would be honored. By adding the disclaimer, the admission of guilt was watered down, indicating that it had no real force. As I mentioned earlier, Germany’s apology came with money.
Apologies are never easy; it is always a challenge to face wrongdoing and guilt. We human beings have learned to defend ourselves against such knowledge, and we have all kinds of clever psychological and spiritual tools to keep our egos and our superegos intact. When we have done wrong, guilt is a sign of spiritual health, but it is also true that guilt can be destructive, if it has no way to make a new beginning. Recall the story of the young German soldier, Karl, (from the book, The Sunflower, by Simon Wiesenthal), who committed terrible atrocities against Jews. He faced the guilty horror of his deed and yet he could find no forgiveness. Forgiveness may indeed be the key element. Is it any wonder then, that when Jesus was resurrected (in John’s gospel) and was gathered with his disciples, he breathed on them the power of the Holy Spirit, which pronounced forgiveness on all who would accept the gift.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Remember when you were a child, and your mother or father insisted you apologize for some infraction you committed. If you were like most children, apologizing does not come easily. Children often resist. I remember my own children standing there, pouting, refusing to say the words, “I’m sorry,” to me or someone else. But children are not the only ones who have difficulty with apologies. Adults do as well, especially when it comes to the sins and crimes of history. Governments simply do not like to admit wrongdoing. Has the United States ever apologized for slavery, or its treatment of the Native Americans or for Viet Nam, Iraq, or Afghanistan? We did apologize for the incarceration of Japanese people on the West Coast in prison camps during the Second World War. In 1988 President Ronald Reagan formally apologized, and reparations of $20,000 were offered to those who had suffered the incarceration. Considering that their property had been confiscated, $20,000 was a pittance---but it was better than nothing.
There are other examples of governments apologizing. The German government did apologize for the Holocaust and made payments to the nation of Israel. True, nothing could compensate for such evil, but at least there was an admission of guilt. And then there is the example of Australia. On February 13, 2008, Kevin Rudd, Australia’s new prime minister, acknowledged the systemic dehumanization and degradation of Australia’s Aboriginal population. One of the persons present at the apology was Lorna Nungali, who had been four years old when she was stolen from her parents. She lived in an isolated village in the Australian outback, and the community had been hearing that children were being kidnapped by the government. Families dug holes in creek beds and had their children practice hiding there. But one day, with help from “trackers,” welfare men showed up and suddenly grabbed Lorna, her cousins and siblings and threw them in the back of a truck. Lorna can still recall her mother, screaming and crying as she clung to the side of the truck. Lorna never saw her mother again. A few days before Rudd’s apology, Lorna had sat with him and described that terrible day. He understood the depth of the injustice that had been committed against the Aboriginal people, and his speech that day was his first official parliamentary act. His apology was historic, a reminder that words do matter. Yet no American leader has ever dared to emulate what Rudd had done.
It is true that American officials have twice formally apologized for the treatment of indigenous people, but the apologies fall short in some very significant ways. On September 8, 2000, Assistant Secretary of Indian Affairs, Kevin Gover, delivered a speech, acknowledging the abuse the United States had inflicted on native populations. The Agency of Indian Affairs was tasked with the responsibility of protecting the Indian population, he said, but had failed miserably. Gover’s apology was heartfelt, but he was NOT speaking on behalf of the President, Bill Clinton, in any official capacity. Besides, Gover was a member of the Pawnee nation. Rudd, on the other hand, claimed that his apology was effective, precisely because he is “a white, eighth-generation Australian male, whose ancestors were criminals.” (His exact words, by the way.)
On December 19, 2009, President Barack Obama signed an “Apology to Native Peoples of the United States” into law. Here was the official policy from the President, certainly a big deal. But unlike Rudd’s apology there was no public event to mark the admission of guilt, and the sponsor of the bill, Senator Sam Brownback of Kansas, actually read the statement aloud five months later in a ceremony, hardly attended by anyone. The news coverage was almost non-existent, and very few people are even aware of the apology.
To be effective, an apology of this kind needs three elements: (1) the admission of wrongdoing (2) a demonstration of regret and remorse (3) a stated commitment to work toward a new future, which would not repeat the wrongs of the past. While the apologies of 2008 and 2009 did include these elements, the 2009 apology contained a disclaimer, stating that this should not be taken to mean that a financial claim against the United States Government would be honored. By adding the disclaimer, the admission of guilt was watered down, indicating that it had no real force. As I mentioned earlier, Germany’s apology came with money.
Apologies are never easy; it is always a challenge to face wrongdoing and guilt. We human beings have learned to defend ourselves against such knowledge, and we have all kinds of clever psychological and spiritual tools to keep our egos and our superegos intact. When we have done wrong, guilt is a sign of spiritual health, but it is also true that guilt can be destructive, if it has no way to make a new beginning. Recall the story of the young German soldier, Karl, (from the book, The Sunflower, by Simon Wiesenthal), who committed terrible atrocities against Jews. He faced the guilty horror of his deed and yet he could find no forgiveness. Forgiveness may indeed be the key element. Is it any wonder then, that when Jesus was resurrected (in John’s gospel) and was gathered with his disciples, he breathed on them the power of the Holy Spirit, which pronounced forgiveness on all who would accept the gift.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
WHAT ABOUT THE ANGEL?
Preached by Sandra Olsen, Maundy Thursday
April 6, 2023
Luke 22: 39-46
I always hated it when my beeper went off because it usually signified a crisis. And so when I heard my beeper on Maundy Thursday of 1989, my heart leapt to my throat. I called a number I did not recognize, which I hoped was a good sign. The message was from a doctor from the high risk pregnancy ward, who wanted to see me IMMEDIATELY. “Look,” he said, I understand that you have been talking to Linda so and so, an Aids patient. She’s dying and she knows it, and I want to do an immediate C section, but she says “no go.” If I don’t get that baby out now, not only will we lose the mother, but also the baby. Can’t you talk some sense into her?
Sense: a rather strange word to use for someone who had lived the last 10 years of her life on the streets, and now at 26 years of age, was going to die. What did sense have to do with it? Linda had grown up in an abusive home; at fourteen she ran away from a father who had impregnated her, and then beat her to a bloody pulp for getting pregnant. Her life was a series of wrecks no human being should ever have to endure, let alone recover from. Linda did not recover, and eventually she came down with Aids.
She was not an easy person to be with. I did not like her any more than she liked me. As far as she was concerned, I was next to useless, BUT according to her, not as useless as God. At least, she said to me one day, you show up now and then, which is more than God does.
The ironic thing about Linda was that as much as she denied and even said she hated God, she couldn’t get God out of her mind. Sometimes she cursed God; and other days she just lamented that God never helped her. According to Linda not only did God abandon her, but God also abandoned her three kids, all of whom were in foster care. The social worker told me that two of the children suffered from serious neurological damage due to her crack addiction and the oldest child was blind, probably due to fetal alcohol syndrome. “I may be guilty,” Linda confessed, “but my kids didn’t do a thing but be born. Got no use for a God who visits the sins of the parents on the children. Where’s the justice in that?” I told her I didn’t think it had anything to do with justice. It is just the way things are. “God does not stop the blood from flowing if you slice your hand open with a knife,” I said. “So why do you believe in God, if God can’t help?” she wanted to know. “Because I’ve got no place else to go,” I answered.
One of the nurses told me that Linda liked that answer, though of course she would never have told me that. I guess she preferred God being a place rather than a person. Since practically everyone in her life had used or abused her, and since she spent a good part of her life homeless, place came to mean more to her than person.
Well as you can see, Linda was not stupid. She was smart, smart enough to figure out that as a pregnant Aids patient, she was entitled to a lot better care than if she were simply an Aids afflicted street walker. For the first time in a few years, she actually had a place to live, a place she called home. “At least I’m not going to die homeless,” she told the social worker.
Linda was a lightning rod of controversy. One of her doctors, the one who beeped me, wanted to do immediate surgery on a baby of 32 weeks gestation---40 weeks is full term. Linda was going downhill fast, and the baby was showing serious signs of distress. Another doctor thought that the primary responsibility was to the mother not to the baby. We have to keep her alive as long as we can, he insisted. Her baby is not the primary patient. And so, the two argued. And argued, and as things became even more critical, the two doctors argued even more.
Sometime in mid afternoon on Maundy Thursday, Linda asked to see me. She pulled a Bible out from under the bed sheets. Do you know the part about Jesus, when he prays that he won’t have to die? You mean the Garden of Gethsemane? It’s right before he goes to the cross, I said. She looked up at me and asked, “What about the part with the angel?”
The angel? “Yeh, the part when the angel comes and helps Jesus.” In that moment I had no recollection of any angel. Linda handed me a Bible and said, “Could you find the angel part for me?” I heard someone read it on the radio this morning, but I don’t know where it is. You must know. I need the part where the angel helps Jesus.” Desperation was choking her voice. Quickly flipping to the Gethsemane scenes in Matthew and Mark, I confirmed to myself that there was no angel there. And then I turned to Luke. Ah yes, here it is. Read it, she commanded, the part where the angel comes. “Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will, but yours be done. Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat become like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.”
I stopped reading, and the room was bathed in complete silence until Linda broke it. whole world seemed to stop with me Do you believe that, the part about the angel helping him? Fixing her gaze on me, she did not give me much time to form either my thoughts or my words. I had been educated to be suspicious of angels, those winged creatures, who speak God’s truth and bring God’s help. My education had been a journey into critical biblical scholarship, which tells us that it is probable that the angel was not part of Luke’s original Gospel since important early manuscripts lack those sentences. Besides, I had been taught to reason, and angels are outside the realm of reason. Nonetheless, I looked Linda straight in the eye, and with no audible or visible hesitation, answered, “Yes, I believe the part about the angel.” “Oh,” she said. “I thought that maybe you are the kind of person who doesn’t believe in angels.”
That was the last time I ever spoke with Linda. That night she consented to undergo an emergency C-section from which she never regained consciousness. She died three days later after delivering a baby girl, who later proved to be free of the Aids virus. I can still recall precisely the words the doctor used to communicate that good news. “We always think of the placenta as a bloody sieve,” he said,”but it turns out in some cases that it’s more impervious than we give it credit for.” Impervious—that’s the word he spoke slowly and deliberately. I can still remember the cadence of his voice, now more than 30 years ago. Impervious, meaning unable to pass or get through. The placenta does prevent some things, including viruses, from getting through to the baby.
But something did get through to Linda and her baby. An angel, an angel that I did not even remember was there, an angel that most of us have a very hard time believing in, an angel that even the early Lucan manuscripts left out, and the gospels of Matthew and Mark and John make no mention of. Impervious: Oh, it is a fitting description of the human condition. We are often impervious, impervious to God, impervious to grace, impervious to an angel. How ironic that in the last few hours of this poor battered woman’s life, she opened herself up to something that most of us could miss and dismiss. Who believes in angels, anyway? Perhaps those who are so broken that they have no place to wander except to the cross and from there to the tomb, where they hear the question posed by the angels, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” Why indeed?
Preached by Sandra Olsen, Maundy Thursday
April 6, 2023
Luke 22: 39-46
I always hated it when my beeper went off because it usually signified a crisis. And so when I heard my beeper on Maundy Thursday of 1989, my heart leapt to my throat. I called a number I did not recognize, which I hoped was a good sign. The message was from a doctor from the high risk pregnancy ward, who wanted to see me IMMEDIATELY. “Look,” he said, I understand that you have been talking to Linda so and so, an Aids patient. She’s dying and she knows it, and I want to do an immediate C section, but she says “no go.” If I don’t get that baby out now, not only will we lose the mother, but also the baby. Can’t you talk some sense into her?
Sense: a rather strange word to use for someone who had lived the last 10 years of her life on the streets, and now at 26 years of age, was going to die. What did sense have to do with it? Linda had grown up in an abusive home; at fourteen she ran away from a father who had impregnated her, and then beat her to a bloody pulp for getting pregnant. Her life was a series of wrecks no human being should ever have to endure, let alone recover from. Linda did not recover, and eventually she came down with Aids.
She was not an easy person to be with. I did not like her any more than she liked me. As far as she was concerned, I was next to useless, BUT according to her, not as useless as God. At least, she said to me one day, you show up now and then, which is more than God does.
The ironic thing about Linda was that as much as she denied and even said she hated God, she couldn’t get God out of her mind. Sometimes she cursed God; and other days she just lamented that God never helped her. According to Linda not only did God abandon her, but God also abandoned her three kids, all of whom were in foster care. The social worker told me that two of the children suffered from serious neurological damage due to her crack addiction and the oldest child was blind, probably due to fetal alcohol syndrome. “I may be guilty,” Linda confessed, “but my kids didn’t do a thing but be born. Got no use for a God who visits the sins of the parents on the children. Where’s the justice in that?” I told her I didn’t think it had anything to do with justice. It is just the way things are. “God does not stop the blood from flowing if you slice your hand open with a knife,” I said. “So why do you believe in God, if God can’t help?” she wanted to know. “Because I’ve got no place else to go,” I answered.
One of the nurses told me that Linda liked that answer, though of course she would never have told me that. I guess she preferred God being a place rather than a person. Since practically everyone in her life had used or abused her, and since she spent a good part of her life homeless, place came to mean more to her than person.
Well as you can see, Linda was not stupid. She was smart, smart enough to figure out that as a pregnant Aids patient, she was entitled to a lot better care than if she were simply an Aids afflicted street walker. For the first time in a few years, she actually had a place to live, a place she called home. “At least I’m not going to die homeless,” she told the social worker.
Linda was a lightning rod of controversy. One of her doctors, the one who beeped me, wanted to do immediate surgery on a baby of 32 weeks gestation---40 weeks is full term. Linda was going downhill fast, and the baby was showing serious signs of distress. Another doctor thought that the primary responsibility was to the mother not to the baby. We have to keep her alive as long as we can, he insisted. Her baby is not the primary patient. And so, the two argued. And argued, and as things became even more critical, the two doctors argued even more.
Sometime in mid afternoon on Maundy Thursday, Linda asked to see me. She pulled a Bible out from under the bed sheets. Do you know the part about Jesus, when he prays that he won’t have to die? You mean the Garden of Gethsemane? It’s right before he goes to the cross, I said. She looked up at me and asked, “What about the part with the angel?”
The angel? “Yeh, the part when the angel comes and helps Jesus.” In that moment I had no recollection of any angel. Linda handed me a Bible and said, “Could you find the angel part for me?” I heard someone read it on the radio this morning, but I don’t know where it is. You must know. I need the part where the angel helps Jesus.” Desperation was choking her voice. Quickly flipping to the Gethsemane scenes in Matthew and Mark, I confirmed to myself that there was no angel there. And then I turned to Luke. Ah yes, here it is. Read it, she commanded, the part where the angel comes. “Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will, but yours be done. Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat become like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.”
I stopped reading, and the room was bathed in complete silence until Linda broke it. whole world seemed to stop with me Do you believe that, the part about the angel helping him? Fixing her gaze on me, she did not give me much time to form either my thoughts or my words. I had been educated to be suspicious of angels, those winged creatures, who speak God’s truth and bring God’s help. My education had been a journey into critical biblical scholarship, which tells us that it is probable that the angel was not part of Luke’s original Gospel since important early manuscripts lack those sentences. Besides, I had been taught to reason, and angels are outside the realm of reason. Nonetheless, I looked Linda straight in the eye, and with no audible or visible hesitation, answered, “Yes, I believe the part about the angel.” “Oh,” she said. “I thought that maybe you are the kind of person who doesn’t believe in angels.”
That was the last time I ever spoke with Linda. That night she consented to undergo an emergency C-section from which she never regained consciousness. She died three days later after delivering a baby girl, who later proved to be free of the Aids virus. I can still recall precisely the words the doctor used to communicate that good news. “We always think of the placenta as a bloody sieve,” he said,”but it turns out in some cases that it’s more impervious than we give it credit for.” Impervious—that’s the word he spoke slowly and deliberately. I can still remember the cadence of his voice, now more than 30 years ago. Impervious, meaning unable to pass or get through. The placenta does prevent some things, including viruses, from getting through to the baby.
But something did get through to Linda and her baby. An angel, an angel that I did not even remember was there, an angel that most of us have a very hard time believing in, an angel that even the early Lucan manuscripts left out, and the gospels of Matthew and Mark and John make no mention of. Impervious: Oh, it is a fitting description of the human condition. We are often impervious, impervious to God, impervious to grace, impervious to an angel. How ironic that in the last few hours of this poor battered woman’s life, she opened herself up to something that most of us could miss and dismiss. Who believes in angels, anyway? Perhaps those who are so broken that they have no place to wander except to the cross and from there to the tomb, where they hear the question posed by the angels, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” Why indeed?
GO HOME TO GALILEE
EASTER SUNDAY, APRIL 9, 2023
Preached by Sandra Olsen at
THE FIRST CHURCH IN UNIONVILLE, CT
Matthew 28: 1-10
Just as the stories of Jesus’ birth in the gospels are different from one another, so too are the Easter stories. Mark’s is the starkest. The women who went to the tomb ran away in terror. And they don’t say a word to anyone. Overwhelming fear is how Mark’s gospel ends. In Luke the women go to the tomb and when they see that it is empty, they are perplexed---that is, until an angel appears and then they are terrified. The angel tells them Jesus is risen; they run and tell the disciples, who do not believe them---except for Peter, who goes to the tomb and sees the linen cloths lying by themselves. Then he goes home. John tells us that Mary Magdalene alone went to the tomb, and mistakes Jesus for a gardener, until Jesus calls her by name. Then she recognizes him, and when she reaches out to hold him, he says, “Do not touch me or Do not cling to me.” Then she runs to Peter and John, and tells them, “I have seen the Lord,” and they too run to the tomb---but they do not see Jesus there.
And then we have Matthew, the lectionary text for today. Once again, we have women going to the tomb, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary---whoever she was. Women were the ones, who washed the dead body and prepared it with spices. The women arrived at the tomb, and suddenly there was a great earthquake and an angel, whose appearance terrorized the guards. But the angel assured the women that Jesus is risen and instructed them to tell the disciples that Jesus is going ahead of them to Galilee. They left the tomb filled with both fear and joy and then they met Jesus, whom they worshipped. He repeated the instruction of the angel, “Go tell my disciples to meet me in Galilee.”
Galilee: What is Galilee, beside a particular locale on a map? For Jesus and his disciples, it’s home; it’s where Jesus’ ministry took place. It’s familiar territory, the place of safety, comfort, acceptance. That’s what home means. Oh, we all realize there are some people for whom home is anything but safe and comfortable. A junior high principal told me once that keeping some of the kids in the building for as long as he could was his top priority because as soon as they set foot in their homes, they were at risk. And a woman who loved her home told me that once her husband died, her lovely home became for her an awful loneliness. But for most people home is a place of longing, that haven of safety, where we hope all manner of things shall be well. And so, after all that Jesus and his disciples had been through, it is hardly surprising that they went home to Galilee.
Maybe on the first day of eternal life, we think that Jesus should have swaggered into Jerusalem to confront the chief priest, Caiaphas and Pilot, the Roman governor, and all the other people of power, who had clamored for his death. “Boy, did you guys get it wrong.” Or maybe we think he should have striven into the Temple at Jerusalem. Remember, how I said that I would tear this building down, and build it up in three days? Well, guess what, here I am! Now do you get it?” But no, that is not what Jesus did. Instead, he went to Galilee, his home and his friends’ home, the place where the story all began, the place where he did 4/5 of his ministry, the place from which he called his disciples to come and follow him.
Galilee, that dusty, unimpressive locale, which was also diverse, a region of the nations, the Jews called it, where Jews and Gentiles had to learn to live with each other, even if they did not always like or trust each other. This was the home of Jesus’ ministry, and it is to this home he went. His ministry ended in Jerusalem, but it began in Galilee, and now in Galilee it will begin once again. Galilee is the place the disciples had tried to learn how to be disciples, and though they were a rather pathetic lot and often misunderstood who Jesus was and what he was about, it was in Galilee that Jesus spoke his final command to them. It is where he commissioned them: Go therefore and make disciples of all nations,
There is something so existentially true and deep about this text, something that transcends questions of history and questions of fact, something that addresses us right where we live. We can read the biblical text on so many different levels and get all hung up about what REALLY happened when, but we can also read it is as a story about God and us, a story, which helps us to truly see and understand the human condition. Our lives begin, so to speak, at home, and in one way or another, we all have to leave home to find or be found by our destiny. Even a small town guy, like Jesus and his disciples, had to leave home. They would sometimes wander into Samaritan territory, where there were different lessons to be learned, and eventually they all went to Jerusalem, that place of ultimate testing, where they would face their greatest temptation. Jesus faced his squarely: not my will, but your will, while the disciples ran away. After the crucifixion the disciples fled from Jerusalem, racing home, to nurture their feelings of total and miserable defeat. They returned to their ordinary lives in their ordinary homes, hoping that life would eventually return to normal, and there in the region of Galilee, where it had all begun, it would begin once again---at home. Home, the place where most people meet Jesus and God---at home, meaning, I think, the circumstances of ordinary living, as hard or as easy as those circumstances sometimes are----that is the place that Jesus and God usually meet us.
A friend of mine told me about a young man, named Tommy, who had studied at Loyola University in Chicago. Loyola is a Catholic school, so Tommy was required to take some religion classes. In a theology course, he was the resident atheist in the class, and he spent a great deal of energy arguing with his professor and the other students. At the end of the semester, Tommy asked his teacher, “Well, do you think I will ever find God.” No, the professor said, but I am absolutely sure that God will find you.
Well, the young man graduated, and the professor was relieved to have him out of his class, but a few years later, the professor heard that Tommy was very ill with a life threatening autoimmune disease. He was surprised when Tommy came to see him. “I am so sorry for what you are now facing,” the professor told him. AT 24 you should not have to confront the possibility of dying. Well, it could be worse, Tommy said. I could be 50 and have no values or ideals and think that booze and seducing women and making money are the biggies in life.
Tommy continued. You know how you said I would never find God, but God would find me? Well, I continued my search, banging my fists against the bronze doors of heaven, especially after I became sick. But nothing happened, nothing at all. And so, I just gave up. I’m just one of those people who have too many questions and doubts to believe. Well, this one evening I went into the living room, where my father was reading the paper. “Dad,” I said, “I want to talk with you.” Sure, my father said, but he didn’t put down his paper. No, Dad, it’s really important. And so, my father stopped reading. Dad, I just want to tell you that I love you, really love you. That wasn’t any easy thing for me to do or say. And you know what my father did? Something he never did before: he cried, hugged me, and told me he loved me too. I did the same thing with my mom and my brother and my sister, and then one day, God was there. I knew it; I could feel it, and my mind believed it. Oh, I still had all my questions and doubts, but God was there in the midst of all that. God didn’t appear to me when I pleaded or argued or pondered. Maybe I had to go through all that searching first, so God could find me at home.
Home: home to Galilee; home in Galilee. Jesus directed his disciples to meet him on a mountain top in Galilee, maybe the same mountain that Jesus preached The Sermon on the Mount. Jesus, according to Matthew is the new Moses, so we should not be surprised that Jesus commissioned his disciples on a mountain. It’s all familiar territory. It’s home. And home is where Jesus commanded, “Go, and make disciples of all nations.” He gave this command in Galilee, in the ordinary place that was their home. What about us? What about our home? Who or what is waiting to meet us there? And what is God saying to us in our home?
EASTER SUNDAY, APRIL 9, 2023
Preached by Sandra Olsen at
THE FIRST CHURCH IN UNIONVILLE, CT
Matthew 28: 1-10
Just as the stories of Jesus’ birth in the gospels are different from one another, so too are the Easter stories. Mark’s is the starkest. The women who went to the tomb ran away in terror. And they don’t say a word to anyone. Overwhelming fear is how Mark’s gospel ends. In Luke the women go to the tomb and when they see that it is empty, they are perplexed---that is, until an angel appears and then they are terrified. The angel tells them Jesus is risen; they run and tell the disciples, who do not believe them---except for Peter, who goes to the tomb and sees the linen cloths lying by themselves. Then he goes home. John tells us that Mary Magdalene alone went to the tomb, and mistakes Jesus for a gardener, until Jesus calls her by name. Then she recognizes him, and when she reaches out to hold him, he says, “Do not touch me or Do not cling to me.” Then she runs to Peter and John, and tells them, “I have seen the Lord,” and they too run to the tomb---but they do not see Jesus there.
And then we have Matthew, the lectionary text for today. Once again, we have women going to the tomb, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary---whoever she was. Women were the ones, who washed the dead body and prepared it with spices. The women arrived at the tomb, and suddenly there was a great earthquake and an angel, whose appearance terrorized the guards. But the angel assured the women that Jesus is risen and instructed them to tell the disciples that Jesus is going ahead of them to Galilee. They left the tomb filled with both fear and joy and then they met Jesus, whom they worshipped. He repeated the instruction of the angel, “Go tell my disciples to meet me in Galilee.”
Galilee: What is Galilee, beside a particular locale on a map? For Jesus and his disciples, it’s home; it’s where Jesus’ ministry took place. It’s familiar territory, the place of safety, comfort, acceptance. That’s what home means. Oh, we all realize there are some people for whom home is anything but safe and comfortable. A junior high principal told me once that keeping some of the kids in the building for as long as he could was his top priority because as soon as they set foot in their homes, they were at risk. And a woman who loved her home told me that once her husband died, her lovely home became for her an awful loneliness. But for most people home is a place of longing, that haven of safety, where we hope all manner of things shall be well. And so, after all that Jesus and his disciples had been through, it is hardly surprising that they went home to Galilee.
Maybe on the first day of eternal life, we think that Jesus should have swaggered into Jerusalem to confront the chief priest, Caiaphas and Pilot, the Roman governor, and all the other people of power, who had clamored for his death. “Boy, did you guys get it wrong.” Or maybe we think he should have striven into the Temple at Jerusalem. Remember, how I said that I would tear this building down, and build it up in three days? Well, guess what, here I am! Now do you get it?” But no, that is not what Jesus did. Instead, he went to Galilee, his home and his friends’ home, the place where the story all began, the place where he did 4/5 of his ministry, the place from which he called his disciples to come and follow him.
Galilee, that dusty, unimpressive locale, which was also diverse, a region of the nations, the Jews called it, where Jews and Gentiles had to learn to live with each other, even if they did not always like or trust each other. This was the home of Jesus’ ministry, and it is to this home he went. His ministry ended in Jerusalem, but it began in Galilee, and now in Galilee it will begin once again. Galilee is the place the disciples had tried to learn how to be disciples, and though they were a rather pathetic lot and often misunderstood who Jesus was and what he was about, it was in Galilee that Jesus spoke his final command to them. It is where he commissioned them: Go therefore and make disciples of all nations,
There is something so existentially true and deep about this text, something that transcends questions of history and questions of fact, something that addresses us right where we live. We can read the biblical text on so many different levels and get all hung up about what REALLY happened when, but we can also read it is as a story about God and us, a story, which helps us to truly see and understand the human condition. Our lives begin, so to speak, at home, and in one way or another, we all have to leave home to find or be found by our destiny. Even a small town guy, like Jesus and his disciples, had to leave home. They would sometimes wander into Samaritan territory, where there were different lessons to be learned, and eventually they all went to Jerusalem, that place of ultimate testing, where they would face their greatest temptation. Jesus faced his squarely: not my will, but your will, while the disciples ran away. After the crucifixion the disciples fled from Jerusalem, racing home, to nurture their feelings of total and miserable defeat. They returned to their ordinary lives in their ordinary homes, hoping that life would eventually return to normal, and there in the region of Galilee, where it had all begun, it would begin once again---at home. Home, the place where most people meet Jesus and God---at home, meaning, I think, the circumstances of ordinary living, as hard or as easy as those circumstances sometimes are----that is the place that Jesus and God usually meet us.
A friend of mine told me about a young man, named Tommy, who had studied at Loyola University in Chicago. Loyola is a Catholic school, so Tommy was required to take some religion classes. In a theology course, he was the resident atheist in the class, and he spent a great deal of energy arguing with his professor and the other students. At the end of the semester, Tommy asked his teacher, “Well, do you think I will ever find God.” No, the professor said, but I am absolutely sure that God will find you.
Well, the young man graduated, and the professor was relieved to have him out of his class, but a few years later, the professor heard that Tommy was very ill with a life threatening autoimmune disease. He was surprised when Tommy came to see him. “I am so sorry for what you are now facing,” the professor told him. AT 24 you should not have to confront the possibility of dying. Well, it could be worse, Tommy said. I could be 50 and have no values or ideals and think that booze and seducing women and making money are the biggies in life.
Tommy continued. You know how you said I would never find God, but God would find me? Well, I continued my search, banging my fists against the bronze doors of heaven, especially after I became sick. But nothing happened, nothing at all. And so, I just gave up. I’m just one of those people who have too many questions and doubts to believe. Well, this one evening I went into the living room, where my father was reading the paper. “Dad,” I said, “I want to talk with you.” Sure, my father said, but he didn’t put down his paper. No, Dad, it’s really important. And so, my father stopped reading. Dad, I just want to tell you that I love you, really love you. That wasn’t any easy thing for me to do or say. And you know what my father did? Something he never did before: he cried, hugged me, and told me he loved me too. I did the same thing with my mom and my brother and my sister, and then one day, God was there. I knew it; I could feel it, and my mind believed it. Oh, I still had all my questions and doubts, but God was there in the midst of all that. God didn’t appear to me when I pleaded or argued or pondered. Maybe I had to go through all that searching first, so God could find me at home.
Home: home to Galilee; home in Galilee. Jesus directed his disciples to meet him on a mountain top in Galilee, maybe the same mountain that Jesus preached The Sermon on the Mount. Jesus, according to Matthew is the new Moses, so we should not be surprised that Jesus commissioned his disciples on a mountain. It’s all familiar territory. It’s home. And home is where Jesus commanded, “Go, and make disciples of all nations.” He gave this command in Galilee, in the ordinary place that was their home. What about us? What about our home? Who or what is waiting to meet us there? And what is God saying to us in our home?
THE BETRAYAL: WHAT IS THAT TO US?
Preached by Sandra Olsen at The First Church of Christ, Congregational
In Unionville, CT
Palm/Passion Sunday, April 2, 2023
Matthew 26: 14-26; 27: 1-7
There is something fascinating about this man, Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Jesus. Artists of all kinds--- painters, novelists, poets and film makers--- have let their imaginations run wild with this enigmatic man. In Dante’s Inferno, the third part of his Divine Comedy, Judas is one of three sinners condemned to the lowest circle of hell, where he is chewed on for all eternity in the mouths of the triple headed Satan, who is immobilized in a block of ice. The other two sinners are Brutus and Cassius, who plotted against and assassinated Julius Caesar. All three men were betrayers, and betrayal, in Dante’s mind was the ultimate sin, breaking apart the order of society and family.
When we arrive in the 20th century with the novel The Last Temptation of Christ by the Greek writer, Nikos Kazantakis, we have a very different portrayal of Judas. Rather than being cast as the ultimate sinner, Judas is heroic, the only disciple strong and resolute enough to carry out the betrayal as part of God’s plan. All the other disciples were weak willed and weak minded. Only Judas could shoulder the burden of the condemnation of being the man who betrayed Jesus and so helped God to accomplish the strange work of redemption through a horrifying death. Then there is Zeffirelli’s movie, Jesus of Nazareth, where Judas is portrayed not only as the keeper of the purse, but also as the intellectual, the one who could read and write Greek, Latin and Hebrew. Clearly there is something in this character that engages the human imagination.
But perhaps what engages people so much about Judas is the theme of betrayal. We would like to know more---why it is that he betrayed Jesus, but Matthew’s gospel offers us no explanation. Nothing is said about Judas’ character that would lead us to suspect him. While other characters like Peter, James and John often show themselves to be pretty clueless about Jesus and what he is about, Judas is simply there in the story as the accountant for the flock. Luke tells us that Satan entered into Judas, and John says that Judas regularly stole from the common purse, but most scholars think these comments were made long after Judas lived so as to justify his bad ending. But in Matthew nothing is said about Judas until he betrays Jesus. And we have no idea why.
He betrayed him for 30 pieces of sliver, hardly a sum that would have brought Judas great wealth. Some scholars have argued that Judas was a Zealot, calling for the violent overthrow of Roman rule and was trying to force Jesus’ hand by turning him over to the authorities, hoping that Jesus would assert his full Messianic powers. But it hardly worked out that way, did it?
This theme of betrayal by a close friend and intimate makes the story all the more poignant and real to us. We all know something about betrayal, either because we have been betrayed or have been the betrayer. Marital infidelity is among the most common of betrayals and it hurts so profoundly precisely because of the promises made and the bond of love that is supposed to last forever. Perhaps the betrayal is a secret shared with a friend, who fails to keep the confidence and shares it with others. I have heard people say that the divorce of their parents was experienced as a deep betrayal. So yes, we all know something about betrayal, because we have seen it and lived it. at least on some level.
While most of the time betrayers tend to defend themselves against the full knowledge of the wrong they have committed, making this or that excuse, yet there are times, when the truth is fully faced. The defenses and the self justification fall away, and the betrayer is left staring at the full naked truth. This is where I think the story gets really interesting---when Judas recognizes what he has done.
Listen again to how Matthew tells the story: When morning came, all the chief priests and elders of the people conferred together against Jesus in order to bring about his death. They bound him, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate the governor. When Judas, the betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented and brought back the thirty pieces of sliver to the chief priests and the elders. I have sinned by betraying innocent blood. But they said, “What is that to us? See to it yourself”. Throwing down the pieces of silver in the Temple, he departed, and he want and hanged himself.”
Now use your imagination. Judas is facing the awful truth and he confesses it. And in recognizing and owning his sin, he is calling out for the recognition of his humanity. What he has done is hardly trivial, but what comes back is a cold, passionless shrug of the shoulder, “What is that to us? See to it yourself.”
A few years ago, some of us here read together, The Sunflower ,by Simon Wiesenthal, the famous Nazi hunter. I have mentioned the book before. It’s a true story about Wiesenthal’s imprisonment in a concentration camp and his appearance at the bedside of Karl, a young, dying German soldier, who had a confession to make. Ordered to round up Jewish women and children and old men, as if they were less than cattle, Karl helped to corral them into a house, which was set afire, and when they jumped from the windows, they were shot. So, here we have Karl, the young German soldier, confessing to Wiesenthal, a Jew imprisoned in a concentration camp. Karl, A Roman Catholic, sought and even begged for forgiveness---but not from a priest, but from a Jew that he might die in peace. And all Wiesenthal could offer him was silence. He did not know what to say. After all, did he really have the right to offer forgiveness on behalf of the murdered Jews? His silence was the best he could do. But imagine if out of Wiesenthal’s mouth came these words: “What is that to me? See to it yourself” Do you understand the despair behind those words? It is as if nothing matters at all, not self knowledge, not guilt, not life, your own or that of the victims. No wonder nothing remained for Judas except the taking of his life.
“What is that to me?” I cannot imagine that if Judas had confessed his sin to Jesus, he would have heard those words. And perhaps for Judas that is the saddest part of the story. He did not know or hear the forgiveness Jesus would announce from the cross, the forgiveness that is the repair of the world, a repair we cannot yet see, but one for which we are fervently hope and pray.
Preached by Sandra Olsen at The First Church of Christ, Congregational
In Unionville, CT
Palm/Passion Sunday, April 2, 2023
Matthew 26: 14-26; 27: 1-7
There is something fascinating about this man, Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Jesus. Artists of all kinds--- painters, novelists, poets and film makers--- have let their imaginations run wild with this enigmatic man. In Dante’s Inferno, the third part of his Divine Comedy, Judas is one of three sinners condemned to the lowest circle of hell, where he is chewed on for all eternity in the mouths of the triple headed Satan, who is immobilized in a block of ice. The other two sinners are Brutus and Cassius, who plotted against and assassinated Julius Caesar. All three men were betrayers, and betrayal, in Dante’s mind was the ultimate sin, breaking apart the order of society and family.
When we arrive in the 20th century with the novel The Last Temptation of Christ by the Greek writer, Nikos Kazantakis, we have a very different portrayal of Judas. Rather than being cast as the ultimate sinner, Judas is heroic, the only disciple strong and resolute enough to carry out the betrayal as part of God’s plan. All the other disciples were weak willed and weak minded. Only Judas could shoulder the burden of the condemnation of being the man who betrayed Jesus and so helped God to accomplish the strange work of redemption through a horrifying death. Then there is Zeffirelli’s movie, Jesus of Nazareth, where Judas is portrayed not only as the keeper of the purse, but also as the intellectual, the one who could read and write Greek, Latin and Hebrew. Clearly there is something in this character that engages the human imagination.
But perhaps what engages people so much about Judas is the theme of betrayal. We would like to know more---why it is that he betrayed Jesus, but Matthew’s gospel offers us no explanation. Nothing is said about Judas’ character that would lead us to suspect him. While other characters like Peter, James and John often show themselves to be pretty clueless about Jesus and what he is about, Judas is simply there in the story as the accountant for the flock. Luke tells us that Satan entered into Judas, and John says that Judas regularly stole from the common purse, but most scholars think these comments were made long after Judas lived so as to justify his bad ending. But in Matthew nothing is said about Judas until he betrays Jesus. And we have no idea why.
He betrayed him for 30 pieces of sliver, hardly a sum that would have brought Judas great wealth. Some scholars have argued that Judas was a Zealot, calling for the violent overthrow of Roman rule and was trying to force Jesus’ hand by turning him over to the authorities, hoping that Jesus would assert his full Messianic powers. But it hardly worked out that way, did it?
This theme of betrayal by a close friend and intimate makes the story all the more poignant and real to us. We all know something about betrayal, either because we have been betrayed or have been the betrayer. Marital infidelity is among the most common of betrayals and it hurts so profoundly precisely because of the promises made and the bond of love that is supposed to last forever. Perhaps the betrayal is a secret shared with a friend, who fails to keep the confidence and shares it with others. I have heard people say that the divorce of their parents was experienced as a deep betrayal. So yes, we all know something about betrayal, because we have seen it and lived it. at least on some level.
While most of the time betrayers tend to defend themselves against the full knowledge of the wrong they have committed, making this or that excuse, yet there are times, when the truth is fully faced. The defenses and the self justification fall away, and the betrayer is left staring at the full naked truth. This is where I think the story gets really interesting---when Judas recognizes what he has done.
Listen again to how Matthew tells the story: When morning came, all the chief priests and elders of the people conferred together against Jesus in order to bring about his death. They bound him, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate the governor. When Judas, the betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented and brought back the thirty pieces of sliver to the chief priests and the elders. I have sinned by betraying innocent blood. But they said, “What is that to us? See to it yourself”. Throwing down the pieces of silver in the Temple, he departed, and he want and hanged himself.”
Now use your imagination. Judas is facing the awful truth and he confesses it. And in recognizing and owning his sin, he is calling out for the recognition of his humanity. What he has done is hardly trivial, but what comes back is a cold, passionless shrug of the shoulder, “What is that to us? See to it yourself.”
A few years ago, some of us here read together, The Sunflower ,by Simon Wiesenthal, the famous Nazi hunter. I have mentioned the book before. It’s a true story about Wiesenthal’s imprisonment in a concentration camp and his appearance at the bedside of Karl, a young, dying German soldier, who had a confession to make. Ordered to round up Jewish women and children and old men, as if they were less than cattle, Karl helped to corral them into a house, which was set afire, and when they jumped from the windows, they were shot. So, here we have Karl, the young German soldier, confessing to Wiesenthal, a Jew imprisoned in a concentration camp. Karl, A Roman Catholic, sought and even begged for forgiveness---but not from a priest, but from a Jew that he might die in peace. And all Wiesenthal could offer him was silence. He did not know what to say. After all, did he really have the right to offer forgiveness on behalf of the murdered Jews? His silence was the best he could do. But imagine if out of Wiesenthal’s mouth came these words: “What is that to me? See to it yourself” Do you understand the despair behind those words? It is as if nothing matters at all, not self knowledge, not guilt, not life, your own or that of the victims. No wonder nothing remained for Judas except the taking of his life.
“What is that to me?” I cannot imagine that if Judas had confessed his sin to Jesus, he would have heard those words. And perhaps for Judas that is the saddest part of the story. He did not know or hear the forgiveness Jesus would announce from the cross, the forgiveness that is the repair of the world, a repair we cannot yet see, but one for which we are fervently hope and pray.
April 4, 2023
Dear Friends,
On April 4, Finland became the 31st member of NATO, which more than doubles NATO’S borders with Russia. This is certainly NOT what Putin wanted. His intent was to weaken NATO, not strengthen it. So, April 4th is a milestone, and the Finnish and NATO flags flew proudly together. March 20th was another milestone as The United Nations Sustainable Development Network, released its ratings of the well being in countries all around the world. For the sixth consecutive year, Finland was rated as “the happiest country in the world.” Many Finns are quite surprised by the designation with some being suspicious about the meaning of this word “happy.” When a group of Finns were questioned about the happy designation, some described the national character as being gloomy and moody. And others admitted that concerns about immigration might work to bring a hard Right Party to power in the coming elections. And, of course, there is worry about the war in Ukraine and tensions with Russia, which are only likely to grow with Finland’s admission into NATO.
So, perhaps happy is not the best word to describe the citizens of Finland. Maybe content and contentment are preferable words. Finland has a very strong safety net, which means people do not fear the loss of home and security if disaster suddenly strikes. Financial success to most Finns is not about accruing wealth, but simply knowing they can have a sustainable life, where basic needs are met. That assurance means they do not suffer from the same levels of anxiety that many Americans do. Finns also extol the benefits of nature, which practically all Finns enjoy. “We know that being outside helps to grow contentment,” one man said. 75% of Finland is covered by forest with most of it being open to everyone, because of the law known as “jokamiehen oikeudet,” or “everyman’s right,” that entitles people to roam freely throughout any natural areas, on public or privately owned land.
A professor at the University of Eastern Finland claimed that happiness comes from knowing when you have enough. Wanting more and more and more is a way to dissatisfaction and ultimately misery. So, he makes the claim that Finnish people know how to be satisfied with enough. Some teenagers spoke of how they felt they were raised to be content. “We are very aware of our privilege,” they admitted. “We know so many other countries have so much less, and so we really are taught not to complain.” Conventional wisdom tells us that it is easier to be happy and content in a society that guarantees a secure foundation, but that can place pressure on people to “live up to the national reputation.” Being sad or discontented makes one look ungrateful.
Deep contentment or happiness usually involves seeing life in a fuller and wider perspective. While Finns are grateful for their society’s safety net, they also recognize the importance of other things are as well. Life is made better, they assert, when the arts and music are supported. People commented how in so many other Western nations, especially the United States, people need money to pursue artistic goals. But in Finland grants are offered to people so they can pursue their creative passions, which means they do not always have to think of the commercial value of their art. They can afford to be experimental. People take music lessons at a much higher ratio than in the U. S. simply because there is more support for music. People realize that the arts humanize life by adding grace and beauty. A woman who leads an orchestra said, “Music creates a mind-set where you can face your inner feelings and fears, touching a part of our soul that we would never otherwise reach.”
Finland is not a nation with a great deal of racial diversity, and it is no surprise that homogeneous nations lack the same level of tension that challenges the United States, where diversity reigns. But there is also loss when difference is absent. Finland is 90% White, which means that people of color can easily feel alone and isolated. One man, whose father is Kenyan and mother is White, became In 2011 the first person of color to serve in Finland’s Parliament, but he left after two terms. Now he works as am actor as well as on issues relating to gay, lesbian, and transgender rights. Finland is not perfect, he admits, but it can and does change, and that gives him hope.
Someone said the Finnish way of life can best be summed up in this word, “sisu,” which translates as “grim determination in the face of hardship or adversity without complaining.” Indeed, Finland has endured much over the past 100 years. On December 6, 1917, Finland declared its independence from Russia shortly after the Bolshevik Revolution. In 1939 Russia invaded Finland, which then lost territory to Russia. Trying to regain its territory, Finland then joined with Germany and allowed German troops in Finland as Germany prepared to invade Russia. In 1944-45 Finland fought the Lapland War against Germany, which resulted in the expulsion of German troops from Finnish land. When the Second World War ended, Finland lost 10% of its land to Russia and was required to pay war reparations to Russia. They have come a long way from then to now, building a society that in so many ways is the envy of many.
While deeply humanistic, Finland is not particularly religious with less than 2% of its population attending weekly religious services---though over 2/3 of the country identifies as Lutheran. Perhaps if you asked the Finns what religion’s purpose, they might say it is to help people live good lives, which always involves the care of the others. This Finnish society already does, so perhaps they do not feel the need for much religion. But religion also has another purpose: to orient us toward Mystery, encouraging us to ponder deeply and to love generously and to be humble as we realize we are neither the center nor the measure of all things. As we move toward the celebration of Easter, let us remember that purpose.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
On April 4, Finland became the 31st member of NATO, which more than doubles NATO’S borders with Russia. This is certainly NOT what Putin wanted. His intent was to weaken NATO, not strengthen it. So, April 4th is a milestone, and the Finnish and NATO flags flew proudly together. March 20th was another milestone as The United Nations Sustainable Development Network, released its ratings of the well being in countries all around the world. For the sixth consecutive year, Finland was rated as “the happiest country in the world.” Many Finns are quite surprised by the designation with some being suspicious about the meaning of this word “happy.” When a group of Finns were questioned about the happy designation, some described the national character as being gloomy and moody. And others admitted that concerns about immigration might work to bring a hard Right Party to power in the coming elections. And, of course, there is worry about the war in Ukraine and tensions with Russia, which are only likely to grow with Finland’s admission into NATO.
So, perhaps happy is not the best word to describe the citizens of Finland. Maybe content and contentment are preferable words. Finland has a very strong safety net, which means people do not fear the loss of home and security if disaster suddenly strikes. Financial success to most Finns is not about accruing wealth, but simply knowing they can have a sustainable life, where basic needs are met. That assurance means they do not suffer from the same levels of anxiety that many Americans do. Finns also extol the benefits of nature, which practically all Finns enjoy. “We know that being outside helps to grow contentment,” one man said. 75% of Finland is covered by forest with most of it being open to everyone, because of the law known as “jokamiehen oikeudet,” or “everyman’s right,” that entitles people to roam freely throughout any natural areas, on public or privately owned land.
A professor at the University of Eastern Finland claimed that happiness comes from knowing when you have enough. Wanting more and more and more is a way to dissatisfaction and ultimately misery. So, he makes the claim that Finnish people know how to be satisfied with enough. Some teenagers spoke of how they felt they were raised to be content. “We are very aware of our privilege,” they admitted. “We know so many other countries have so much less, and so we really are taught not to complain.” Conventional wisdom tells us that it is easier to be happy and content in a society that guarantees a secure foundation, but that can place pressure on people to “live up to the national reputation.” Being sad or discontented makes one look ungrateful.
Deep contentment or happiness usually involves seeing life in a fuller and wider perspective. While Finns are grateful for their society’s safety net, they also recognize the importance of other things are as well. Life is made better, they assert, when the arts and music are supported. People commented how in so many other Western nations, especially the United States, people need money to pursue artistic goals. But in Finland grants are offered to people so they can pursue their creative passions, which means they do not always have to think of the commercial value of their art. They can afford to be experimental. People take music lessons at a much higher ratio than in the U. S. simply because there is more support for music. People realize that the arts humanize life by adding grace and beauty. A woman who leads an orchestra said, “Music creates a mind-set where you can face your inner feelings and fears, touching a part of our soul that we would never otherwise reach.”
Finland is not a nation with a great deal of racial diversity, and it is no surprise that homogeneous nations lack the same level of tension that challenges the United States, where diversity reigns. But there is also loss when difference is absent. Finland is 90% White, which means that people of color can easily feel alone and isolated. One man, whose father is Kenyan and mother is White, became In 2011 the first person of color to serve in Finland’s Parliament, but he left after two terms. Now he works as am actor as well as on issues relating to gay, lesbian, and transgender rights. Finland is not perfect, he admits, but it can and does change, and that gives him hope.
Someone said the Finnish way of life can best be summed up in this word, “sisu,” which translates as “grim determination in the face of hardship or adversity without complaining.” Indeed, Finland has endured much over the past 100 years. On December 6, 1917, Finland declared its independence from Russia shortly after the Bolshevik Revolution. In 1939 Russia invaded Finland, which then lost territory to Russia. Trying to regain its territory, Finland then joined with Germany and allowed German troops in Finland as Germany prepared to invade Russia. In 1944-45 Finland fought the Lapland War against Germany, which resulted in the expulsion of German troops from Finnish land. When the Second World War ended, Finland lost 10% of its land to Russia and was required to pay war reparations to Russia. They have come a long way from then to now, building a society that in so many ways is the envy of many.
While deeply humanistic, Finland is not particularly religious with less than 2% of its population attending weekly religious services---though over 2/3 of the country identifies as Lutheran. Perhaps if you asked the Finns what religion’s purpose, they might say it is to help people live good lives, which always involves the care of the others. This Finnish society already does, so perhaps they do not feel the need for much religion. But religion also has another purpose: to orient us toward Mystery, encouraging us to ponder deeply and to love generously and to be humble as we realize we are neither the center nor the measure of all things. As we move toward the celebration of Easter, let us remember that purpose.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
March 29, 2023
Dear Friends,
It has been called “the gun that divides America.” I am referring to the AR-15, the assault weapon that has been used in ten of the seventeen deadliest mass shootings in the U.S. since 2012. And now, once again, we have another mass shooting with the same deadly assault weapon, responsible for six deaths---three of them children nine years old! Any death from gun violence is horrific, but children---this is beyond horrific. The pain of those families is something none of us wants to imagine, let alone actually face in real time. I cannot bear to look at the picture of those sweet little faces now discarded on the dustbin of history.
The AR-15 was never intended to be a bestseller. Its original design in the 1950’s was for soldiers, and the Pentagon bragged that it was capable of phenomenal lethality. In other words, it was a great killing machine. This was the weapon that American soldiers used in Viet Nam, known then as the M16.
I understand that gun shows did display the AR-15 before it was banned in 1994, but it was usually pushed to the back of the display area. The goal of these gun shows was to stoke interest in rifles and handguns. Randy Luth, who was the founder of the company that was among the first to market AR-015’s, said he could remember NRA members walking by the gun and giving both the gun and him the finger. People had no respect for the gun, viewing it as something an honest hunter would never want and certainly never use.
So, what happened? Today the AR-15 is the BEST SELLING RIFLE in the country. It is estimated that 1 in 20 adults own at least one AR-15, which translates into at least 16 million people owning these lethal weapons. So, even if the gun were banned, how would we ever be able to confiscate so many weapons?
We human beings are symbol making creatures, and the AR-15 has assumed its place as a very powerful symbol. Its image covers t-shirts and sweat-shirts and is proudly printed on banners, waving in the breeze at political rallies. Some members of Congress wear the AR-15 as a lapel pin, and one member of the House, Rep. Barry Moore of Alabama, actually introduced a bill to make the AR-15 the “National Rifle of America.”
It was not always this way, but something very dramatic happened when the federal ban on assault weapons expired in 2004 and then President, George W. Bush, did nothing to encourage its renewal. Then things began to radically change as gun manufacturers looked for new ways to make money. This was post-9/11, when the military had a short period of glorification, and the gun industry grabbed the opportunity to push a product that was a military weapon. And so, the rest is history---our history. No other country even comes close to the gun violence we have.
While it is true that 90% of gun deaths in the U.S. are caused by handguns, the AR-15 has assumed a prominent position in the minds of both pro and anti- gun rights people. Whenever there is a mass shooting, AR-15 sales immediately shoot up. It happened after Sandy Hook; it happened after Parkland, Florida and it will probably happen again after the latest Nashville shooting.
The name Eugene Stoner doesn’t mean anything to most of us, but he is the man, who invented the AR-15 in the 1950’s. At the time he was working for a small engineering firm in Hollywood. In Stoner’s mind it was only for military use. Stoner died in 1987 and by the mid-90’s other people with whom he had worked, thought the gun was past its prime. There would be no more wars like Viet Nam, people thought, and so why would such guns be needed? War will be fought with technology, aimed at infrastructure or bombs, detonated to destroy people and the cities they inhabit. The image of soldiers carrying guns was a picture from the past.
Well, here we are in 2023, and we have already suffered more mass shootings by this time of year than any previous year. And we will not do a thing about it. It does not seem to matter to us when doctors describe what an AR-15 does to the human body. “The internal organs have fallen apart in my hands as I have tried to repair what cannot be repaired,” one doctor said. And a pediatrician in Uvalde, Texas, was shaken to his core when he saw the decapitated head of a child he had once cared for in his office. But for some reason the right of people to own such weapons is more important than the pain and suffering they inflict. Children die needlessly, and as a nation we think that someone’s right to own a gun is more important than a child’s right to live.
Even the Chaplain of the Senate, The Rev. Barry Black, has had enough. In his distinctive baritone voice, he prayed, “Lord, when babies die at a church school, it is time for us to move beyond thoughts and prayers. Remind our lawmakers of the words of the British statesman Edmund Burke: ‘All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing.” Lord, deliver our senators from the paralysis of analysis that waits for the miraculous. Use them to battle the demonic forces that seek to engulf us. We pray, in your powerful name, amen.”
And let all of us add our Amen to his.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
It has been called “the gun that divides America.” I am referring to the AR-15, the assault weapon that has been used in ten of the seventeen deadliest mass shootings in the U.S. since 2012. And now, once again, we have another mass shooting with the same deadly assault weapon, responsible for six deaths---three of them children nine years old! Any death from gun violence is horrific, but children---this is beyond horrific. The pain of those families is something none of us wants to imagine, let alone actually face in real time. I cannot bear to look at the picture of those sweet little faces now discarded on the dustbin of history.
The AR-15 was never intended to be a bestseller. Its original design in the 1950’s was for soldiers, and the Pentagon bragged that it was capable of phenomenal lethality. In other words, it was a great killing machine. This was the weapon that American soldiers used in Viet Nam, known then as the M16.
I understand that gun shows did display the AR-15 before it was banned in 1994, but it was usually pushed to the back of the display area. The goal of these gun shows was to stoke interest in rifles and handguns. Randy Luth, who was the founder of the company that was among the first to market AR-015’s, said he could remember NRA members walking by the gun and giving both the gun and him the finger. People had no respect for the gun, viewing it as something an honest hunter would never want and certainly never use.
So, what happened? Today the AR-15 is the BEST SELLING RIFLE in the country. It is estimated that 1 in 20 adults own at least one AR-15, which translates into at least 16 million people owning these lethal weapons. So, even if the gun were banned, how would we ever be able to confiscate so many weapons?
We human beings are symbol making creatures, and the AR-15 has assumed its place as a very powerful symbol. Its image covers t-shirts and sweat-shirts and is proudly printed on banners, waving in the breeze at political rallies. Some members of Congress wear the AR-15 as a lapel pin, and one member of the House, Rep. Barry Moore of Alabama, actually introduced a bill to make the AR-15 the “National Rifle of America.”
It was not always this way, but something very dramatic happened when the federal ban on assault weapons expired in 2004 and then President, George W. Bush, did nothing to encourage its renewal. Then things began to radically change as gun manufacturers looked for new ways to make money. This was post-9/11, when the military had a short period of glorification, and the gun industry grabbed the opportunity to push a product that was a military weapon. And so, the rest is history---our history. No other country even comes close to the gun violence we have.
While it is true that 90% of gun deaths in the U.S. are caused by handguns, the AR-15 has assumed a prominent position in the minds of both pro and anti- gun rights people. Whenever there is a mass shooting, AR-15 sales immediately shoot up. It happened after Sandy Hook; it happened after Parkland, Florida and it will probably happen again after the latest Nashville shooting.
The name Eugene Stoner doesn’t mean anything to most of us, but he is the man, who invented the AR-15 in the 1950’s. At the time he was working for a small engineering firm in Hollywood. In Stoner’s mind it was only for military use. Stoner died in 1987 and by the mid-90’s other people with whom he had worked, thought the gun was past its prime. There would be no more wars like Viet Nam, people thought, and so why would such guns be needed? War will be fought with technology, aimed at infrastructure or bombs, detonated to destroy people and the cities they inhabit. The image of soldiers carrying guns was a picture from the past.
Well, here we are in 2023, and we have already suffered more mass shootings by this time of year than any previous year. And we will not do a thing about it. It does not seem to matter to us when doctors describe what an AR-15 does to the human body. “The internal organs have fallen apart in my hands as I have tried to repair what cannot be repaired,” one doctor said. And a pediatrician in Uvalde, Texas, was shaken to his core when he saw the decapitated head of a child he had once cared for in his office. But for some reason the right of people to own such weapons is more important than the pain and suffering they inflict. Children die needlessly, and as a nation we think that someone’s right to own a gun is more important than a child’s right to live.
Even the Chaplain of the Senate, The Rev. Barry Black, has had enough. In his distinctive baritone voice, he prayed, “Lord, when babies die at a church school, it is time for us to move beyond thoughts and prayers. Remind our lawmakers of the words of the British statesman Edmund Burke: ‘All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing.” Lord, deliver our senators from the paralysis of analysis that waits for the miraculous. Use them to battle the demonic forces that seek to engulf us. We pray, in your powerful name, amen.”
And let all of us add our Amen to his.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Unbind Him and Let Him Go: Life out of Death
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
Center Church on the Green in New Haven
April 10, 2011
Ezekiel 37: 1-14
John 11: 1-45
Can these dry bones live? Can life, new and vibrant life, come out of death? That is the question, isn’t it, and when God put the question to Ezekiel, he had the wisdom to answer,” O Lord God, you know.” And when Jesus faced that question as he stood before the tomb of his friend, Lazarus, he answered by giving two commands. “Lazarus, come out,” and when Lazarus emerged, Jesus gave a second command to those standing near, “Unbind him and let him go”.
Can these dry bones live? Can life come out of death? A small group of university students in Germany during World War ll, called The White Rose, thought the answer was Yes. They saw what was happening, the deportation of Jews, the stinging defeats Germany suffered in Russia in 1942 and 43. They believed Germany was being led to disaster and defeat, and they could recognize the face of evil, when so many others were blind. Being young and idealistic, they mistakenly thought the Germans would suddenly rise up against Hitler and the Nazi regime, and so they bravely distributed leaflets. Isn’t it true, one of the leaflets read, that every honest German is ashamed of his government these days. We will not be silent. We are your guilty conscience. We will not leave you alone. Some members of the group, like the brother and sister, Hans and Sophie Scholl, were arrested and executed. But others survived, like Traute Lafrenz, who just died a few weeks ago at 103, the last surviving member of the White Rose. She had been a medical student during the War, and though she did not write the pamphlets, she helped to get the paper and ink so they could be printed and distributed. She was finally arrested and about to go on trial for her life, when the Allies invaded, and she was saved. After the war she completed her medical education and immigrated to the United States where she ran a therapeutic day school in Chicago for disadvantaged children. If you asked her, “Can dry bones live” she would surely answer, Yes. God knew it and so did we.
Now Ezekiel’s vision has been called, “The Resurrection of Dead Israel,” but this is not the same thing as the resurrection of the dead. Ezekiel’s text concerns a restored Israel as a geopolitical reality after the disaster of being conquered by the Babylonian empire in 587 B.C. Jerusalem was utterly destroyed, the Temple, a pile of smashed stones. The so called elite, the educated and skilled, had been carried off to Babylon, leaving the city bereft of leadership. And so, when Ezekiel and the returned Jews looked out at the scorched earth, all they saw was a dry, lifeless land. A nation given life at Mount Sinai, given the law that they might truly be God’s people, now lay dead in a valley of dry bones. Ezekiel and his people were in despair; hope was no longer a word in their vocabulary. And that is when God took Ezekiel and showed him that valley of dry bones. “O Mortal One, can these bones live?” And Ezekiel would not dare to answer on his own, “O, Lord God,” he said, “You know.”
This dryness, this defeat, this death, while real, would not be the final word. God will cause breath to enter the skeletons but notice that God does not do this without Ezekiel’s participation. God told Ezekiel to act: prophesy to these bones; prophesy to this breath; prophesy to the whole house of Israel and say to them, “God will put the spirit within them, and they shall live. They shall have life.” Ezekiel would do his part, believing and hoping that God would do his ---just as the White Rose hoped and believed. When Sophie Scholl was on trial, she was asked what her political motivation was. “This is not about politics,” she answered.” It is about conscience and God.” There is no God,” her interrogator screamed in her face. Sophie just looked at him and quietly answered, “Yes, there is.”
Consider the raising of Lazarus. Jesus’ motivations in bringing his friend back to life were not political in nature, but the consequences of that raising surely were. As soon as Lazarus returned to life. the resolve to destroy Jesus hardened. Why? Because the powers that be, Romans as well as Temple authorities, were put on notice that their authority was radically limited, and they were afraid, afraid of losing their power but also afraid of the one whom they could neither control nor understand. Jesus’ said “Unbind him and let him go”---and that command is to all who find themselves shackled---by fear, by grief, by loneliness, whatever it is that we human beings can find ourselves bound by.
Most of you probably know the name Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of the great minds and spirits of our nation. I had a professor of historical theology, who said that the United States has produced two great theologians: the first Jonathan Edwards, the second Ralph Waldo Emerson---so completely different in their beliefs. Emerson suffered the loss of his 19 year old wife in 1831 after one year of marriage. And he was devastated and bereft. He could not find his footing. He was an ordained minister, serving the Second Unitarian Church in Boston, but his grief pushed him to doubt and finally deny redemption and resurrection. He resigned his parish and set sail for Europe. The captain of the vessel did not want to take him, because he thought he would not survive, so unwell was he. Emerson traveled to Malta, Sicily, Florence and Rome and then to France. And it was there in Le Jardin des Plantes that Emerson had his epiphany, not of Christ, per se, but of life, full, vibrant, abundant life. He saw for himself in the garden the profusion of plants and flowers, birds and trees, and he felt himself and all of humanity to be part of this rich and abundant life. He attended lectures in Paris about the new sciences---chemistry and astronomy, where knowledge was exploding. How grateful he felt for such knowledge, which humanity could use for its understanding.
Emerson would travel on to England, where he met Thomas Carlyle and William Wordsworth, conversing with people, whose wisdom and knowledge he esteemed. When he finally returned to Boston, he was a very different man from the one who left many months before. He was on a new path, a new journey, which he would share with the world. Nature became his teacher, and he became one of its greatest students. Can these dry bones life? Can new beginnings come from painful endings? Is new life possible? Emerson would surely answer in the affirmative.
The raising of Lazarus is the last miracle Jesus performs in John’s gospel. He is now on his way to Jerusalem, where he will suffer and die and finally be resurrected. Can these dry bones live? Can life come out of death?
O, Lord God, You know. Unbind him and let him go.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
Center Church on the Green in New Haven
April 10, 2011
Ezekiel 37: 1-14
John 11: 1-45
Can these dry bones live? Can life, new and vibrant life, come out of death? That is the question, isn’t it, and when God put the question to Ezekiel, he had the wisdom to answer,” O Lord God, you know.” And when Jesus faced that question as he stood before the tomb of his friend, Lazarus, he answered by giving two commands. “Lazarus, come out,” and when Lazarus emerged, Jesus gave a second command to those standing near, “Unbind him and let him go”.
Can these dry bones live? Can life come out of death? A small group of university students in Germany during World War ll, called The White Rose, thought the answer was Yes. They saw what was happening, the deportation of Jews, the stinging defeats Germany suffered in Russia in 1942 and 43. They believed Germany was being led to disaster and defeat, and they could recognize the face of evil, when so many others were blind. Being young and idealistic, they mistakenly thought the Germans would suddenly rise up against Hitler and the Nazi regime, and so they bravely distributed leaflets. Isn’t it true, one of the leaflets read, that every honest German is ashamed of his government these days. We will not be silent. We are your guilty conscience. We will not leave you alone. Some members of the group, like the brother and sister, Hans and Sophie Scholl, were arrested and executed. But others survived, like Traute Lafrenz, who just died a few weeks ago at 103, the last surviving member of the White Rose. She had been a medical student during the War, and though she did not write the pamphlets, she helped to get the paper and ink so they could be printed and distributed. She was finally arrested and about to go on trial for her life, when the Allies invaded, and she was saved. After the war she completed her medical education and immigrated to the United States where she ran a therapeutic day school in Chicago for disadvantaged children. If you asked her, “Can dry bones live” she would surely answer, Yes. God knew it and so did we.
Now Ezekiel’s vision has been called, “The Resurrection of Dead Israel,” but this is not the same thing as the resurrection of the dead. Ezekiel’s text concerns a restored Israel as a geopolitical reality after the disaster of being conquered by the Babylonian empire in 587 B.C. Jerusalem was utterly destroyed, the Temple, a pile of smashed stones. The so called elite, the educated and skilled, had been carried off to Babylon, leaving the city bereft of leadership. And so, when Ezekiel and the returned Jews looked out at the scorched earth, all they saw was a dry, lifeless land. A nation given life at Mount Sinai, given the law that they might truly be God’s people, now lay dead in a valley of dry bones. Ezekiel and his people were in despair; hope was no longer a word in their vocabulary. And that is when God took Ezekiel and showed him that valley of dry bones. “O Mortal One, can these bones live?” And Ezekiel would not dare to answer on his own, “O, Lord God,” he said, “You know.”
This dryness, this defeat, this death, while real, would not be the final word. God will cause breath to enter the skeletons but notice that God does not do this without Ezekiel’s participation. God told Ezekiel to act: prophesy to these bones; prophesy to this breath; prophesy to the whole house of Israel and say to them, “God will put the spirit within them, and they shall live. They shall have life.” Ezekiel would do his part, believing and hoping that God would do his ---just as the White Rose hoped and believed. When Sophie Scholl was on trial, she was asked what her political motivation was. “This is not about politics,” she answered.” It is about conscience and God.” There is no God,” her interrogator screamed in her face. Sophie just looked at him and quietly answered, “Yes, there is.”
Consider the raising of Lazarus. Jesus’ motivations in bringing his friend back to life were not political in nature, but the consequences of that raising surely were. As soon as Lazarus returned to life. the resolve to destroy Jesus hardened. Why? Because the powers that be, Romans as well as Temple authorities, were put on notice that their authority was radically limited, and they were afraid, afraid of losing their power but also afraid of the one whom they could neither control nor understand. Jesus’ said “Unbind him and let him go”---and that command is to all who find themselves shackled---by fear, by grief, by loneliness, whatever it is that we human beings can find ourselves bound by.
Most of you probably know the name Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of the great minds and spirits of our nation. I had a professor of historical theology, who said that the United States has produced two great theologians: the first Jonathan Edwards, the second Ralph Waldo Emerson---so completely different in their beliefs. Emerson suffered the loss of his 19 year old wife in 1831 after one year of marriage. And he was devastated and bereft. He could not find his footing. He was an ordained minister, serving the Second Unitarian Church in Boston, but his grief pushed him to doubt and finally deny redemption and resurrection. He resigned his parish and set sail for Europe. The captain of the vessel did not want to take him, because he thought he would not survive, so unwell was he. Emerson traveled to Malta, Sicily, Florence and Rome and then to France. And it was there in Le Jardin des Plantes that Emerson had his epiphany, not of Christ, per se, but of life, full, vibrant, abundant life. He saw for himself in the garden the profusion of plants and flowers, birds and trees, and he felt himself and all of humanity to be part of this rich and abundant life. He attended lectures in Paris about the new sciences---chemistry and astronomy, where knowledge was exploding. How grateful he felt for such knowledge, which humanity could use for its understanding.
Emerson would travel on to England, where he met Thomas Carlyle and William Wordsworth, conversing with people, whose wisdom and knowledge he esteemed. When he finally returned to Boston, he was a very different man from the one who left many months before. He was on a new path, a new journey, which he would share with the world. Nature became his teacher, and he became one of its greatest students. Can these dry bones life? Can new beginnings come from painful endings? Is new life possible? Emerson would surely answer in the affirmative.
The raising of Lazarus is the last miracle Jesus performs in John’s gospel. He is now on his way to Jerusalem, where he will suffer and die and finally be resurrected. Can these dry bones live? Can life come out of death?
O, Lord God, You know. Unbind him and let him go.
March 20, 2023
Dear Friends,
When I was a college freshman, I remember my humanities professor telling us about the burning of the Library in Louvain, Belgium. He had just been waxing eloquently on the power and beauty of knowledge and how throughout the history of the world there have always been barbarians (his word), who would try to ban or burn books to prevent knowledge from changing the world. He reminded us also how people were burned at the stake for translating the Bible into the vernacular language. And then he told us about Louvain.
The University of Louvain was founded in 1426 and its collection of books and manuscripts was not centralized, but was housed with each separate department, such as theology or philosophy or astronomy. But in 1636 the library collection was centralized with all holdings being placed in one building. Over the centuries both the library and the University grew in prestige. By the time the First World War broke out in 1914, the library boasted 300,000 volumes, plus at least 1000 volumes of manuscripts. The holdings included original manuscripts of classical authors, Church Fathers and other luminaries. Many of the works were invaluable, one of a kind.
On August 19, 1914, German troops entered Louvain on its way to invade France in violation of Belgium’s neutrality. Civilian guns were confiscated by the Belgium government with strict instructions that no violence should be meted out to the invading army. But something happened: Shots rang out and German soldiers were hurt or even killed. There were two different stories: The Belgium people said the Germans panicked and shot their own troops, while the Germans insisted there were Belgium resistance fighters, who shot at the German invaders. Later that evening German troops began going from house to house, indiscriminately arresting people and executing them, including the mayor of the town as well as the rector of the University. At midnight fire was set to the library, which almost burned to the ground. Most everything was lost.
The world was outraged. The Hague Convention of 1909 had specifically stated in Article 27 that buildings dedicated to religion, the arts, science, and charity should be spared. The Germans defended themselves, saying that their act was one of self-defense, and that the resistance must be crushed and the city punished. Even some German intellectuals did not think burning the library was out of bounds. Of course, the books and manuscripts had nothing to do with any resistance and targeting a library begs for an explanation of which there are none. It IS barbarism. I remember my professor very emotionally describing how the head of the library could not even get the words out to describe the incomparable loss. He broke down after two spoken words. “Knowledge is that precious,” the professor said, “and it can be as valuable as human life, for certain forms of knowledge can and will save human life.” That last comment, by the way, was not so well received by the class. After all, this was during the Viet Nam War, and already there were too many murdered Vietnamese and Americans. Besides, the rumor of American atrocities was already more than merely rumor. We all saw the pictures of people being napalmed. To most of us 18 year olds, that seemed worse than a library being burned.
When most of us think of war, we don’t usually consider the damage to cultural artifacts and libraries---though during the Iraq war we did hear about all the cultural treasures that were destroyed. A conference was recently held at Uppsala University in Sweden called, Libraries in the Time of War. The theme was sobering with people not only mourning the destruction of libraries, but also recounting stories of tremendous bravery in an effort to save books and manuscripts. People told stories of librarians dodging snipers and bombs in Sarajevo as they tried to save books in the National Library as it burned. A librarian in Iraq smuggled books out under her clothes before the library was burned. Curators, their guards and their families lived inside the National Museum of Aleppo, Syria for more than five years to protect the collection from looting.
This is not simply PAST history. Recently it has come to the world’s attention that Putin’s war is targeting Ukraine’s libraries as a means to destroy Ukraine. Not only is he killing the people of Ukraine and kidnapping Ukrainian children to raise them as Russians, Putin is also trying to destroy their cultural treasures. He is burning their books in an effort to punish them for being who they are: proud Ukrainians with a past they claim as their own.
Just a few weeks ago the Old Testament lesson consisted of the reading of Adam and Eve’s “fall” from the Garden of Eden. They ate of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, and their eyes were opened. What would we human beings be without such knowledge? We would be innocent, but alas, ignorant. We now know and see the face of evil. We are no longer innocent, neither about others nor about ourselves. We see evil not only in Ukraine, but as we travel the Lenten journey to the cross, we will see evil eyeball to eyeball. And the question is: What do we do with such knowledge, when we cannot hide from the deep truth that we too are implicated?
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
When I was a college freshman, I remember my humanities professor telling us about the burning of the Library in Louvain, Belgium. He had just been waxing eloquently on the power and beauty of knowledge and how throughout the history of the world there have always been barbarians (his word), who would try to ban or burn books to prevent knowledge from changing the world. He reminded us also how people were burned at the stake for translating the Bible into the vernacular language. And then he told us about Louvain.
The University of Louvain was founded in 1426 and its collection of books and manuscripts was not centralized, but was housed with each separate department, such as theology or philosophy or astronomy. But in 1636 the library collection was centralized with all holdings being placed in one building. Over the centuries both the library and the University grew in prestige. By the time the First World War broke out in 1914, the library boasted 300,000 volumes, plus at least 1000 volumes of manuscripts. The holdings included original manuscripts of classical authors, Church Fathers and other luminaries. Many of the works were invaluable, one of a kind.
On August 19, 1914, German troops entered Louvain on its way to invade France in violation of Belgium’s neutrality. Civilian guns were confiscated by the Belgium government with strict instructions that no violence should be meted out to the invading army. But something happened: Shots rang out and German soldiers were hurt or even killed. There were two different stories: The Belgium people said the Germans panicked and shot their own troops, while the Germans insisted there were Belgium resistance fighters, who shot at the German invaders. Later that evening German troops began going from house to house, indiscriminately arresting people and executing them, including the mayor of the town as well as the rector of the University. At midnight fire was set to the library, which almost burned to the ground. Most everything was lost.
The world was outraged. The Hague Convention of 1909 had specifically stated in Article 27 that buildings dedicated to religion, the arts, science, and charity should be spared. The Germans defended themselves, saying that their act was one of self-defense, and that the resistance must be crushed and the city punished. Even some German intellectuals did not think burning the library was out of bounds. Of course, the books and manuscripts had nothing to do with any resistance and targeting a library begs for an explanation of which there are none. It IS barbarism. I remember my professor very emotionally describing how the head of the library could not even get the words out to describe the incomparable loss. He broke down after two spoken words. “Knowledge is that precious,” the professor said, “and it can be as valuable as human life, for certain forms of knowledge can and will save human life.” That last comment, by the way, was not so well received by the class. After all, this was during the Viet Nam War, and already there were too many murdered Vietnamese and Americans. Besides, the rumor of American atrocities was already more than merely rumor. We all saw the pictures of people being napalmed. To most of us 18 year olds, that seemed worse than a library being burned.
When most of us think of war, we don’t usually consider the damage to cultural artifacts and libraries---though during the Iraq war we did hear about all the cultural treasures that were destroyed. A conference was recently held at Uppsala University in Sweden called, Libraries in the Time of War. The theme was sobering with people not only mourning the destruction of libraries, but also recounting stories of tremendous bravery in an effort to save books and manuscripts. People told stories of librarians dodging snipers and bombs in Sarajevo as they tried to save books in the National Library as it burned. A librarian in Iraq smuggled books out under her clothes before the library was burned. Curators, their guards and their families lived inside the National Museum of Aleppo, Syria for more than five years to protect the collection from looting.
This is not simply PAST history. Recently it has come to the world’s attention that Putin’s war is targeting Ukraine’s libraries as a means to destroy Ukraine. Not only is he killing the people of Ukraine and kidnapping Ukrainian children to raise them as Russians, Putin is also trying to destroy their cultural treasures. He is burning their books in an effort to punish them for being who they are: proud Ukrainians with a past they claim as their own.
Just a few weeks ago the Old Testament lesson consisted of the reading of Adam and Eve’s “fall” from the Garden of Eden. They ate of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, and their eyes were opened. What would we human beings be without such knowledge? We would be innocent, but alas, ignorant. We now know and see the face of evil. We are no longer innocent, neither about others nor about ourselves. We see evil not only in Ukraine, but as we travel the Lenten journey to the cross, we will see evil eyeball to eyeball. And the question is: What do we do with such knowledge, when we cannot hide from the deep truth that we too are implicated?
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Big Questions
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
Preached by: The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen
March 19, 2023
John 9: 1-41
Questions: People were always asking Jesus questions. Sometimes the questions were designed to try to trick Jesus, but most of the time people really wanted to know, because these questions were at the very heart of human life and human struggle. So, our story from John begins with a question put to Jesus by his disciples: Who sinned that this man was born blind? Did he sin or his parents? People often want to know why bad things happen, and even when they cannot truly know, they will assign a reason. Many people---then as well as now---had and have a hard time accepting the randomness of life.
Now Jews in Jesus’ day and even long before Jesus’ time often believed in the doctrine of divine earthly retribution. If you or a family member or even a nation did wrong, you would suffer the consequences on this earth. So, for example, when nations like Assyria and Babylon conquered Israel and then Judah, the prophets said, “Well, the covenant was forsaken and so we have suffered the consequences.” But Jesus was very careful about not assigning blame. He did not get into the sin-punishment saga. This man’s blindness, he insisted, is not about sin. But neither did Jesus understand the blindness as a completely random occurrence, because he will use it to show the power of God. And so, Jesus healed the man by rubbing mud mixed with his saliva on the man’s eyes.
Jesus then disappears from the story and does not return until the end. And then the story becomes about other characters, who are trying to understand what this healing really means. First, we have the response of neighbors. And some of the neighbors could see what had happened; they recognized the blind man as now healed. But notice there were others, who denied the man’s identity. No, this is another, who looks like him. They are blind to the healing because their assumptions about blindness from birth meant that he must remain blind. They cannot see the truth that stands before them. So, they take him to the Pharisees in the hope that the Pharisees, who were religious leaders and teachers, would be able to set things straight.
The Pharisees began the inquiry by asking the man a question: how did you receive sight. And he told them but notice their immediate response. There is no joy in the healing, only suspicion and accusation. Since Jesus healed on the Sabbath, and healing can be considered work and since work is forbidden on the Sabbath, they concluded that Jesus was not from God. So, he must be sinner. While this conclusion may seem perverse to us, in the history of the world, this kind of response to healing and goodness is not unusual. Accused witches in Europe, during the Middle Ages, most of them women, were practiced in the healing arts, often relieving pain in childbirth with the use of herbs. This was deemed dangerous and sinful by church leaders, who said it was a greater sin for these accused women to do good rather than evil, because their good acts would seduce people away from God. And so, these women were harshly punished: burned at the stake or drowned. Why? For the same reason the Pharisees were suspicious of Jesus. Power was threatened. And power, whether in ancient Israel, the Middle Ages or now is often the name of the game. People will go to great ends, even preferring blindness, to protect their power.
After the consultation with the Pharisees, some people went to the man’s parents and asked them if this man was truly their son. And they verified that he was. Now it is interesting that the text refers to parents (in the plural) rather than simply to the father. Women’s words were not taken seriously. They could not testify in Court, for example, but here notice both parents are consulted. And both confirmed that their son, who was born blind, now can see. But they did not want to say how he was healed, because they were afraid. And how often that happens in life! People know the truth, but out of fear that some negative consequence will happen they fail to speak the truth. They can see, but they don’t let anyone else know what it is they see.
The story began with a question about sin. Who sinned? And indeed, the Pharisees and others also took up the question of sin, accusing Jesus as well as the healed blind man of being sinners. They could not see the truth that was before them, and so sin became the convenient explanation. But Jesus did not get drawn into a long theological treatise on that subject. He could have; he could have pointed to all kinds of stories, dealing with the question of sin and impairment, even quoting famous rabbis on the subject. But he didn’t. He did not bother with an explanation. In fact, in John’s Gospel Jesus doesn’t bother to explain anything. He simply wanted the goodness, love, and mercy of God to be made manifest in the lives of real people, like the man blind from birth.
But I wonder if Jesus also realized that getting drawn into complicated debates, even with his own disciples, does not necessarily lead anywhere. Surely Jesus understood how easy it is to get into trouble by answering questions, just as it is easy to get into trouble by asking them. Helder Camara, who years ago, served as an archbishop in Brazil, said, “When I gave food to the poor, they called me a saint, but when I asked a question: Why do the poor have no food, they called me a communist.”
So, questions can lead to a lot of trouble. And it seems no matter how many you ask and answer, there are always more, more questions than can ever be resolved. Harvey Cox, who taught at Harvard Divinity School for years, once said, “Growing up means learning to live with unsatisfying and incomplete endings. No matter how ordinary they are, all our lives end with a question mark.” That can be unsettling, because we prefer satisfying explanations, just like the Pharisees. But I wonder if part of the reason they were suspicious of Jesus was not only because he healed on the Sabbath, but also because he healed a nobody on the Sabbath. A nobody from a family of nobodies in a long line of nobodies. Why this man? Why not the rich man’s father or the priest’s son? Why this pathetic beggar, sitting everyday near the Temple steps, getting in the way of the crowds who pushed and stumbled and ambled in and out, why did he merit the attention of Jesus? But that’s the point, isn’t it? He didn’t merit it at all. He was simply in need. He was blind and then he was made to see.
Blind. We are all blind at some time in our lives, blind at least to some things. Some learn to see better than others, while there are those who chose to remain blind. And some are pushed hard to open their eyes--- the way Jesus rubbed the blind man’s eyes hard with mud and saliva and then commanded him to wash in the pool of Siloam. He did as commanded. He washed, opened his eyes and saw. But notice: his sight did not happen in an instant; he did not see immediately who Jesus was. A prophet, he initially thought. No, more than a prophet, the Messiah, the chosen one of God. That is what he came to see. And because of his new sight, he was driven away from the temple. He could see, but he could not stay. And the irony: the Pharisees stayed, but they could not see. They were blind because they did not desire sight. And isn’t that really the big question of this text? It isn’t about sin, but about desire. Do you desire sight? Do you desire to see who Jesus Christ truly is for you and what and how he would have you do and live?
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
Preached by: The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen
March 19, 2023
John 9: 1-41
Questions: People were always asking Jesus questions. Sometimes the questions were designed to try to trick Jesus, but most of the time people really wanted to know, because these questions were at the very heart of human life and human struggle. So, our story from John begins with a question put to Jesus by his disciples: Who sinned that this man was born blind? Did he sin or his parents? People often want to know why bad things happen, and even when they cannot truly know, they will assign a reason. Many people---then as well as now---had and have a hard time accepting the randomness of life.
Now Jews in Jesus’ day and even long before Jesus’ time often believed in the doctrine of divine earthly retribution. If you or a family member or even a nation did wrong, you would suffer the consequences on this earth. So, for example, when nations like Assyria and Babylon conquered Israel and then Judah, the prophets said, “Well, the covenant was forsaken and so we have suffered the consequences.” But Jesus was very careful about not assigning blame. He did not get into the sin-punishment saga. This man’s blindness, he insisted, is not about sin. But neither did Jesus understand the blindness as a completely random occurrence, because he will use it to show the power of God. And so, Jesus healed the man by rubbing mud mixed with his saliva on the man’s eyes.
Jesus then disappears from the story and does not return until the end. And then the story becomes about other characters, who are trying to understand what this healing really means. First, we have the response of neighbors. And some of the neighbors could see what had happened; they recognized the blind man as now healed. But notice there were others, who denied the man’s identity. No, this is another, who looks like him. They are blind to the healing because their assumptions about blindness from birth meant that he must remain blind. They cannot see the truth that stands before them. So, they take him to the Pharisees in the hope that the Pharisees, who were religious leaders and teachers, would be able to set things straight.
The Pharisees began the inquiry by asking the man a question: how did you receive sight. And he told them but notice their immediate response. There is no joy in the healing, only suspicion and accusation. Since Jesus healed on the Sabbath, and healing can be considered work and since work is forbidden on the Sabbath, they concluded that Jesus was not from God. So, he must be sinner. While this conclusion may seem perverse to us, in the history of the world, this kind of response to healing and goodness is not unusual. Accused witches in Europe, during the Middle Ages, most of them women, were practiced in the healing arts, often relieving pain in childbirth with the use of herbs. This was deemed dangerous and sinful by church leaders, who said it was a greater sin for these accused women to do good rather than evil, because their good acts would seduce people away from God. And so, these women were harshly punished: burned at the stake or drowned. Why? For the same reason the Pharisees were suspicious of Jesus. Power was threatened. And power, whether in ancient Israel, the Middle Ages or now is often the name of the game. People will go to great ends, even preferring blindness, to protect their power.
After the consultation with the Pharisees, some people went to the man’s parents and asked them if this man was truly their son. And they verified that he was. Now it is interesting that the text refers to parents (in the plural) rather than simply to the father. Women’s words were not taken seriously. They could not testify in Court, for example, but here notice both parents are consulted. And both confirmed that their son, who was born blind, now can see. But they did not want to say how he was healed, because they were afraid. And how often that happens in life! People know the truth, but out of fear that some negative consequence will happen they fail to speak the truth. They can see, but they don’t let anyone else know what it is they see.
The story began with a question about sin. Who sinned? And indeed, the Pharisees and others also took up the question of sin, accusing Jesus as well as the healed blind man of being sinners. They could not see the truth that was before them, and so sin became the convenient explanation. But Jesus did not get drawn into a long theological treatise on that subject. He could have; he could have pointed to all kinds of stories, dealing with the question of sin and impairment, even quoting famous rabbis on the subject. But he didn’t. He did not bother with an explanation. In fact, in John’s Gospel Jesus doesn’t bother to explain anything. He simply wanted the goodness, love, and mercy of God to be made manifest in the lives of real people, like the man blind from birth.
But I wonder if Jesus also realized that getting drawn into complicated debates, even with his own disciples, does not necessarily lead anywhere. Surely Jesus understood how easy it is to get into trouble by answering questions, just as it is easy to get into trouble by asking them. Helder Camara, who years ago, served as an archbishop in Brazil, said, “When I gave food to the poor, they called me a saint, but when I asked a question: Why do the poor have no food, they called me a communist.”
So, questions can lead to a lot of trouble. And it seems no matter how many you ask and answer, there are always more, more questions than can ever be resolved. Harvey Cox, who taught at Harvard Divinity School for years, once said, “Growing up means learning to live with unsatisfying and incomplete endings. No matter how ordinary they are, all our lives end with a question mark.” That can be unsettling, because we prefer satisfying explanations, just like the Pharisees. But I wonder if part of the reason they were suspicious of Jesus was not only because he healed on the Sabbath, but also because he healed a nobody on the Sabbath. A nobody from a family of nobodies in a long line of nobodies. Why this man? Why not the rich man’s father or the priest’s son? Why this pathetic beggar, sitting everyday near the Temple steps, getting in the way of the crowds who pushed and stumbled and ambled in and out, why did he merit the attention of Jesus? But that’s the point, isn’t it? He didn’t merit it at all. He was simply in need. He was blind and then he was made to see.
Blind. We are all blind at some time in our lives, blind at least to some things. Some learn to see better than others, while there are those who chose to remain blind. And some are pushed hard to open their eyes--- the way Jesus rubbed the blind man’s eyes hard with mud and saliva and then commanded him to wash in the pool of Siloam. He did as commanded. He washed, opened his eyes and saw. But notice: his sight did not happen in an instant; he did not see immediately who Jesus was. A prophet, he initially thought. No, more than a prophet, the Messiah, the chosen one of God. That is what he came to see. And because of his new sight, he was driven away from the temple. He could see, but he could not stay. And the irony: the Pharisees stayed, but they could not see. They were blind because they did not desire sight. And isn’t that really the big question of this text? It isn’t about sin, but about desire. Do you desire sight? Do you desire to see who Jesus Christ truly is for you and what and how he would have you do and live?
March 15, 2023
Dear Friends,
The other day I found myself in a discussion about education with one of my YMCA friends. We started talking about our respective elementary schools, and I told her that I think I went to the one of the best elementary schools in the nation, Windermere Blvd. Elementary School in Eggertsville, New York (suburban Buffalo). The school was built in 1951 with an indoor swimming pool, where beginning in the third grade, we had swimming lessons as part of our physical education class, a beautiful art and music room and a very fancy gymnasium, boasting of all kinds of equipment, a library, full of books and a very progressive principal, who did not allow any homework until at least the 4th grade. Every year The Windermere World was published, an anthology of short stories, poetry, and art work, created entirely by students from kindergarten to grade 6. And then there were the plays, major productions put on by various age groups working together.
While musing about the school, I recalled my 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Guyette, who loved poetry and periodically would require us to memorize a poem. During the morning work time, when we were sitting at our desks, working on assignments, she would call us up to her desk, one by one, and then we would have to recite the poem. I can imagine that this was quite traumatic for some children, though I must admit, I was not very sensitive at the time to that possibility. I enjoyed memorizing, and I think I was eager to show off my skill. One of the poems we had to memorize was by Henry Van Dyke about working. Though it consists of two stanzas, we only were asked to memorize the first one.
Let me but do my work from day to day,
In field or forest, at the desk or loom,
In roaring market-place or tranquil room;
Let me but find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,
"This is my work; my blessing, not my doom;
"Of all who live, I am the one by whom
"This work can best be done in the right way."
Then shall I see it not too great, nor small,
To suit my spirit and to prove my powers;
Then shall I cheerful greet the labouring hours,
And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall
At eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work is best.
I would call this character development, something schools back then were really into. I am sure our teacher must have talked about the poem and why it was important, but I don’t remember any of that. All I can remember is the poem, and the idea that work is indeed a blessing, not a doom. With that thought in mind, I came across the other day something that the writer, Toni Morrison wrote about work.
It was during the Second World War and Toni Morrison had a job after school cleaning a house for two dollars a week. It was a beautiful house, she said, with wall to wall carpeting, and plastic covered sofa and chairs, a white enameled stove and a washing machine and dryer. And though in the middle of the war, there was plenty of sugar, butter and “seam up the back” stockings! Toni had never seen a Hoover vacuum cleaner or an electric iron.
As time went on, Toni became better at cleaning, and so she was given more responsibilities, like carrying a bookcase upstairs and pushing the piano across the room. She fell while carrying the bookcase and after pushing the piano, her arms and legs hurt. She wanted to refuse to do these extra jobs, but she was afraid that she would be fired and then she would lose the money that allowed her to go to the movies and buy little things for herself. Soon the woman began to offer Toni her cast off clothes---for a price. To a child who owned only two school dresses, these clothes looked simply gorgeous---until Toni’s mother asked her if she really wanted to work for cast off clothing. That comment got Toni thinking.
One day, she was whining about her job to her father, but she saw not one iota of sympathy in his eyes. There was no offering of, “Oh, you poor little thing.” All he did was put down his coffee cup on the table and say, “You don’t live there. You live here, with your people. Go to work. Get your money and come home,” which was his way of saying, “You are not the work you do. You are the person you are.”
Toni Morrison is an accomplished writer, who has worked for all kinds of people in all kinds of jobs. But she claims that since she had that conversation with her father many years ago, she understands that “her labor is not the measure of herself, and she has never placed the security of a job above the value of home.” That is certainly something to ponder---especially during this Lenten season as we consider the journey Christ took and the life he lived. Jesus wandered around without a home and left his carpenter job behind to follow wherever the realm of God would lead him.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
The other day I found myself in a discussion about education with one of my YMCA friends. We started talking about our respective elementary schools, and I told her that I think I went to the one of the best elementary schools in the nation, Windermere Blvd. Elementary School in Eggertsville, New York (suburban Buffalo). The school was built in 1951 with an indoor swimming pool, where beginning in the third grade, we had swimming lessons as part of our physical education class, a beautiful art and music room and a very fancy gymnasium, boasting of all kinds of equipment, a library, full of books and a very progressive principal, who did not allow any homework until at least the 4th grade. Every year The Windermere World was published, an anthology of short stories, poetry, and art work, created entirely by students from kindergarten to grade 6. And then there were the plays, major productions put on by various age groups working together.
While musing about the school, I recalled my 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Guyette, who loved poetry and periodically would require us to memorize a poem. During the morning work time, when we were sitting at our desks, working on assignments, she would call us up to her desk, one by one, and then we would have to recite the poem. I can imagine that this was quite traumatic for some children, though I must admit, I was not very sensitive at the time to that possibility. I enjoyed memorizing, and I think I was eager to show off my skill. One of the poems we had to memorize was by Henry Van Dyke about working. Though it consists of two stanzas, we only were asked to memorize the first one.
Let me but do my work from day to day,
In field or forest, at the desk or loom,
In roaring market-place or tranquil room;
Let me but find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,
"This is my work; my blessing, not my doom;
"Of all who live, I am the one by whom
"This work can best be done in the right way."
Then shall I see it not too great, nor small,
To suit my spirit and to prove my powers;
Then shall I cheerful greet the labouring hours,
And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall
At eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work is best.
I would call this character development, something schools back then were really into. I am sure our teacher must have talked about the poem and why it was important, but I don’t remember any of that. All I can remember is the poem, and the idea that work is indeed a blessing, not a doom. With that thought in mind, I came across the other day something that the writer, Toni Morrison wrote about work.
It was during the Second World War and Toni Morrison had a job after school cleaning a house for two dollars a week. It was a beautiful house, she said, with wall to wall carpeting, and plastic covered sofa and chairs, a white enameled stove and a washing machine and dryer. And though in the middle of the war, there was plenty of sugar, butter and “seam up the back” stockings! Toni had never seen a Hoover vacuum cleaner or an electric iron.
As time went on, Toni became better at cleaning, and so she was given more responsibilities, like carrying a bookcase upstairs and pushing the piano across the room. She fell while carrying the bookcase and after pushing the piano, her arms and legs hurt. She wanted to refuse to do these extra jobs, but she was afraid that she would be fired and then she would lose the money that allowed her to go to the movies and buy little things for herself. Soon the woman began to offer Toni her cast off clothes---for a price. To a child who owned only two school dresses, these clothes looked simply gorgeous---until Toni’s mother asked her if she really wanted to work for cast off clothing. That comment got Toni thinking.
One day, she was whining about her job to her father, but she saw not one iota of sympathy in his eyes. There was no offering of, “Oh, you poor little thing.” All he did was put down his coffee cup on the table and say, “You don’t live there. You live here, with your people. Go to work. Get your money and come home,” which was his way of saying, “You are not the work you do. You are the person you are.”
Toni Morrison is an accomplished writer, who has worked for all kinds of people in all kinds of jobs. But she claims that since she had that conversation with her father many years ago, she understands that “her labor is not the measure of herself, and she has never placed the security of a job above the value of home.” That is certainly something to ponder---especially during this Lenten season as we consider the journey Christ took and the life he lived. Jesus wandered around without a home and left his carpenter job behind to follow wherever the realm of God would lead him.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Not a Harlot: The Woman at the Well Speaks
A Monologue by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
March 12, 2023
John 4: 5-42
You know what really irritates me? When preachers--- long ago or today---assume I am a woman of low repute. Me, the Samaritan woman, whom Jesus met at Jacob’s well, the one you just heard about in John’s gospel. The conversation between Jesus and me is the longest reported in any of the gospels. And yet, so many preachers dismiss me as a harlot. John Piper, a respected preacher and writer, called me in one of sermons “a worldly sensually minded unspiritual harlot from Samaria. And would like to ask him: Exactly where did your information come from? Not from the text, but from your imagination. Now don’t get me wrong. Imagination is essential, and the Bible demands we use it, but the trouble is, when it comes to the Bible, male imaginations have ruled.
I mean isn’t it possible that my five husbands predeceased me, or perhaps some of them abandoned me or divorced me. I assure you I could not divorce them. And as for the man I am now living with, well, in my day there was something called the Levirite marriage, which we Samaritans honored (as did the Jews). When a man died without children, his widow could then marry one of his brothers, and any children, resulting from that union, would be considered the deceased husband’s. The widowed woman, by the way, was still considered the deceased man’s wife, and her new husband was not wholly her husband, even though the relationship was legally recognized.
And another thing: just because I went to the well alone, not in the company of other women, which was the custom, male preachers have concluded that I must be an outcast. But maybe I simply wanted to be alone with my own thoughts that day. Perhaps I was what you today would call an introvert. I just did not want to be around other people, listening to this and that gossip. Furthermore, did you hear Jesus say anything about me needing healing or forgiveness? No. And consider this: Just last week you heard about Nicodemus, a Pharisee and a leader of the Jews, who came to Jesus by night. Night in John’s Gospel is a symbol for ignorance and misunderstanding. I came at noon, in the full light of the day, and that symbolizes truth, or at least openness to truth.
Jesus and his disciples had been to Judea, and they wanted to return to Galilee, so it is very interesting that the sentence right before today’s scripture reads, “But he had to go through Samaria”. But the simple truth is: Jesus did not have to go through Samaria. He chose to go. He could have gone around, which is what most Jews did. Of course, it meant an additional two or three day walk, but Jews considered Samaritans to be apostates and Samaritans returned that opinion, so most Jews and Samaritans did what they could to avoid each other’s territory. Why? You ask. Well, it all came down differences of opinions, and not much progress has been made in that department over the past 2000 plus years. You are no better than dealing with differences of opinions than we were. Usually people just shut up, because they don’t want to argue. Oh, we Samaritans had our arguments with the Jews, and after a while, we just didn’t talk to each other.
Samaritans and Jews read the same scriptures. We worshipped the same God, claimed the same spiritual ancestors, and we were both waiting and hoping for the same Messiah. But we had different ideas about the sacred mountain, where Moses received the Ten Commandments. We said it was Mount Gerizim and the Jews claimed it was Mt. Sinai. Jerusalem was the holy city for Jews, Shechem, the holy city for Samaritans. These differences were considered bad enough, but the tensions really intensified when the northern kingdom, Israel, fell to the Assyrians in 723 BC, and many Samaritans intermarried with the Assyrians. Intermarriage was anathema to the Jews.
Then in 587 B.C. the southern kingdom, Judah, fell, this time to the Babylonians, and the Jewish leaders were carried off to Babylon, where they remained for over 50 years, until the Persians were victorious over the Babylonians and permitted the Jews to return to Jerusalem. Mind you, not all the Jews chose to go back. Some might even say it was the most fanatical fringe, who returned, and when they arrived home, they discovered that home did not look like home. Jerusalem was a desolate wasteland with the Temple completely destroyed. Now there were Samaritans living in Jerusalem, who wanted to help rebuild the Temple. After all, they honored the same scriptures and worshipped the same God, but the Jews who returned from Babylon had strong ideas about purity and worship, and so they rejected Samaritan help. The separation between Jews and Samaritans became final and bitter.
Jesus knew all this; he understood it very well, and yet he chose to go through Samaria. It was noon; the sun was high in the sky, and the day was already blistering with the heat. I was carrying my water jar, lost in my own thoughts, and I must admit I did not even notice him until he spoke. His voice shook me out of my reverie, his words coming as a command, “Give me a drink.” Why should he speak to me? Who was he to give me a command? He was a Jewish man, I, a Samaritan woman. He eHHe did not bother to explain himself. All he said was that if I knew who he was, I would ask him for living water. And then he told me that everyone who drinks of his water will never be thirsty again; it will become a spring, gushing up to eternal life.
I had no idea what he meant, and so I asked him for this water that would quench my thirst, so I would not have to come again to the well. Jesus just looked at me, his eyes boring into the very depths of my soul, and I knew that I had not understood. He was referring to spiritual fulfillment, living in the truth that gives life its deepest meaning and joy. Though I did not understand then, I did have this faint recognition that I was in the presence of something or someone new---especially when he told me that the man I was living with was not my husband and that I had five previous husbands. “Sir,” I said, “I see that you are a prophet, but also more than a prophet. And so, I left my water jar at the well, and ran to tell people what I had seen. And they believed me. What a blessing that was---to be believed, because women’s witness was so easily dismissed.
The text tells you that many more believed because of his word. His word: now this is important, because in your Bible, right before the story of Nicodemus, it reads that many people believed in Jesus because of his signs, but Jesus would not entrust himself to them, because he did not think that signs are the right reason for believing. But Word: that is another matter entirely. Recall how John’s Gospel begins: In the Beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. So, Word is central, and it is we Samaritans, the so called heretics and outsiders, who believed the word.
But we would not have believed, had Jesus not chosen to go through Samaria. Consider who took the initiative here---Jesus, not me. Oh we sometimes think it is all on our shoulders; it is all up to us. But God takes the initiative, the God in Jesus Christ came to me. True, I responded. Grace invaded my life, and I could not resist its power. Where is the freedom in that, you might ask? Well, I will tell you. True freedom lies in the ability to respond to the good, respond to God. The harshest slavery is to turn away.
A Monologue by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
March 12, 2023
John 4: 5-42
You know what really irritates me? When preachers--- long ago or today---assume I am a woman of low repute. Me, the Samaritan woman, whom Jesus met at Jacob’s well, the one you just heard about in John’s gospel. The conversation between Jesus and me is the longest reported in any of the gospels. And yet, so many preachers dismiss me as a harlot. John Piper, a respected preacher and writer, called me in one of sermons “a worldly sensually minded unspiritual harlot from Samaria. And would like to ask him: Exactly where did your information come from? Not from the text, but from your imagination. Now don’t get me wrong. Imagination is essential, and the Bible demands we use it, but the trouble is, when it comes to the Bible, male imaginations have ruled.
I mean isn’t it possible that my five husbands predeceased me, or perhaps some of them abandoned me or divorced me. I assure you I could not divorce them. And as for the man I am now living with, well, in my day there was something called the Levirite marriage, which we Samaritans honored (as did the Jews). When a man died without children, his widow could then marry one of his brothers, and any children, resulting from that union, would be considered the deceased husband’s. The widowed woman, by the way, was still considered the deceased man’s wife, and her new husband was not wholly her husband, even though the relationship was legally recognized.
And another thing: just because I went to the well alone, not in the company of other women, which was the custom, male preachers have concluded that I must be an outcast. But maybe I simply wanted to be alone with my own thoughts that day. Perhaps I was what you today would call an introvert. I just did not want to be around other people, listening to this and that gossip. Furthermore, did you hear Jesus say anything about me needing healing or forgiveness? No. And consider this: Just last week you heard about Nicodemus, a Pharisee and a leader of the Jews, who came to Jesus by night. Night in John’s Gospel is a symbol for ignorance and misunderstanding. I came at noon, in the full light of the day, and that symbolizes truth, or at least openness to truth.
Jesus and his disciples had been to Judea, and they wanted to return to Galilee, so it is very interesting that the sentence right before today’s scripture reads, “But he had to go through Samaria”. But the simple truth is: Jesus did not have to go through Samaria. He chose to go. He could have gone around, which is what most Jews did. Of course, it meant an additional two or three day walk, but Jews considered Samaritans to be apostates and Samaritans returned that opinion, so most Jews and Samaritans did what they could to avoid each other’s territory. Why? You ask. Well, it all came down differences of opinions, and not much progress has been made in that department over the past 2000 plus years. You are no better than dealing with differences of opinions than we were. Usually people just shut up, because they don’t want to argue. Oh, we Samaritans had our arguments with the Jews, and after a while, we just didn’t talk to each other.
Samaritans and Jews read the same scriptures. We worshipped the same God, claimed the same spiritual ancestors, and we were both waiting and hoping for the same Messiah. But we had different ideas about the sacred mountain, where Moses received the Ten Commandments. We said it was Mount Gerizim and the Jews claimed it was Mt. Sinai. Jerusalem was the holy city for Jews, Shechem, the holy city for Samaritans. These differences were considered bad enough, but the tensions really intensified when the northern kingdom, Israel, fell to the Assyrians in 723 BC, and many Samaritans intermarried with the Assyrians. Intermarriage was anathema to the Jews.
Then in 587 B.C. the southern kingdom, Judah, fell, this time to the Babylonians, and the Jewish leaders were carried off to Babylon, where they remained for over 50 years, until the Persians were victorious over the Babylonians and permitted the Jews to return to Jerusalem. Mind you, not all the Jews chose to go back. Some might even say it was the most fanatical fringe, who returned, and when they arrived home, they discovered that home did not look like home. Jerusalem was a desolate wasteland with the Temple completely destroyed. Now there were Samaritans living in Jerusalem, who wanted to help rebuild the Temple. After all, they honored the same scriptures and worshipped the same God, but the Jews who returned from Babylon had strong ideas about purity and worship, and so they rejected Samaritan help. The separation between Jews and Samaritans became final and bitter.
Jesus knew all this; he understood it very well, and yet he chose to go through Samaria. It was noon; the sun was high in the sky, and the day was already blistering with the heat. I was carrying my water jar, lost in my own thoughts, and I must admit I did not even notice him until he spoke. His voice shook me out of my reverie, his words coming as a command, “Give me a drink.” Why should he speak to me? Who was he to give me a command? He was a Jewish man, I, a Samaritan woman. He eHHe did not bother to explain himself. All he said was that if I knew who he was, I would ask him for living water. And then he told me that everyone who drinks of his water will never be thirsty again; it will become a spring, gushing up to eternal life.
I had no idea what he meant, and so I asked him for this water that would quench my thirst, so I would not have to come again to the well. Jesus just looked at me, his eyes boring into the very depths of my soul, and I knew that I had not understood. He was referring to spiritual fulfillment, living in the truth that gives life its deepest meaning and joy. Though I did not understand then, I did have this faint recognition that I was in the presence of something or someone new---especially when he told me that the man I was living with was not my husband and that I had five previous husbands. “Sir,” I said, “I see that you are a prophet, but also more than a prophet. And so, I left my water jar at the well, and ran to tell people what I had seen. And they believed me. What a blessing that was---to be believed, because women’s witness was so easily dismissed.
The text tells you that many more believed because of his word. His word: now this is important, because in your Bible, right before the story of Nicodemus, it reads that many people believed in Jesus because of his signs, but Jesus would not entrust himself to them, because he did not think that signs are the right reason for believing. But Word: that is another matter entirely. Recall how John’s Gospel begins: In the Beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. So, Word is central, and it is we Samaritans, the so called heretics and outsiders, who believed the word.
But we would not have believed, had Jesus not chosen to go through Samaria. Consider who took the initiative here---Jesus, not me. Oh we sometimes think it is all on our shoulders; it is all up to us. But God takes the initiative, the God in Jesus Christ came to me. True, I responded. Grace invaded my life, and I could not resist its power. Where is the freedom in that, you might ask? Well, I will tell you. True freedom lies in the ability to respond to the good, respond to God. The harshest slavery is to turn away.
March 8, 2023
Dear Friends,
I realize that February is past and with it Black History Month, but since I did not have time last week to write a reflection on the subject, I am doing so in March.
When I was in high school, I learned nothing about Black history. I learned about the Civil War, and I understood that the War was primarily about slavery, but I never learned anything about why the South managed to institute Jim Crow and ignore the intentions of the 13th, 14th and 15th Amendments. I did know the names of some Black leaders like Martin Luther King, Jr., Medgar Evers, Stockley Carmichael, Eldridge Cleaver, Malcolm X, but that was about all I knew. I don’t think back then I had ever heard of Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad. And I knew nothing about Frederick Douglas, except the name. When I look back, I cannot imagine what people in my high school were thinking. I mean Civil Rights was BIG, and race riots were happening on a weekly basis, but no teacher ever mentioned it---except my ninth grade English teacher, Sandra Johnson, who was only in her second year of teaching. She came out and let it be known that this country had to change and give Black people their rights. A few parents complained, but she stood her ground. That was in Jacksonville, Florida, and when I moved back North the following year, no New York State teacher ever ventured near the topic. Why?
I suppose I should not be shocked when I read about all the controversy around certain books being banned and certain topics being verboten. But I am shocked, because I cannot understand why we are unable to talk about such issues. Do we think they disappear, if we don’t mention them? Or are we simply afraid to talk about them because we fear that people will become upset? And why the fear of being upset? That is something I will never understand---perhaps because I grew up in a home where uncomfortable topics were often discussed, argued over and yes, people did become upset. But they did not die from such distress, so what was or is the big deal?
But the controversy we are now facing in our schools and elsewhere concerns more than books. Certain sites, linked to the story of Black Americans are in danger of being destroyed or have already been razed to the ground. On East Commerce Street in San Antonio, for example, there were hotels and restaurants listed in The Negro Motorist Green Book, which told people of color where they could obtain services. Apparently, most of those places have been destroyed. And in Boston the Harriet Tubman House, which had been founded as a place for Black women to stay, who had migrated from the South, was recently sold to a developer.
But there is some good news. The National Park Service is considering adding nine sites in Mississippi to its roster of historical places. Some of these sites are concerned with Emmett Till, a black teenager, who was visiting from Chicago and was falsely accused of grabbing a white woman. Till was later tortured and lynched and Carolyn Bryant, the woman, who accused Till of grabbing her, later admitted she was lying. Till’s mother insisted the casket be open so the world could witness what was done to her son. Other sites concern the Freedom Riders, who came South to help register black citizens to vote. Some of the sites are churches, which were torched during the Freedom Summer of 1964, because they hosted teach-ins about voter registration. Civil rights workers were investigating the firebombing of Mount Zion Methodist Church, when they were tortured and murdered: James Chaney, Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman. The KKK was involved with the help of the sheriff. The first trial took place in the Neshoba County Courthouse in Philadelphia, Mississippi, and 21 people were indicted for civil rights violations of the three murdered men. (The state of Mississippi refused to charge the men with murder.) The cases were finally dropped, but again in 1967 the Justice Department indicted 18 men, and 7 men, were found guilty of civil rights violations. In 1970 the state of Mississippi indited one man, Edgar Ray Killen for manslaughter. He was found guilty and sentenced to 60 years in prison where he died in 2018.
Scholars are talking about the importance of “memory work,” which involves revisiting some of these sites and rewriting the story, which in the past was forgotten and ignored. The Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama has mapped thousands of sites linked to the lynching of Black people. I went to the Lynching Museum in Montgomery a few years ago, and I can tell you it was both very upsetting and very moving. Bottles of dirt from the lynching sites along with the names and ages of the victims communicate a brutal story of racism.
None of this history is pleasant to learn and confront, but such is the challenge of education. Not everything we study and learn about makes us feel good. But if we truly believe that knowledge is power, and we can use our knowledge in ways that move us as a nation toward a new beginning---that is a good thing. When I think of what I DID NOT LEARN in my high school American history class, I consider that a kind of wounding. We are wounded by our ignorance. What we do not know is usually far more dangerous than what we know---even if we must confront the unsavory deeds of our past history. We should always remember what Jesus said: “Know the truth and the truth shall make you free.” Ignorance holds us in bondage. And another thought from the southern writer, Flannery O’Connor, who was a devout Roman Catholic: Know the truth and the truth shall make you strange. Indeed, it can.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
I realize that February is past and with it Black History Month, but since I did not have time last week to write a reflection on the subject, I am doing so in March.
When I was in high school, I learned nothing about Black history. I learned about the Civil War, and I understood that the War was primarily about slavery, but I never learned anything about why the South managed to institute Jim Crow and ignore the intentions of the 13th, 14th and 15th Amendments. I did know the names of some Black leaders like Martin Luther King, Jr., Medgar Evers, Stockley Carmichael, Eldridge Cleaver, Malcolm X, but that was about all I knew. I don’t think back then I had ever heard of Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad. And I knew nothing about Frederick Douglas, except the name. When I look back, I cannot imagine what people in my high school were thinking. I mean Civil Rights was BIG, and race riots were happening on a weekly basis, but no teacher ever mentioned it---except my ninth grade English teacher, Sandra Johnson, who was only in her second year of teaching. She came out and let it be known that this country had to change and give Black people their rights. A few parents complained, but she stood her ground. That was in Jacksonville, Florida, and when I moved back North the following year, no New York State teacher ever ventured near the topic. Why?
I suppose I should not be shocked when I read about all the controversy around certain books being banned and certain topics being verboten. But I am shocked, because I cannot understand why we are unable to talk about such issues. Do we think they disappear, if we don’t mention them? Or are we simply afraid to talk about them because we fear that people will become upset? And why the fear of being upset? That is something I will never understand---perhaps because I grew up in a home where uncomfortable topics were often discussed, argued over and yes, people did become upset. But they did not die from such distress, so what was or is the big deal?
But the controversy we are now facing in our schools and elsewhere concerns more than books. Certain sites, linked to the story of Black Americans are in danger of being destroyed or have already been razed to the ground. On East Commerce Street in San Antonio, for example, there were hotels and restaurants listed in The Negro Motorist Green Book, which told people of color where they could obtain services. Apparently, most of those places have been destroyed. And in Boston the Harriet Tubman House, which had been founded as a place for Black women to stay, who had migrated from the South, was recently sold to a developer.
But there is some good news. The National Park Service is considering adding nine sites in Mississippi to its roster of historical places. Some of these sites are concerned with Emmett Till, a black teenager, who was visiting from Chicago and was falsely accused of grabbing a white woman. Till was later tortured and lynched and Carolyn Bryant, the woman, who accused Till of grabbing her, later admitted she was lying. Till’s mother insisted the casket be open so the world could witness what was done to her son. Other sites concern the Freedom Riders, who came South to help register black citizens to vote. Some of the sites are churches, which were torched during the Freedom Summer of 1964, because they hosted teach-ins about voter registration. Civil rights workers were investigating the firebombing of Mount Zion Methodist Church, when they were tortured and murdered: James Chaney, Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman. The KKK was involved with the help of the sheriff. The first trial took place in the Neshoba County Courthouse in Philadelphia, Mississippi, and 21 people were indicted for civil rights violations of the three murdered men. (The state of Mississippi refused to charge the men with murder.) The cases were finally dropped, but again in 1967 the Justice Department indicted 18 men, and 7 men, were found guilty of civil rights violations. In 1970 the state of Mississippi indited one man, Edgar Ray Killen for manslaughter. He was found guilty and sentenced to 60 years in prison where he died in 2018.
Scholars are talking about the importance of “memory work,” which involves revisiting some of these sites and rewriting the story, which in the past was forgotten and ignored. The Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama has mapped thousands of sites linked to the lynching of Black people. I went to the Lynching Museum in Montgomery a few years ago, and I can tell you it was both very upsetting and very moving. Bottles of dirt from the lynching sites along with the names and ages of the victims communicate a brutal story of racism.
None of this history is pleasant to learn and confront, but such is the challenge of education. Not everything we study and learn about makes us feel good. But if we truly believe that knowledge is power, and we can use our knowledge in ways that move us as a nation toward a new beginning---that is a good thing. When I think of what I DID NOT LEARN in my high school American history class, I consider that a kind of wounding. We are wounded by our ignorance. What we do not know is usually far more dangerous than what we know---even if we must confront the unsavory deeds of our past history. We should always remember what Jesus said: “Know the truth and the truth shall make you free.” Ignorance holds us in bondage. And another thought from the southern writer, Flannery O’Connor, who was a devout Roman Catholic: Know the truth and the truth shall make you strange. Indeed, it can.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
March 5, 2023
John 3: 1-17
I am not a night person; I love the morning, and I really do not like this recent time change, because now it is now even darker in the morning, when I arise at 5 AM and walk to the Y. Now John makes it very clear that Nicodemus went at night, and so I imagine it as the middle of the night, though it is also true that some painters have rendered this scene in the gloaming, which usually means twilight, but it can also mean early morning, just before the sun rises. But my imagination sticks to the middle of the night.
A lot can happen in the middle of the night, when most people are fast asleep in their beds. More babies are born, and more people die in the middle of the night than during the light of day. Many years ago, my younger brother sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night to leave for the Woodstock Festival on August 14, 1969. My parents had forbidden him to go, but at 3 a.m. he left the house to meet his friend, who had parked down the street so my parents would not hear a car or see the headlights. In the middle of the night: that’s when one of my husband’s teachers received a call from Sweden, telling him he had just been awarded the Nobel Prize in biology. In the middle of the night: sometimes when we are lying awake, caught by sleeplessness, we see the situation before us so clearly. We know what we should do, or so it seems to us in the middle of the night---quit that job, confront that person, but when the daylight comes, sometimes our nighttime resolution looks different. And so, we do not always do what we had resolved to do in the middle of the night.
So, why did Nicodemus go to Jesus in the middle of the night? If he had let the night pass, if the morning light had shone upon him and the Jewish world he helped to lead, a world which demanded of him all kinds of duties and responsibilities, maybe he would never have had the nerve to pay a visit to Jesus. Maybe the light of day would have shown him that he had far too much to lose by going to see Jesus. You see, Nicodemus was a Pharisee, and though we have this tendency to harbor negative opinions about them---mainly because of Matthew’s Gospel, which shows Jesus speaking harsh words against them--- the Pharisees in so many ways were really religious progressives.
Unlike the Sadducees, who controlled the temple priesthood and believed that the written law was complete, the Pharisees embraced the oral tradition, that is, what other rabbis and teachers throughout the centuries had taught and reflected upon and were still reflecting upon. The Pharisees had this idea that the law was dynamic, because meanings change with time, but the Sadducees believed the law means what it always has meant--- not unlike some of the current people sitting on our Supreme Court. The Pharisees also affirmed the resurrection of the dead, an idea soundly rejected by the Sadducees, and unlike the Sadducees, who were wealthy aristocrats, the Pharisees worked for a living. They had a trade or a skill—tent making, like the Apostle Paul or even carpentry, like Jesus. There are scholars today, who make the case that Jesus may well at one time have been a Pharisee, since he embraced the oral interpretation of the law and believed in the resurrection of the dead.
Nicodemus as a Pharisee perhaps did not like what Jesus was teaching, though at this point in John’s gospel, Jesus’ teachings have not yet been fully laid out. We do know that the historical Jesus did not make the rigid distinction the Pharisees made between clean and unclean, either in food or in people. That alone might well have made Nicodemus uncomfortable, but our text says nothing about Nicodemus being uncomfortable. We only intuit that from his going to see Jesus at night---as if he were embarrassed to be seen.
So far in this gospel, Jesus has been baptized; he has called his disciples and he has performed the miracle at the wedding at Cana, when he turned the water into wine. This is the backdrop for Nicodemus’ coming to Jesus. And even if he were disturbed at some of Jesus’ challenges to Pharisaic ideas, he nonetheless recognized that Jesus was from God, “for no one can do these signs apart from the presence of God,” Nicodemus said. That was a very big recognition--- seeing who Jesus really was. And then Jesus made this strange comment about the necessity of being born from above. Nicodemus did not understand this at all, because he became caught up in the literal meaning of birth. And Jesus did not bother to explain. In John’s Gospel Jesus never explains anything. He just went on about spirit and flesh and how the spirit blows where it wills.
It all sounds so strange to Nicodemus that he can only ask a vague question, “How can these things be?” And Jesus answered him with another question: “Are you a teacher of Israel and yet you do not know these things? If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things?” Well, this is certainly the ultimate conversation stopper, transforming a dialogue into a monologue. Jesus might as well have told Nicodemus he was an idiot. What could Nicodemus possibly say now? Nothing, and indeed he did not speak another word in this particular story. If he had known or understood, he would not have bothered to come to Jesus in the middle of the night.
Now night is very important in John’s Gospel. John plays with the images of light and dark. John calls Jesus the light of the world, revealing the truth, while the darkness hides and covers the truth. After Nicodemus asked the question: How can these things be? Jesus spoke some of the most important words in the New Testament: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” This is the verse, which Luther called the Gospel in miniature, and it is really the essential point of the story: God’s profound love for the world. God’s love is the point, not Nicodemus, but being the human creatures we are, we are drawn to Nicodemus, because in all honesty we are a lot like him. We don’t know; we too are confused, and we often stumble around in the middle of the night. So, what happens to people like Nicodemus?
In the 7th chapter of John, when the Jewish council is showing grave worry over Jesus and considering arresting him, Nicodemus in the full light of day says, “Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing.” And people were shocked by what he had said. After all, he was a Pharisee, a leader among his people. Surely you are not one of them from Galilee, are you? Check the scriptures, they remind him. Nothing of any significance will come from there. We don’t hear anything more from Nicodemus until the 19th chapter, after Jesus is executed, and it is Nicodemus who brings to the grave a 100 pound mixture of myrrh and aloes.
This does not prove that Nicodemus ever became a follower of Jesus. Maybe he just observed from the sidelines. But at least he showed up, and sometimes showing up is all it takes. Nicodemus showed up at least three times, and when we consider the biblical symbolism of three, its suggestion of resurrection: Jonah in the belly of the whale for three days, before being spewed out and saved; Jesus resurrected on the third day, we might conclude that showing up three times is not insignificant.
In one of my former churches, there was this man, who struggled with serious mental illness, but there he was every Sunday morning at worship. Of course, there were those in the congregation, who might have preferred him to stay away, because well, his mental illness made them uncomfortable, especially when he would shout out in the middle of the service. So, people complained to John and me. Can’t you do something? Like what, we asked? Talk to him. Well, we did, but it did very little good. You know, my colleague said, “A lot of life is just about showing up, because let’s face it, sometimes showing up is all we can manage to do.” How true, and maybe, there are times when showing up is enough, because God does love the world, a world filled with all different kinds of people, people who show up, sometimes in the middle of the night and sometimes on a Sunday morning at 10 a.m.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
March 5, 2023
John 3: 1-17
I am not a night person; I love the morning, and I really do not like this recent time change, because now it is now even darker in the morning, when I arise at 5 AM and walk to the Y. Now John makes it very clear that Nicodemus went at night, and so I imagine it as the middle of the night, though it is also true that some painters have rendered this scene in the gloaming, which usually means twilight, but it can also mean early morning, just before the sun rises. But my imagination sticks to the middle of the night.
A lot can happen in the middle of the night, when most people are fast asleep in their beds. More babies are born, and more people die in the middle of the night than during the light of day. Many years ago, my younger brother sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night to leave for the Woodstock Festival on August 14, 1969. My parents had forbidden him to go, but at 3 a.m. he left the house to meet his friend, who had parked down the street so my parents would not hear a car or see the headlights. In the middle of the night: that’s when one of my husband’s teachers received a call from Sweden, telling him he had just been awarded the Nobel Prize in biology. In the middle of the night: sometimes when we are lying awake, caught by sleeplessness, we see the situation before us so clearly. We know what we should do, or so it seems to us in the middle of the night---quit that job, confront that person, but when the daylight comes, sometimes our nighttime resolution looks different. And so, we do not always do what we had resolved to do in the middle of the night.
So, why did Nicodemus go to Jesus in the middle of the night? If he had let the night pass, if the morning light had shone upon him and the Jewish world he helped to lead, a world which demanded of him all kinds of duties and responsibilities, maybe he would never have had the nerve to pay a visit to Jesus. Maybe the light of day would have shown him that he had far too much to lose by going to see Jesus. You see, Nicodemus was a Pharisee, and though we have this tendency to harbor negative opinions about them---mainly because of Matthew’s Gospel, which shows Jesus speaking harsh words against them--- the Pharisees in so many ways were really religious progressives.
Unlike the Sadducees, who controlled the temple priesthood and believed that the written law was complete, the Pharisees embraced the oral tradition, that is, what other rabbis and teachers throughout the centuries had taught and reflected upon and were still reflecting upon. The Pharisees had this idea that the law was dynamic, because meanings change with time, but the Sadducees believed the law means what it always has meant--- not unlike some of the current people sitting on our Supreme Court. The Pharisees also affirmed the resurrection of the dead, an idea soundly rejected by the Sadducees, and unlike the Sadducees, who were wealthy aristocrats, the Pharisees worked for a living. They had a trade or a skill—tent making, like the Apostle Paul or even carpentry, like Jesus. There are scholars today, who make the case that Jesus may well at one time have been a Pharisee, since he embraced the oral interpretation of the law and believed in the resurrection of the dead.
Nicodemus as a Pharisee perhaps did not like what Jesus was teaching, though at this point in John’s gospel, Jesus’ teachings have not yet been fully laid out. We do know that the historical Jesus did not make the rigid distinction the Pharisees made between clean and unclean, either in food or in people. That alone might well have made Nicodemus uncomfortable, but our text says nothing about Nicodemus being uncomfortable. We only intuit that from his going to see Jesus at night---as if he were embarrassed to be seen.
So far in this gospel, Jesus has been baptized; he has called his disciples and he has performed the miracle at the wedding at Cana, when he turned the water into wine. This is the backdrop for Nicodemus’ coming to Jesus. And even if he were disturbed at some of Jesus’ challenges to Pharisaic ideas, he nonetheless recognized that Jesus was from God, “for no one can do these signs apart from the presence of God,” Nicodemus said. That was a very big recognition--- seeing who Jesus really was. And then Jesus made this strange comment about the necessity of being born from above. Nicodemus did not understand this at all, because he became caught up in the literal meaning of birth. And Jesus did not bother to explain. In John’s Gospel Jesus never explains anything. He just went on about spirit and flesh and how the spirit blows where it wills.
It all sounds so strange to Nicodemus that he can only ask a vague question, “How can these things be?” And Jesus answered him with another question: “Are you a teacher of Israel and yet you do not know these things? If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things?” Well, this is certainly the ultimate conversation stopper, transforming a dialogue into a monologue. Jesus might as well have told Nicodemus he was an idiot. What could Nicodemus possibly say now? Nothing, and indeed he did not speak another word in this particular story. If he had known or understood, he would not have bothered to come to Jesus in the middle of the night.
Now night is very important in John’s Gospel. John plays with the images of light and dark. John calls Jesus the light of the world, revealing the truth, while the darkness hides and covers the truth. After Nicodemus asked the question: How can these things be? Jesus spoke some of the most important words in the New Testament: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” This is the verse, which Luther called the Gospel in miniature, and it is really the essential point of the story: God’s profound love for the world. God’s love is the point, not Nicodemus, but being the human creatures we are, we are drawn to Nicodemus, because in all honesty we are a lot like him. We don’t know; we too are confused, and we often stumble around in the middle of the night. So, what happens to people like Nicodemus?
In the 7th chapter of John, when the Jewish council is showing grave worry over Jesus and considering arresting him, Nicodemus in the full light of day says, “Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing.” And people were shocked by what he had said. After all, he was a Pharisee, a leader among his people. Surely you are not one of them from Galilee, are you? Check the scriptures, they remind him. Nothing of any significance will come from there. We don’t hear anything more from Nicodemus until the 19th chapter, after Jesus is executed, and it is Nicodemus who brings to the grave a 100 pound mixture of myrrh and aloes.
This does not prove that Nicodemus ever became a follower of Jesus. Maybe he just observed from the sidelines. But at least he showed up, and sometimes showing up is all it takes. Nicodemus showed up at least three times, and when we consider the biblical symbolism of three, its suggestion of resurrection: Jonah in the belly of the whale for three days, before being spewed out and saved; Jesus resurrected on the third day, we might conclude that showing up three times is not insignificant.
In one of my former churches, there was this man, who struggled with serious mental illness, but there he was every Sunday morning at worship. Of course, there were those in the congregation, who might have preferred him to stay away, because well, his mental illness made them uncomfortable, especially when he would shout out in the middle of the service. So, people complained to John and me. Can’t you do something? Like what, we asked? Talk to him. Well, we did, but it did very little good. You know, my colleague said, “A lot of life is just about showing up, because let’s face it, sometimes showing up is all we can manage to do.” How true, and maybe, there are times when showing up is enough, because God does love the world, a world filled with all different kinds of people, people who show up, sometimes in the middle of the night and sometimes on a Sunday morning at 10 a.m.
REGRETS
Ash Wednesday Service
February 22, 2023
Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-21
Just last Sunday we had a new member class, when we spent some time talking about our religious past and what it was that drew us to this particular community of faith. And I commented that my experience in ministry has taught me that most people, who end up in today’s mainline Protestant churches, are essentially looking for help and support to live a fulfilled life. They are not so worried about what happens after they die. They don’t come to church to guarantee their place in the celestial heaven, but they do care about living well, living a life that matters, a life that is not swallowed up in trivia. They want their lives to count for something. And indeed, Jesus spent most of his time and energy trying to help people live such lives, lives that are full and abundant. And so, he taught, often using stories and parables to encourage people to see life from a different angle and perspective. And sometimes he was simply didactic, that is, telling his listeners what it is they should do, as in our reading from Matthew. Here Jesus has some very good suggestions for how to live a spiritual life that is honest and fulfilling. He tells people to give alms, to pray and fast, but don’t make a public spectacle of it. Don’t expect to be the center of attention.
So, here we are on Ash Wednesday, when we are reminded not only what can make for the living of a good life, but also the theme of our mortality is front and center. We are told explicitly, “You are dust and to dust you shall return.” Never forget that you have a limited time in which to live. So, make your choices count for something.
For some years an Englishwoman by the name of Bonnie Ware worked as a palliative care nurse, helping people to die. And over the years she heard people express deep regrets as they lay dying. And so, she decided to write a book about it with the hope that she could help people to live well, so that when they come to the end of their lives, they would not be swallowed up by regret and bitterness. So here are the top five regrets of the dying.
Regret #1: I wish I’d lived a life true to myself and not the life others expected of me. Growing up, we have no choice but to mirror the beliefs and values of the people who are raising us. And certainly for many people they continue on path and it works for them. But sometimes people don’t fit that pattern. They have a different vision for their lives. They don’t want to become the doctor or the lawyer or the teacher the parents want them to become. Sometimes it has nothing to do with a career, like the 56 year old woman, dying of cancer, who regretted never hiking the entire Appalachian Trail. That was her big dream. It would have necessitated taking a leave of absence from her work and leaving her family for 6 or 7 months. Her boss supported her dream, and her kids were in college. But her husband would not give his blessing, and so she never did it, and on her death bed she was overcome with anger as well as regret.
Regret #2: I wish I had not worked so hard. Now this regret was quite commonly expressed, but it more often came from men than from women. And it wasn’t only the time lost with their growing family they regretted. Many lamented that they realized far too late that they had failed to develop other interests and passions. They could see their life was out of balance, and when they retired, they discovered how empty they felt. One man complained he had no inspiration. I was inspired by my work, he said. Why did I not allow myself to be inspired by other things as well?
Regret #3: I wish I had had the courage to express my feelings. Both men and women had this regret, though the feelings they failed to express were different. Women often had a very hard time expressing their anger and frustration with people. One woman said her father had bullied her for years, and she never had the courage to tell him, “Back off!” A man regretted failing to tell his wife how fearful he was of failure. I resigned a great job because of that fear. I replaced the job, but I missed the challenge, and now I wonder if I had been able to talk about my fear, openly face it, I might have been able to work it through. And I think I would have been a lot happier.
Regret #4: I wish I had stayed connected to friends. This regret isn’t about the failure to text or email or connect on Facebook. People, expressing this regret, were talking about something much deeper. Someone commented that it had been far too long since she had laughed herself silly with a good friend. And what about crying with a friend? There are not too many people you might feel comfortable crying with, and so this person concluded, you should never let such people go. But she had. Her life was dynamic; she moved around; she changed jobs; she had different interests, book clubs, political commitments. She loved all that stuff, but somehow she realized she had failed to keep and nurture deep relationships. And at the end of her life she mourned that loss, that absence in her life, which was in so many ways full.
And finally Regret #5: I wish I had allowed myself to be happier. In some ways I find this regret the most interesting of all, because it involves an insight that youth often fails to realize, that is, the recognition that happiness is not simply something you fall into. Happiness is not so much about luck as it is about choice. We can choose to be happy.
Now this word happy can be problematic for us, because it tends to be used in a superficial manner, as if happiness were about enjoyment. We are happy, for example, while on vacation, or eating a fine meal with a friend---certainly worthy activities. The word happy is rarely found in the New Testament; joy is the preferred word, though the Old Testament does mention the word.
Happiness does not mean the absence of trouble or toil. We do have hard times; we live through all kinds of tough challenges. We face disappointment and defeat, when we learn just how strong and weak, we are. And such learning is essential for a life well lived. But how much we concentrate on the tough times, the losses, the defeats, the disappointments and how much we count our blessings---those are critical choices. And if we celebrate our blessings; if we cultivate gratitude for them, we will be happier, more joyful.
I am not sure what Jesus would think of these regrets. He inhabited a world so different from ours, a world of limited choice, where people pretty much lived where they were born and did what their parents did. No one had to remind them of their mortality. Death was an intimate experience, while we tend to push the awareness of death away into hospitals and nursing homes until it crashes through our denial. But on this evening, there is no denial. We are called to remember our mortality, to imagine it, to see it up>. If we can do that, we can resolve to live more fully and more gratefully so we do not come to the end full of regret and bitterness.
Ash Wednesday Service
February 22, 2023
Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-21
Just last Sunday we had a new member class, when we spent some time talking about our religious past and what it was that drew us to this particular community of faith. And I commented that my experience in ministry has taught me that most people, who end up in today’s mainline Protestant churches, are essentially looking for help and support to live a fulfilled life. They are not so worried about what happens after they die. They don’t come to church to guarantee their place in the celestial heaven, but they do care about living well, living a life that matters, a life that is not swallowed up in trivia. They want their lives to count for something. And indeed, Jesus spent most of his time and energy trying to help people live such lives, lives that are full and abundant. And so, he taught, often using stories and parables to encourage people to see life from a different angle and perspective. And sometimes he was simply didactic, that is, telling his listeners what it is they should do, as in our reading from Matthew. Here Jesus has some very good suggestions for how to live a spiritual life that is honest and fulfilling. He tells people to give alms, to pray and fast, but don’t make a public spectacle of it. Don’t expect to be the center of attention.
So, here we are on Ash Wednesday, when we are reminded not only what can make for the living of a good life, but also the theme of our mortality is front and center. We are told explicitly, “You are dust and to dust you shall return.” Never forget that you have a limited time in which to live. So, make your choices count for something.
For some years an Englishwoman by the name of Bonnie Ware worked as a palliative care nurse, helping people to die. And over the years she heard people express deep regrets as they lay dying. And so, she decided to write a book about it with the hope that she could help people to live well, so that when they come to the end of their lives, they would not be swallowed up by regret and bitterness. So here are the top five regrets of the dying.
Regret #1: I wish I’d lived a life true to myself and not the life others expected of me. Growing up, we have no choice but to mirror the beliefs and values of the people who are raising us. And certainly for many people they continue on path and it works for them. But sometimes people don’t fit that pattern. They have a different vision for their lives. They don’t want to become the doctor or the lawyer or the teacher the parents want them to become. Sometimes it has nothing to do with a career, like the 56 year old woman, dying of cancer, who regretted never hiking the entire Appalachian Trail. That was her big dream. It would have necessitated taking a leave of absence from her work and leaving her family for 6 or 7 months. Her boss supported her dream, and her kids were in college. But her husband would not give his blessing, and so she never did it, and on her death bed she was overcome with anger as well as regret.
Regret #2: I wish I had not worked so hard. Now this regret was quite commonly expressed, but it more often came from men than from women. And it wasn’t only the time lost with their growing family they regretted. Many lamented that they realized far too late that they had failed to develop other interests and passions. They could see their life was out of balance, and when they retired, they discovered how empty they felt. One man complained he had no inspiration. I was inspired by my work, he said. Why did I not allow myself to be inspired by other things as well?
Regret #3: I wish I had had the courage to express my feelings. Both men and women had this regret, though the feelings they failed to express were different. Women often had a very hard time expressing their anger and frustration with people. One woman said her father had bullied her for years, and she never had the courage to tell him, “Back off!” A man regretted failing to tell his wife how fearful he was of failure. I resigned a great job because of that fear. I replaced the job, but I missed the challenge, and now I wonder if I had been able to talk about my fear, openly face it, I might have been able to work it through. And I think I would have been a lot happier.
Regret #4: I wish I had stayed connected to friends. This regret isn’t about the failure to text or email or connect on Facebook. People, expressing this regret, were talking about something much deeper. Someone commented that it had been far too long since she had laughed herself silly with a good friend. And what about crying with a friend? There are not too many people you might feel comfortable crying with, and so this person concluded, you should never let such people go. But she had. Her life was dynamic; she moved around; she changed jobs; she had different interests, book clubs, political commitments. She loved all that stuff, but somehow she realized she had failed to keep and nurture deep relationships. And at the end of her life she mourned that loss, that absence in her life, which was in so many ways full.
And finally Regret #5: I wish I had allowed myself to be happier. In some ways I find this regret the most interesting of all, because it involves an insight that youth often fails to realize, that is, the recognition that happiness is not simply something you fall into. Happiness is not so much about luck as it is about choice. We can choose to be happy.
Now this word happy can be problematic for us, because it tends to be used in a superficial manner, as if happiness were about enjoyment. We are happy, for example, while on vacation, or eating a fine meal with a friend---certainly worthy activities. The word happy is rarely found in the New Testament; joy is the preferred word, though the Old Testament does mention the word.
Happiness does not mean the absence of trouble or toil. We do have hard times; we live through all kinds of tough challenges. We face disappointment and defeat, when we learn just how strong and weak, we are. And such learning is essential for a life well lived. But how much we concentrate on the tough times, the losses, the defeats, the disappointments and how much we count our blessings---those are critical choices. And if we celebrate our blessings; if we cultivate gratitude for them, we will be happier, more joyful.
I am not sure what Jesus would think of these regrets. He inhabited a world so different from ours, a world of limited choice, where people pretty much lived where they were born and did what their parents did. No one had to remind them of their mortality. Death was an intimate experience, while we tend to push the awareness of death away into hospitals and nursing homes until it crashes through our denial. But on this evening, there is no denial. We are called to remember our mortality, to imagine it, to see it up>. If we can do that, we can resolve to live more fully and more gratefully so we do not come to the end full of regret and bitterness.
TEMPTED!
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
February 26, 2023
Genesis 2: 15-17; 3: 1-7
Matthew 4: 1-11
The first Sunday of Lent always tells the story of Jesus’ temptations from one of the three synoptic gospels: Matthew, Mark or Luke. John’s gospel has no temptation scene, because Jesus from the gospel’s beginning is already the resurrected Christ. Mark’s gospel does not give us many details about the nature of the temptations, while Matthew and Luke tell us by what Jesus was tempted.
The lectionary pairs Matthew with Adam and Eve’s temptation from the book of Genesis, where the primal pair live in a lush garden of plenty. They can have anything they want, except they are commanded to avoid the tree of knowledge of good and evil. If they eat of it, they are told they will die. And this is how the serpent tempts them, telling Eve that she will not die, but she will be like God, that is, knowing good and evil. And so, they eat, and once they do, they see themselves for who they are. They now recognize themselves as naked, both figuratively and literally.
Now this story is not literally true, but it is existentially true, that is, it reveals something profoundly true about our human condition. And it also leaves us with a major question to ponder: What would we be without knowledge of good and evil? Our Jewish brothers and sisters believe that the struggle to choose good over evil is exactly what God intends for us to do. Without that struggle and the choice for good over evil, we remain infants, spiritually unformed and perpetually undeveloped.
So, when we turn to the story of Jesus, immediately after his baptism, he is faced with temptation. Ponder this: It is the Spirit who led Jesus to the place of temptation. It is not Satan, who leads him, but the Spirit. Now the translation I use, The New Revised Standard Version, reads “led up,” but some translations use the word drive or driven. The Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness. That sounds like an aggressive act, something that Jesus could not readily avoid. When you are driven, it is as if you are pushed and pulled by forces you cannot so easily stop or control. So, there is this sense that Jesus cannot avoid what he must face in the wilderness. But he did not go there because he decided to do so on his own. No, he was led or driven there, where for 40 days and nights he would face Satan.
So, what do we make of the Spirit, who drives Jesus to the place of temptation? Are we not rightfully suspicious of people who lead their friends or others to places of temptation? If someone has a problem with drugs or alcohol, how supportive is it to take him to the party, where he knows there will be temptation? Is such a person truly a friend? Each week, we pray the Lord’s Prayer with these words: Lead us not into temptation. But here we have the Spirit doing precisely that. Why?
The great Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, once noted that Christians make a grave mistake when they think of Jesus as the most admirable person. Well, Luther said, go ahead and admire him, but you should also pity him, because he was the most tempted of all human beings, tempted not only in his humanity, but also in his divinity, tempted to grasp at his God-identity in such a way that his humanity would be overcome by his divinity. And that was a terrible struggle, a struggle none of us would ever want to face. Satan said to him, “If you are the Son of God,” then turn these stones into bread, throw yourself down and let the angels catch you and take all the kingdoms of the world. Satan already knows who Jesus is. He realizes he is the Son of God, and what he is trying to do is get Jesus to use the power Satan knows he has. And power is exactly what temptation is all about.
We often make the assumption that temptation is a sign of weakness. But the opposite is often true. We are often tempted by our strength, by what we are able to do. The stronger one is, the greater the temptation, which is exactly why Luther thought Jesus was worthy of pity. His strength made him vulnerable to temptation in a way that simply is impossible for those without his spiritual identity and strength. As someone once said, “You do not have a sea storm in a puddle.”
Consider how Satan makes his appearance. How does he present the temptation? It isn’t that an actual demonic figure appears and says, “Here I am to tempt you.” Temptation is deceptive, promising what it cannot truly deliver. It can appear in the guise of a friend, a comrade, who is there to help you. Later in the gospel, when Jesus tells his disciples that he must suffer and die, Peter completely rejects the idea. “This must never happen to you,” he insists. And how does Jesus respond? “Get behind me, Satan.” Now certainly Peter thought of himself as a good friend to Jesus and the mere idea that Jesus would suffer and die was a horror to him. But for Jesus the resistance to the hard truth of suffering and death was seen as an alliance with Satan. Think back to the Garden of Eden, where we saw the serpent tempt Adam and Eve. Did he say, “Do you wish to become like me, the serpent?” No, he tempted them with the promise to be like God. IF you eat the fruit, you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”
We should understand that the most dangerous temptations are never invitations to debauchery, but rather invitations to great heights. Debauchery is obvious, lacking in subtlety; we know what it looks like and where it leads. It is a fall, and it does ruin lives. But debauchery is not as spiritually dangerous as the fall that comes from grasping at greatness. Consider the myth of Satan’s fall. He was not tempted by debauchery, but by godliness. He wanted to be like God. He was the best and brightest of the angels---the star Lucifer was his name, but he wanted more. He wanted to be more than an angel; he wanted to be like God, and so he fell---fell, according to the genius of Dante’s Divine Comedy, into a block of ice, upside down, unable to move, unable to change and grow. And if there is a better description of hell, I do not know it.
I asked my husband, who has spent most of his adult life as a scientist, doing research and publishing papers in scientific journals if he could think of anyone who had fudged data to make the discovery look very important. “No,” he said. “What prevents that is peer review; your experiments are always repeated by others, and so if you fudge the results, you will be found out.” And then he thought again. “Now I remember, some years back, a famous lab in Korea, I think it was, falsified data. It was shocking to the entire scientific world because the guy was already famous, already highly respected and admired. But he wanted more fame and more admiration, and the result was a big fall. His reputation was ruined. There it is: the great one grasping at more greatness
Finally, let’s consider the wilderness, the place of Jesus’ temptation. The wilderness is both a place of danger, where physical and mental strength may be challenged but it also the place where great things happen. God did not appear to Moses in Midian, where he lived with his wife and father in law and tended sheep. No, God came to Moses in the wilderness, appearing to him in a burning bush that was not consumed. And the wilderness is where the Israelites wandered for forty years as their identity as God’s people was being formed. When they finally walked beyond the wilderness into the promised land, they were not finished people, but they did have a better sense of who they were and who God was calling them to become.
And the same was true for Jesus. This meeting with Satan in the wilderness was part of his identity formation, an important and essential part to be sure. He met Satan and he prevailed, and after that testing, he knew more about himself and his God than he did before he faced the challenge. And he would continue to learn, even as he would continue to be tested.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
February 26, 2023
Genesis 2: 15-17; 3: 1-7
Matthew 4: 1-11
The first Sunday of Lent always tells the story of Jesus’ temptations from one of the three synoptic gospels: Matthew, Mark or Luke. John’s gospel has no temptation scene, because Jesus from the gospel’s beginning is already the resurrected Christ. Mark’s gospel does not give us many details about the nature of the temptations, while Matthew and Luke tell us by what Jesus was tempted.
The lectionary pairs Matthew with Adam and Eve’s temptation from the book of Genesis, where the primal pair live in a lush garden of plenty. They can have anything they want, except they are commanded to avoid the tree of knowledge of good and evil. If they eat of it, they are told they will die. And this is how the serpent tempts them, telling Eve that she will not die, but she will be like God, that is, knowing good and evil. And so, they eat, and once they do, they see themselves for who they are. They now recognize themselves as naked, both figuratively and literally.
Now this story is not literally true, but it is existentially true, that is, it reveals something profoundly true about our human condition. And it also leaves us with a major question to ponder: What would we be without knowledge of good and evil? Our Jewish brothers and sisters believe that the struggle to choose good over evil is exactly what God intends for us to do. Without that struggle and the choice for good over evil, we remain infants, spiritually unformed and perpetually undeveloped.
So, when we turn to the story of Jesus, immediately after his baptism, he is faced with temptation. Ponder this: It is the Spirit who led Jesus to the place of temptation. It is not Satan, who leads him, but the Spirit. Now the translation I use, The New Revised Standard Version, reads “led up,” but some translations use the word drive or driven. The Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness. That sounds like an aggressive act, something that Jesus could not readily avoid. When you are driven, it is as if you are pushed and pulled by forces you cannot so easily stop or control. So, there is this sense that Jesus cannot avoid what he must face in the wilderness. But he did not go there because he decided to do so on his own. No, he was led or driven there, where for 40 days and nights he would face Satan.
So, what do we make of the Spirit, who drives Jesus to the place of temptation? Are we not rightfully suspicious of people who lead their friends or others to places of temptation? If someone has a problem with drugs or alcohol, how supportive is it to take him to the party, where he knows there will be temptation? Is such a person truly a friend? Each week, we pray the Lord’s Prayer with these words: Lead us not into temptation. But here we have the Spirit doing precisely that. Why?
The great Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, once noted that Christians make a grave mistake when they think of Jesus as the most admirable person. Well, Luther said, go ahead and admire him, but you should also pity him, because he was the most tempted of all human beings, tempted not only in his humanity, but also in his divinity, tempted to grasp at his God-identity in such a way that his humanity would be overcome by his divinity. And that was a terrible struggle, a struggle none of us would ever want to face. Satan said to him, “If you are the Son of God,” then turn these stones into bread, throw yourself down and let the angels catch you and take all the kingdoms of the world. Satan already knows who Jesus is. He realizes he is the Son of God, and what he is trying to do is get Jesus to use the power Satan knows he has. And power is exactly what temptation is all about.
We often make the assumption that temptation is a sign of weakness. But the opposite is often true. We are often tempted by our strength, by what we are able to do. The stronger one is, the greater the temptation, which is exactly why Luther thought Jesus was worthy of pity. His strength made him vulnerable to temptation in a way that simply is impossible for those without his spiritual identity and strength. As someone once said, “You do not have a sea storm in a puddle.”
Consider how Satan makes his appearance. How does he present the temptation? It isn’t that an actual demonic figure appears and says, “Here I am to tempt you.” Temptation is deceptive, promising what it cannot truly deliver. It can appear in the guise of a friend, a comrade, who is there to help you. Later in the gospel, when Jesus tells his disciples that he must suffer and die, Peter completely rejects the idea. “This must never happen to you,” he insists. And how does Jesus respond? “Get behind me, Satan.” Now certainly Peter thought of himself as a good friend to Jesus and the mere idea that Jesus would suffer and die was a horror to him. But for Jesus the resistance to the hard truth of suffering and death was seen as an alliance with Satan. Think back to the Garden of Eden, where we saw the serpent tempt Adam and Eve. Did he say, “Do you wish to become like me, the serpent?” No, he tempted them with the promise to be like God. IF you eat the fruit, you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”
We should understand that the most dangerous temptations are never invitations to debauchery, but rather invitations to great heights. Debauchery is obvious, lacking in subtlety; we know what it looks like and where it leads. It is a fall, and it does ruin lives. But debauchery is not as spiritually dangerous as the fall that comes from grasping at greatness. Consider the myth of Satan’s fall. He was not tempted by debauchery, but by godliness. He wanted to be like God. He was the best and brightest of the angels---the star Lucifer was his name, but he wanted more. He wanted to be more than an angel; he wanted to be like God, and so he fell---fell, according to the genius of Dante’s Divine Comedy, into a block of ice, upside down, unable to move, unable to change and grow. And if there is a better description of hell, I do not know it.
I asked my husband, who has spent most of his adult life as a scientist, doing research and publishing papers in scientific journals if he could think of anyone who had fudged data to make the discovery look very important. “No,” he said. “What prevents that is peer review; your experiments are always repeated by others, and so if you fudge the results, you will be found out.” And then he thought again. “Now I remember, some years back, a famous lab in Korea, I think it was, falsified data. It was shocking to the entire scientific world because the guy was already famous, already highly respected and admired. But he wanted more fame and more admiration, and the result was a big fall. His reputation was ruined. There it is: the great one grasping at more greatness
Finally, let’s consider the wilderness, the place of Jesus’ temptation. The wilderness is both a place of danger, where physical and mental strength may be challenged but it also the place where great things happen. God did not appear to Moses in Midian, where he lived with his wife and father in law and tended sheep. No, God came to Moses in the wilderness, appearing to him in a burning bush that was not consumed. And the wilderness is where the Israelites wandered for forty years as their identity as God’s people was being formed. When they finally walked beyond the wilderness into the promised land, they were not finished people, but they did have a better sense of who they were and who God was calling them to become.
And the same was true for Jesus. This meeting with Satan in the wilderness was part of his identity formation, an important and essential part to be sure. He met Satan and he prevailed, and after that testing, he knew more about himself and his God than he did before he faced the challenge. And he would continue to learn, even as he would continue to be tested.
February 14, 2023
Dear Friends,
The newborn pulled from the rubble of a home, flattened by the earthquake, was Syrian from a rebel held town that was the site of some of the deadliest fighting in the Syrian civil war. Noting that the infant is Syrian reminds us of the fact that Syria has been radically short of earthquake assistance from other nations. Violence in the region is still ongoing, and infrastructure is severely damaged from the war. Roads are poor, and in some cases impassable. There are also sanctions against Syria, though some of them have been lifted to facilitate aid. But sadly, and tragically, very little help has been able to bypass some of the difficulties, which include the Syrian government.
Yet in the midst of so much impossibility, an infant survived against all odds. Her mother, father and four siblings were all killed, and when the newborn was found, she was still attached to her mother by the umbilical cord. How long the mother was alive before dying is unknown, but the dead do not deliver babies, so we can assume that she was at least alive when her baby made her entrance into the world. Giving life to her infant daughter was her last act on this earth.
The infant was immediately taken to a hospital, where she was named Aya, which means in Arabic, “a sign of God’s existence.” Numerous pictures of Aya have been taken, as if this were a normal birth in a normal maternity ward. We can see little Aya sleeping and screaming and just staring ahead with her huge, dark eyes. She does look like a thoroughly normal baby, despite the bruising along her spine and skull. The latest word is that she is doing very well and is being nursed by the hospital head’s wife, who has herself recently given birth. There is a great uncle, who claims he wants to raise Aya, but he is now homeless and penniless, so how he would care for the infant is not easy to imagine. But apparently hundreds of people have offered to adopt Aya, for in many of their minds, she is indeed “a sign of God’s existence.”
I don’t know what happened to the rest of her family, which is to say, I don’t know what killed them. Perhaps they were crushed to death. But little Aya managed to survive for 6 days among the piles of rubble that once comprised her family’s home. Newborns, of course, don’t usually eat much the first days of their lives, so that undoubtedly helped her survive.
When bad things happen, there are always the inevitable questions about God’s existence and activity. If Aya is a sign of God’s existence, what do we have to say about all the rest of the destruction, resulting from the earthquake, including the death of Aya’s family? Is God responsible for that as well? We know that earthquakes are caused by moving plates in the earth’s crust. That is the scientific explanation, and that should be enough to let God off the hook. We also know that in Turkey, at least, there was a great deal of bribing that allowed contractors and builders to erect substandard buildings, not up to code. So, God cannot be blamed for that either. That is the old, old story of human greed.
My oldest daughter made a comment to me that she is annoyed when religious people let God off the hook, when bad things happen, but as soon as there is something good, like the survival of little Aya, people rush to give God credit. Perhaps Aya was just plain lucky, she insisted, lucky that her mother was able to give birth before dying, lucky that nothing fell on Aya to crush her, and lucky that she could survive for so many days without nutrition---though the latter is not completely unheard of for newborns. But Aya also had to be found, dug out of the rubble, and because Syria is not getting much help from the rest of the world, it was the local people, who rescued her. It seems to me that a great many things had to come together to allow Aya to be found alive. But sometimes that is how life is: against all odds, things work out.
Faith is really like a lens that we wear, and it does make the world appear different. If there is no faith in God, one can certainly look at Aya’s rescue as nothing more than luck. But, as I said to my daughter, more than luck was involved, because human beings expended much time and energy trying to save lives. And that is not luck; that is commitment, and commitment can come from faith---the faith that God is working with us to render aid where it is needed. Of course, people who do not believe in God also can and do make commitments to help. Atheists risk their lives to save others too, and they do it from a strong ethical commitment to add to the world’s hope and goodness, rather than its despair and evil.
Aya’s survival does not PROVE God’s existence, but for those with faith it can be a sign of God’s participation in human life and history. God does not prevent bad things from happening to either good or bad people. The creation is separate from God, and it operates with its own natural laws. Yet through the eyes of faith one can see glimpses or hints of God---such as Aya’s survival---but if one does not believe, Aya’s survival proves nothing about God.
The world is indeed a very big place, filled with human beings, who look at life from many different angles, allowing them to see many different things. And we do not simply look. We interpret; we bring assumptions to our seeing, which impacts what we see and are able to see. For those of us with faith, we see Aya’s life as a sign of God’s care, God’s capacity to work something good in the midst of great pain and sorrow. I would not try to talk anyone into seeing it my way. Each person must work out his or her own beliefs and be ready and willing to rework them as life presents itself. And we can be confident that life will always present us with new material with which to work.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
The newborn pulled from the rubble of a home, flattened by the earthquake, was Syrian from a rebel held town that was the site of some of the deadliest fighting in the Syrian civil war. Noting that the infant is Syrian reminds us of the fact that Syria has been radically short of earthquake assistance from other nations. Violence in the region is still ongoing, and infrastructure is severely damaged from the war. Roads are poor, and in some cases impassable. There are also sanctions against Syria, though some of them have been lifted to facilitate aid. But sadly, and tragically, very little help has been able to bypass some of the difficulties, which include the Syrian government.
Yet in the midst of so much impossibility, an infant survived against all odds. Her mother, father and four siblings were all killed, and when the newborn was found, she was still attached to her mother by the umbilical cord. How long the mother was alive before dying is unknown, but the dead do not deliver babies, so we can assume that she was at least alive when her baby made her entrance into the world. Giving life to her infant daughter was her last act on this earth.
The infant was immediately taken to a hospital, where she was named Aya, which means in Arabic, “a sign of God’s existence.” Numerous pictures of Aya have been taken, as if this were a normal birth in a normal maternity ward. We can see little Aya sleeping and screaming and just staring ahead with her huge, dark eyes. She does look like a thoroughly normal baby, despite the bruising along her spine and skull. The latest word is that she is doing very well and is being nursed by the hospital head’s wife, who has herself recently given birth. There is a great uncle, who claims he wants to raise Aya, but he is now homeless and penniless, so how he would care for the infant is not easy to imagine. But apparently hundreds of people have offered to adopt Aya, for in many of their minds, she is indeed “a sign of God’s existence.”
I don’t know what happened to the rest of her family, which is to say, I don’t know what killed them. Perhaps they were crushed to death. But little Aya managed to survive for 6 days among the piles of rubble that once comprised her family’s home. Newborns, of course, don’t usually eat much the first days of their lives, so that undoubtedly helped her survive.
When bad things happen, there are always the inevitable questions about God’s existence and activity. If Aya is a sign of God’s existence, what do we have to say about all the rest of the destruction, resulting from the earthquake, including the death of Aya’s family? Is God responsible for that as well? We know that earthquakes are caused by moving plates in the earth’s crust. That is the scientific explanation, and that should be enough to let God off the hook. We also know that in Turkey, at least, there was a great deal of bribing that allowed contractors and builders to erect substandard buildings, not up to code. So, God cannot be blamed for that either. That is the old, old story of human greed.
My oldest daughter made a comment to me that she is annoyed when religious people let God off the hook, when bad things happen, but as soon as there is something good, like the survival of little Aya, people rush to give God credit. Perhaps Aya was just plain lucky, she insisted, lucky that her mother was able to give birth before dying, lucky that nothing fell on Aya to crush her, and lucky that she could survive for so many days without nutrition---though the latter is not completely unheard of for newborns. But Aya also had to be found, dug out of the rubble, and because Syria is not getting much help from the rest of the world, it was the local people, who rescued her. It seems to me that a great many things had to come together to allow Aya to be found alive. But sometimes that is how life is: against all odds, things work out.
Faith is really like a lens that we wear, and it does make the world appear different. If there is no faith in God, one can certainly look at Aya’s rescue as nothing more than luck. But, as I said to my daughter, more than luck was involved, because human beings expended much time and energy trying to save lives. And that is not luck; that is commitment, and commitment can come from faith---the faith that God is working with us to render aid where it is needed. Of course, people who do not believe in God also can and do make commitments to help. Atheists risk their lives to save others too, and they do it from a strong ethical commitment to add to the world’s hope and goodness, rather than its despair and evil.
Aya’s survival does not PROVE God’s existence, but for those with faith it can be a sign of God’s participation in human life and history. God does not prevent bad things from happening to either good or bad people. The creation is separate from God, and it operates with its own natural laws. Yet through the eyes of faith one can see glimpses or hints of God---such as Aya’s survival---but if one does not believe, Aya’s survival proves nothing about God.
The world is indeed a very big place, filled with human beings, who look at life from many different angles, allowing them to see many different things. And we do not simply look. We interpret; we bring assumptions to our seeing, which impacts what we see and are able to see. For those of us with faith, we see Aya’s life as a sign of God’s care, God’s capacity to work something good in the midst of great pain and sorrow. I would not try to talk anyone into seeing it my way. Each person must work out his or her own beliefs and be ready and willing to rework them as life presents itself. And we can be confident that life will always present us with new material with which to work.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Life: The Game and the Choice
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
February 12, 2023
Deuteronomy 30: 15-20
Matthew 5: 21-37
Most of you know what happened in the year 1860: Abraham Lincoln was elected President of the United States. But I bet none of you knows that in the same year a 23 year old man named Milton Bradley invented the Game of Life. On a red and ivory checkerboard of 64 squares, players began on the infancy square, and the one who arrived first at the happy old age square was the winner. The game was based on choices---whether or not they would continue their education, go to work, or get married. You could be doing quite well, moving along toward a happy old age, and then suddenly lose it all---by making a bad choice: gambling, drinking, stealing. If you end up in prison, you almost always lose the game, also, if you go into politics.
One hundred years later, 1960, the same year John F. Kennedy was elected President, the Milton Bradley Company issued a new game of Life. The original game, which was about virtue, vice and the pursuit of happiness was reinvented as a game about consumerism. The players got fake money as well as fake insurance and fake stock certificates. In this version the finish is not about happy old age. It is all about money; the most important squares are marked, “pay day,” and whoever has the most money at the end of the game wins.
Though different editions have been issued, the game did not change much until 2008, when a new version, The Game of Life: Twists and Turns, came on the market. In this version there is no real finish or goal, no better or worse choices. The words on the box say, “A thousand ways to live your life. You choose.” Money still plays an important role, but there is no cash, only a credit card to keep track of points. Different choices do bring different points, but the points don’t seem to be based on what we would call value or virtue, because you can get the same number of points for scuba diving as for donating a kidney or earning a PhD. And in the new game there is no square marked finish because there is no finish. There is a time limit, and when time runs out, you add up the points to determine who wins the game of life.
Now certainly Moses had a very different take on the Game of Life. As told in the book of Deuteronomy, Moses is about to die, and he knows it. He has been leading the Israelites for 40 years on their journey toward the Promised Land, and it has been anything but easy. He has had to deal with the people’s regret that they ever left behind the fleshpots of Egypt. He had to cope with their whining and complaining. He went up the mountain to receive from God The 10 Commandments and what happened when he was gone? The people built a golden calf to worship and forgot all about the God, who brought them out of Egypt. No wonder he became enraged and threw the Tablets on the ground, and for that anger, he is being prevented from crossing into the Promised Land. He could have been bitter, but according to the story, Moses gathered the people on the Plain of Moab to give them a final talk, and he told them that life isn’t about accruing money, or earning a comfortable retirement. It isn’t even about family; it is finally about God. Obedience to God, faithfulness to the covenant, he insisted, is a matter of life and death. Choice life, he said, that you and your descendants may live.
Now you should understand that most biblical scholars believe that the writing of Deuteronomy occurred after the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonian Empire in 587 BC, about 550 years after Moses lived. So this story of Moses is not an eyewitness account; it is an interpretation of the meaning of the past. These Jewish historians said that God wanted the people to choose life, but the problem was that the people did not always do so, sometimes choosing lesser values and virtues.
Choose life: Isn’t that also what Jesus wanted his followers to do? But the bar---at least as Matthew tells the story--- is suddenly raised higher. It is the new law, the higher righteousness, which Jesus brings, insisting that not only should adultery and murder be avoided, but also lustful thoughts and anger. Suddenly we are judged not only for our actions, but also for our thoughts and feelings. We don’t get credit for restraining our anger and rage; we are not supposed to have anger at all. And to top it off, if our eyes or hands cause us sin, pluck it out or cut it off! Of course, these words are extreme, and not meant to be taken literally, but such harsh language does push us to consider what meaning the text can have for us today.
It is true: we are not simply our actions. Thoughts and feelings matter. If we find ourselves filled with anger and resentment---not just now and then; after all, we do have examples in scripture of Jesus being angry, but if anger becomes our mode of being; if people describe us as an angry person, or jealous, or bitter---that says something significant about our character and the kind of person we are. Choosing life in the sense that Moses and Jesus intended means not that we never experience some of these feelings like anger or lust or bitterness, but it does mean we do not remain stuck in them; we move on and choose life.
When I worked at Nassau County Medical Center as a chaplain over 30 years ago, one of my assignments was the burn unit. There was this one case, a 21 year old student at Hofstra University named Danny. He had been out with his friends one Saturday night, drinking, and he came home in the early morning hours. Well, the apartment he shared with his roommates caught fire, and because his roommates knew he had been out, they went to his room to check if he had returned. He wasn’t there, so they assumed he had not yet come home. But Danny was there---in the bathroom, throwing up his guts, because he had drunk himself sick. He passed out, oblivious to the fire, and when the firemen found him, he was lying under a collapsed ceiling, literally being cooked to death.
Burned over 80% of his body---third and even fourth degree burns, meaning his nerve cells were damaged, Danny was not expected to live---but against all odds he did---although he lost both hands above his wrists and both legs above his knees. I never saw what he looked like, because he was completely covered with bandages. In a few months Danny began to talk, and in about four months, he was speaking quite well. He and I talked quite a bit; he would tell me all about his basketball playing at Hofstra. “I have never been much of a student,” he admitted. “I have always been about physical activity.”
One day maybe around 8 months after the accident, I came into the day room, and there was Danny, all bandaged up, sitting in his wheel chair, and holding between his handless arms a basketball. “Hey,” he said to me, “look what my doc did. He put up the basketball hoop for me. He wanted to put it lower, but I said, no way, I want it regulation height. I’m not too good at it yet, but I will keep practicing my shots until I get it.” And he did improve, day after day after day until weeks turned into months. “Danny, you are amazing,” I said to him one afternoon. “If I were you, I would not want to live under these circumstances, and yet I have never heard you complain, never once heard a word of anger or even regret out of your mouth.”
Danny put down his basketball, and his eyes, which were the only part of his body not covered, looked straight at me. “Well”, he said, “the way I figure it is this. I don’t believe in God; I don’t believe there is any life beyond this one, and I will be damned if I give up on the only life I am ever going to have. I thought being a good basketball player at Hofstra was my greatest physical challenge, but I was wrong. This is, and I don’t plan to fail.”
Choose life. Danny did, and he chose it without any ambivalence or ambiguity at all. He was 21 at the time, and I cannot help but wonder how that choice looks today----if he is still alive. Choose life; choose God and goodness. And so, we try, even as we realize from tough experiences that we cannot always see clearly. We peer through a mist of grayness---or as the Apostle Paul would put it--- we see through a glass darkly---and yet, even without clarity, we still play the game of life, still we must choose. Choose life, said Moses, that you and your descendants may live. Choose life, said Jesus, that you might have it fully and abundantly.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
February 12, 2023
Deuteronomy 30: 15-20
Matthew 5: 21-37
Most of you know what happened in the year 1860: Abraham Lincoln was elected President of the United States. But I bet none of you knows that in the same year a 23 year old man named Milton Bradley invented the Game of Life. On a red and ivory checkerboard of 64 squares, players began on the infancy square, and the one who arrived first at the happy old age square was the winner. The game was based on choices---whether or not they would continue their education, go to work, or get married. You could be doing quite well, moving along toward a happy old age, and then suddenly lose it all---by making a bad choice: gambling, drinking, stealing. If you end up in prison, you almost always lose the game, also, if you go into politics.
One hundred years later, 1960, the same year John F. Kennedy was elected President, the Milton Bradley Company issued a new game of Life. The original game, which was about virtue, vice and the pursuit of happiness was reinvented as a game about consumerism. The players got fake money as well as fake insurance and fake stock certificates. In this version the finish is not about happy old age. It is all about money; the most important squares are marked, “pay day,” and whoever has the most money at the end of the game wins.
Though different editions have been issued, the game did not change much until 2008, when a new version, The Game of Life: Twists and Turns, came on the market. In this version there is no real finish or goal, no better or worse choices. The words on the box say, “A thousand ways to live your life. You choose.” Money still plays an important role, but there is no cash, only a credit card to keep track of points. Different choices do bring different points, but the points don’t seem to be based on what we would call value or virtue, because you can get the same number of points for scuba diving as for donating a kidney or earning a PhD. And in the new game there is no square marked finish because there is no finish. There is a time limit, and when time runs out, you add up the points to determine who wins the game of life.
Now certainly Moses had a very different take on the Game of Life. As told in the book of Deuteronomy, Moses is about to die, and he knows it. He has been leading the Israelites for 40 years on their journey toward the Promised Land, and it has been anything but easy. He has had to deal with the people’s regret that they ever left behind the fleshpots of Egypt. He had to cope with their whining and complaining. He went up the mountain to receive from God The 10 Commandments and what happened when he was gone? The people built a golden calf to worship and forgot all about the God, who brought them out of Egypt. No wonder he became enraged and threw the Tablets on the ground, and for that anger, he is being prevented from crossing into the Promised Land. He could have been bitter, but according to the story, Moses gathered the people on the Plain of Moab to give them a final talk, and he told them that life isn’t about accruing money, or earning a comfortable retirement. It isn’t even about family; it is finally about God. Obedience to God, faithfulness to the covenant, he insisted, is a matter of life and death. Choice life, he said, that you and your descendants may live.
Now you should understand that most biblical scholars believe that the writing of Deuteronomy occurred after the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonian Empire in 587 BC, about 550 years after Moses lived. So this story of Moses is not an eyewitness account; it is an interpretation of the meaning of the past. These Jewish historians said that God wanted the people to choose life, but the problem was that the people did not always do so, sometimes choosing lesser values and virtues.
Choose life: Isn’t that also what Jesus wanted his followers to do? But the bar---at least as Matthew tells the story--- is suddenly raised higher. It is the new law, the higher righteousness, which Jesus brings, insisting that not only should adultery and murder be avoided, but also lustful thoughts and anger. Suddenly we are judged not only for our actions, but also for our thoughts and feelings. We don’t get credit for restraining our anger and rage; we are not supposed to have anger at all. And to top it off, if our eyes or hands cause us sin, pluck it out or cut it off! Of course, these words are extreme, and not meant to be taken literally, but such harsh language does push us to consider what meaning the text can have for us today.
It is true: we are not simply our actions. Thoughts and feelings matter. If we find ourselves filled with anger and resentment---not just now and then; after all, we do have examples in scripture of Jesus being angry, but if anger becomes our mode of being; if people describe us as an angry person, or jealous, or bitter---that says something significant about our character and the kind of person we are. Choosing life in the sense that Moses and Jesus intended means not that we never experience some of these feelings like anger or lust or bitterness, but it does mean we do not remain stuck in them; we move on and choose life.
When I worked at Nassau County Medical Center as a chaplain over 30 years ago, one of my assignments was the burn unit. There was this one case, a 21 year old student at Hofstra University named Danny. He had been out with his friends one Saturday night, drinking, and he came home in the early morning hours. Well, the apartment he shared with his roommates caught fire, and because his roommates knew he had been out, they went to his room to check if he had returned. He wasn’t there, so they assumed he had not yet come home. But Danny was there---in the bathroom, throwing up his guts, because he had drunk himself sick. He passed out, oblivious to the fire, and when the firemen found him, he was lying under a collapsed ceiling, literally being cooked to death.
Burned over 80% of his body---third and even fourth degree burns, meaning his nerve cells were damaged, Danny was not expected to live---but against all odds he did---although he lost both hands above his wrists and both legs above his knees. I never saw what he looked like, because he was completely covered with bandages. In a few months Danny began to talk, and in about four months, he was speaking quite well. He and I talked quite a bit; he would tell me all about his basketball playing at Hofstra. “I have never been much of a student,” he admitted. “I have always been about physical activity.”
One day maybe around 8 months after the accident, I came into the day room, and there was Danny, all bandaged up, sitting in his wheel chair, and holding between his handless arms a basketball. “Hey,” he said to me, “look what my doc did. He put up the basketball hoop for me. He wanted to put it lower, but I said, no way, I want it regulation height. I’m not too good at it yet, but I will keep practicing my shots until I get it.” And he did improve, day after day after day until weeks turned into months. “Danny, you are amazing,” I said to him one afternoon. “If I were you, I would not want to live under these circumstances, and yet I have never heard you complain, never once heard a word of anger or even regret out of your mouth.”
Danny put down his basketball, and his eyes, which were the only part of his body not covered, looked straight at me. “Well”, he said, “the way I figure it is this. I don’t believe in God; I don’t believe there is any life beyond this one, and I will be damned if I give up on the only life I am ever going to have. I thought being a good basketball player at Hofstra was my greatest physical challenge, but I was wrong. This is, and I don’t plan to fail.”
Choose life. Danny did, and he chose it without any ambivalence or ambiguity at all. He was 21 at the time, and I cannot help but wonder how that choice looks today----if he is still alive. Choose life; choose God and goodness. And so, we try, even as we realize from tough experiences that we cannot always see clearly. We peer through a mist of grayness---or as the Apostle Paul would put it--- we see through a glass darkly---and yet, even without clarity, we still play the game of life, still we must choose. Choose life, said Moses, that you and your descendants may live. Choose life, said Jesus, that you might have it fully and abundantly.
February 7, 2023
Dear Friends,
Next Tuesday, February 14, is Valentine’s Day, and most of you, I would guess, know very little about its history. Though advertising and stores push the purchase of cards, candy and other romantic items, no one bothers to explain what the genesis of the day is. And most people are too busy and preoccupied to care.
Valentine’s day really begins with a legend about a man named Valentine, born in 176 and died on February 14, 273. He was a priest or perhaps even a bishop, who found himself in big trouble because he was performing Christian marriages for Roman soldiers at a time when such a practice was forbidden. And so, he was imprisoned and given a death sentence. While awaiting execution, he made friends with his jailer’s young daughter, and the story (or legend) goes that he healed her of her blindness and deafness, which led to the jailer’s household converting to Christianity! Right before his execution he wrote a letter of farewell to the child and signed it, Your Valentine.
It’s a good story, but how do we move from there to candy hearts and romantic cards? It seems to be a disconnect. Well, it is, but there is another story that comes from one of the English language’s great poet, Geoffrey Chaucer, who lived in England during the 14th century. In 1382 Chaucer wrote a romantic poem about the gathering of birds, called A Parlement of Foules, when fowls came to choose and claim their mates. The occasion for the writing of the poem was to honor the first anniversary of the engagement of King Richard ll of England to Anne of Bohemia. Chaucer wrote, “For tis was on seynt Volantynys Day/When every fowl comyeth there to chese his make.” (For this was on Saint Valentine’s Day, When every fowl comes there his mate to take.)
Chaucer was a major poet, whose influence should not be underestimated. During the Middle Ages, the age of courtly love, knights would often write romantic poems and ballads to their lady loves, often forbidden love, since the women were usually married. By the 18th century in England Valentine’s Day had assumed the character we know today: the sending of flowers, cards and candy. By the 1790’s printers had already begun to make a limited number of cards with verses printed on them, known as mechanical cards, but with the coming of the Industrial Revolution in the 19th century, the holiday really exploded. In the year 1835 over 60,000 Valentine cards were sent out, and when the postage stamp was invented in 1840 the number of cards jumped to over 400,000!
Valentine’s Day did not remain an English tradition, eventually spreading to the United States and other nations. The estimation is that 190 million Valentine’s cards are sent through the mail in the United States alone and hundreds of millions of cards are exchanged by students in school. At least that’s what happened in school when I was growing up and my own children also brought valentines to school as well. The rule was pretty strict: no one was to left out, so the teacher would send home the names of all the kids in the classroom to prevent hurt feelings---a very good idea.
Love is a major theme in the bible, but it is not romantic love which is celebrated by Jesus or the Apostle Paul. When Paul wrote of love in his great Letter to the Christian Church in the Greek city of Corinth, he says, “So faith, hope and love abide, these three, but the greatest of these is love.” He is not referring here to eros, the Greek word for romantic love. He is speaking of agape, the love Christians are commanded to have for all people, even the enemy. It is a love that desires for people a full and abundant life that knows what truly matters, what truly makes for a fulfilled life by desiring the ”right things.”
Though Paul’s Letter in Corinthians is often read at weddings, which I think is a misuse of the text’s meaning, there is a great text on love in the Old Testament: The Song of Songs. The Christian Church tried to teach that this love poem is about the love between Jesus and the Church, but Old Testament scholars (like Harrell Beck, who taught me Old Testament at Boston University) say, “Don’t believe it. This is about sensual love.” And yes, I think they are right.
Set me as a seal upon your heart,
as a seal upon your arm;
for love is strong as death,
passion fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
a raging flame.
Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can floods drown it.
If one offered for love
all the wealth of one’s house,
it would be utterly scorned.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Next Tuesday, February 14, is Valentine’s Day, and most of you, I would guess, know very little about its history. Though advertising and stores push the purchase of cards, candy and other romantic items, no one bothers to explain what the genesis of the day is. And most people are too busy and preoccupied to care.
Valentine’s day really begins with a legend about a man named Valentine, born in 176 and died on February 14, 273. He was a priest or perhaps even a bishop, who found himself in big trouble because he was performing Christian marriages for Roman soldiers at a time when such a practice was forbidden. And so, he was imprisoned and given a death sentence. While awaiting execution, he made friends with his jailer’s young daughter, and the story (or legend) goes that he healed her of her blindness and deafness, which led to the jailer’s household converting to Christianity! Right before his execution he wrote a letter of farewell to the child and signed it, Your Valentine.
It’s a good story, but how do we move from there to candy hearts and romantic cards? It seems to be a disconnect. Well, it is, but there is another story that comes from one of the English language’s great poet, Geoffrey Chaucer, who lived in England during the 14th century. In 1382 Chaucer wrote a romantic poem about the gathering of birds, called A Parlement of Foules, when fowls came to choose and claim their mates. The occasion for the writing of the poem was to honor the first anniversary of the engagement of King Richard ll of England to Anne of Bohemia. Chaucer wrote, “For tis was on seynt Volantynys Day/When every fowl comyeth there to chese his make.” (For this was on Saint Valentine’s Day, When every fowl comes there his mate to take.)
Chaucer was a major poet, whose influence should not be underestimated. During the Middle Ages, the age of courtly love, knights would often write romantic poems and ballads to their lady loves, often forbidden love, since the women were usually married. By the 18th century in England Valentine’s Day had assumed the character we know today: the sending of flowers, cards and candy. By the 1790’s printers had already begun to make a limited number of cards with verses printed on them, known as mechanical cards, but with the coming of the Industrial Revolution in the 19th century, the holiday really exploded. In the year 1835 over 60,000 Valentine cards were sent out, and when the postage stamp was invented in 1840 the number of cards jumped to over 400,000!
Valentine’s Day did not remain an English tradition, eventually spreading to the United States and other nations. The estimation is that 190 million Valentine’s cards are sent through the mail in the United States alone and hundreds of millions of cards are exchanged by students in school. At least that’s what happened in school when I was growing up and my own children also brought valentines to school as well. The rule was pretty strict: no one was to left out, so the teacher would send home the names of all the kids in the classroom to prevent hurt feelings---a very good idea.
Love is a major theme in the bible, but it is not romantic love which is celebrated by Jesus or the Apostle Paul. When Paul wrote of love in his great Letter to the Christian Church in the Greek city of Corinth, he says, “So faith, hope and love abide, these three, but the greatest of these is love.” He is not referring here to eros, the Greek word for romantic love. He is speaking of agape, the love Christians are commanded to have for all people, even the enemy. It is a love that desires for people a full and abundant life that knows what truly matters, what truly makes for a fulfilled life by desiring the ”right things.”
Though Paul’s Letter in Corinthians is often read at weddings, which I think is a misuse of the text’s meaning, there is a great text on love in the Old Testament: The Song of Songs. The Christian Church tried to teach that this love poem is about the love between Jesus and the Church, but Old Testament scholars (like Harrell Beck, who taught me Old Testament at Boston University) say, “Don’t believe it. This is about sensual love.” And yes, I think they are right.
Set me as a seal upon your heart,
as a seal upon your arm;
for love is strong as death,
passion fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
a raging flame.
Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can floods drown it.
If one offered for love
all the wealth of one’s house,
it would be utterly scorned.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
The Call of Righteousness
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
February 5, 2023
Isaiah 58: 1-9a
Matthew 5: 13-20
Our two readings this morning from Isaiah and Matthew are similar to our readings from last Sunday, when Micah reminded the people that God does not want burnt offerings but rather the doing of justice, the loving of kindness and humility before God. And then from Matthew we heard the Beatitudes, a list of blessings upon people whom the world often ignores and even denigrates, like the poor in spirit and the meek. Isaiah has a very similar theme to Micah in that he repeats the idea that God wants justice---open your hearts to the hungry, provide abundantly for those who are afflicted; bring the homeless poor into your house. And then in Matthew Jesus continues his Sermon on the Mount by insisting on the law of higher righteousness.
Jesus began his sermon with blessings, which are simply given, not earned, but now he moves to expectations. You are the salt of the earth, he says, so keep your saltiness. Guard, in other words, what makes you my followers, by conforming to the law of higher righteousness. Let your light shine; let others see what it is you are about by loving your enemies and forgiving as many times as you are wronged. This law of higher righteousness is supposed to be beyond righteousness, which is laid out in Jewish law. Be just in all matters; protect the foreigner, care for the widow and orphan. But Jesus apparently wanted more than conformity to Jewish Law. He wanted something bigger, higher righteousness.
I found myself thinking about this word righteousness, when a week ago Friday, I was reminded that it was Holocaust Remembrance Day. And that brought to mind, my 2006 trip to Israel, a joint Christian-Jewish venture. One of the sites we visited was Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem. Outside the building we walked along The Avenue of the Righteous Gentiles Among the Nations, where the names of non Jews, who risked their lives to save Jews during the Holocaust, are posted next to trees planted in their memory. It was a very, very humbling experience, because you cannot help but ask yourself, What would I have done? Would I have acted to save the lives of Jewish people at the risk of my own? And are such courageous acts merely righteous, or are they of a higher righteousness?
I am now reading a book, The Betrayal of Anne Frank by Rosemary Sullivan. Ever since I was 12 and saw the original movie and then read The Diary I have been fascinated by her story. The book is an effort to discover once and for all how and who it was who betrayed the family and with the recent availability of computers, the expertise of some very talented investigators, including one from the FBI, and finally extensive interviews, the hope is that a definitive conclusion can be reached. I have not yet finished the book, so I cannot tell you if the mystery has been solved, but what fascinates me far more than the betrayer, are the five righteous people, who risked their lives to hide these eight Jews. None of them expressly mentioned Jesus or faith. They were all gentiles, part of Christian nations, Austria, Germany or Holland, all with state churches. But I read nothing that indicated to me that religion or church played any role in their decision. What is clear is that these five people expressed a tremendous loyalty and obligation, particularly to Otto Frank, the father, who had originally owned the business operating in the building where the Secret Annex was. He had tried to figure out a plan to leave Holland, but he was blocked from getting visas to various countries, Cuba, Switzerland, the United States, and then once Germany invaded, getting out became even more difficult. So going into hiding seemed the best plan
Otto needed help, so he asked for it, and Jan Mies, the husband of one of the women, Miep, who was herself central in the hiding, said that the motivation was not heroism. “It came down to being asked,” Jan said. “You were asked to help, and so you said, “Yes.” It never occurred to you to say No.” Miep added, “It was logical and self-evident that we should help. We could do something; we could help these people, who were powerless. That was all there was to it. Of course, sometimes fear invaded our lives, and we would think, “This cannot go on.” But the care for these people and the compassion you felt for what they went through---that finally won out. In other words, righteousness won out, and the names of these five people are on The Avenue of the Righteous Gentiles Among the Nations in the city of Jerusalem.
Most of us will never face something so radically demanding, so we will never know how much righteousness of which we are capable. We face small requests---how much money to give to the church, how many pairs of socks to donate or how many children’s names to take at Christmas time for Covenant to Care, whether to give or not to the person, begging on the street. And then there is the request for time: Will you help at the local food bank or tutoring some kids in reading at an afterschool program? None of these examples is a life shattering event, nothing like what those five people faced in hiding 8 Jews in a Secret Annex in Amsterdam during some of the darkest days in human history. None of these people were trying to be heroic. They were doing what they could do. And perhaps that is how righteousness or even higher righteousness sometimes works. It can start out with small acts, and because no one can ever see the full picture of the help that is offered, sometimes what begins small, makes a major impact.
My husband has a student with a very traumatic background. Her parents are Laotian, thoroughly traumatized by the war in Asia. Laos remains the most bombed nation in the world, and her mother spent her life living in a cave until she came to this country around the age of 20. Neither the mother nor father was capable of parenting their daughter, so she pretty much raised herself, and some of her stories are harrowing. “How did you ever get to Wesleyan?” my husband asked in disbelief. “It was all because of a guidance counselor, who told me I was smart and made me come into her office after school and sat with me while I filled out all these different college applications. I didn’t want to do it, because I thought it was hopeless. I didn’t have a dime to go to college, but a number of times she came to my last class of the day and almost dragged me down to her office. And so here I am, now applying to PhD programs in biology all because of that guidance counselor, who started it all.”
That guidance counselor was doing a job, but she was doing it extremely well---above and beyond we would say. And sometimes that is all it takes to make a big difference. Righteousness means to live in the right way, to care in the right way, which sometimes means seeing possibilities, where others might see only roadblocks and difficulties. There were many roadblocks the Jews of Isaiah’s
day faced after they returned to Jerusalem from their exile in Babylon. And the same was true for the people who came to hear Jesus preach and teach during the very tough days of Roman occupation. And those righteousness gentiles who saved Jews during the Second World War, they lived under harrowing conditions that could have cost them their lives. But somehow all these people heard the call of righteousness and responded. Indeed, these people, who walked in darkness, saw a great light. May the same be true for us.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
February 5, 2023
Isaiah 58: 1-9a
Matthew 5: 13-20
Our two readings this morning from Isaiah and Matthew are similar to our readings from last Sunday, when Micah reminded the people that God does not want burnt offerings but rather the doing of justice, the loving of kindness and humility before God. And then from Matthew we heard the Beatitudes, a list of blessings upon people whom the world often ignores and even denigrates, like the poor in spirit and the meek. Isaiah has a very similar theme to Micah in that he repeats the idea that God wants justice---open your hearts to the hungry, provide abundantly for those who are afflicted; bring the homeless poor into your house. And then in Matthew Jesus continues his Sermon on the Mount by insisting on the law of higher righteousness.
Jesus began his sermon with blessings, which are simply given, not earned, but now he moves to expectations. You are the salt of the earth, he says, so keep your saltiness. Guard, in other words, what makes you my followers, by conforming to the law of higher righteousness. Let your light shine; let others see what it is you are about by loving your enemies and forgiving as many times as you are wronged. This law of higher righteousness is supposed to be beyond righteousness, which is laid out in Jewish law. Be just in all matters; protect the foreigner, care for the widow and orphan. But Jesus apparently wanted more than conformity to Jewish Law. He wanted something bigger, higher righteousness.
I found myself thinking about this word righteousness, when a week ago Friday, I was reminded that it was Holocaust Remembrance Day. And that brought to mind, my 2006 trip to Israel, a joint Christian-Jewish venture. One of the sites we visited was Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem. Outside the building we walked along The Avenue of the Righteous Gentiles Among the Nations, where the names of non Jews, who risked their lives to save Jews during the Holocaust, are posted next to trees planted in their memory. It was a very, very humbling experience, because you cannot help but ask yourself, What would I have done? Would I have acted to save the lives of Jewish people at the risk of my own? And are such courageous acts merely righteous, or are they of a higher righteousness?
I am now reading a book, The Betrayal of Anne Frank by Rosemary Sullivan. Ever since I was 12 and saw the original movie and then read The Diary I have been fascinated by her story. The book is an effort to discover once and for all how and who it was who betrayed the family and with the recent availability of computers, the expertise of some very talented investigators, including one from the FBI, and finally extensive interviews, the hope is that a definitive conclusion can be reached. I have not yet finished the book, so I cannot tell you if the mystery has been solved, but what fascinates me far more than the betrayer, are the five righteous people, who risked their lives to hide these eight Jews. None of them expressly mentioned Jesus or faith. They were all gentiles, part of Christian nations, Austria, Germany or Holland, all with state churches. But I read nothing that indicated to me that religion or church played any role in their decision. What is clear is that these five people expressed a tremendous loyalty and obligation, particularly to Otto Frank, the father, who had originally owned the business operating in the building where the Secret Annex was. He had tried to figure out a plan to leave Holland, but he was blocked from getting visas to various countries, Cuba, Switzerland, the United States, and then once Germany invaded, getting out became even more difficult. So going into hiding seemed the best plan
Otto needed help, so he asked for it, and Jan Mies, the husband of one of the women, Miep, who was herself central in the hiding, said that the motivation was not heroism. “It came down to being asked,” Jan said. “You were asked to help, and so you said, “Yes.” It never occurred to you to say No.” Miep added, “It was logical and self-evident that we should help. We could do something; we could help these people, who were powerless. That was all there was to it. Of course, sometimes fear invaded our lives, and we would think, “This cannot go on.” But the care for these people and the compassion you felt for what they went through---that finally won out. In other words, righteousness won out, and the names of these five people are on The Avenue of the Righteous Gentiles Among the Nations in the city of Jerusalem.
Most of us will never face something so radically demanding, so we will never know how much righteousness of which we are capable. We face small requests---how much money to give to the church, how many pairs of socks to donate or how many children’s names to take at Christmas time for Covenant to Care, whether to give or not to the person, begging on the street. And then there is the request for time: Will you help at the local food bank or tutoring some kids in reading at an afterschool program? None of these examples is a life shattering event, nothing like what those five people faced in hiding 8 Jews in a Secret Annex in Amsterdam during some of the darkest days in human history. None of these people were trying to be heroic. They were doing what they could do. And perhaps that is how righteousness or even higher righteousness sometimes works. It can start out with small acts, and because no one can ever see the full picture of the help that is offered, sometimes what begins small, makes a major impact.
My husband has a student with a very traumatic background. Her parents are Laotian, thoroughly traumatized by the war in Asia. Laos remains the most bombed nation in the world, and her mother spent her life living in a cave until she came to this country around the age of 20. Neither the mother nor father was capable of parenting their daughter, so she pretty much raised herself, and some of her stories are harrowing. “How did you ever get to Wesleyan?” my husband asked in disbelief. “It was all because of a guidance counselor, who told me I was smart and made me come into her office after school and sat with me while I filled out all these different college applications. I didn’t want to do it, because I thought it was hopeless. I didn’t have a dime to go to college, but a number of times she came to my last class of the day and almost dragged me down to her office. And so here I am, now applying to PhD programs in biology all because of that guidance counselor, who started it all.”
That guidance counselor was doing a job, but she was doing it extremely well---above and beyond we would say. And sometimes that is all it takes to make a big difference. Righteousness means to live in the right way, to care in the right way, which sometimes means seeing possibilities, where others might see only roadblocks and difficulties. There were many roadblocks the Jews of Isaiah’s
day faced after they returned to Jerusalem from their exile in Babylon. And the same was true for the people who came to hear Jesus preach and teach during the very tough days of Roman occupation. And those righteousness gentiles who saved Jews during the Second World War, they lived under harrowing conditions that could have cost them their lives. But somehow all these people heard the call of righteousness and responded. Indeed, these people, who walked in darkness, saw a great light. May the same be true for us.
Expectations & Blessings
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational, Unionville, CT
January 29, 2023
Micah: 6: 1-8
Matthew 5: 1-12
The lectionary choices for today pair together a reading from the prophet Micah and the Beatitudes or blessings from Matthew’s Gospel. So, we have here expectations and blessings, and I wonder if the people who decide on the lectionary texts---a group of biblical scholars, teachers and clergy--- intend for us to reflect on the relationship between God’s expectations of us and the blessings we receive.
Let’s begin with God’s expectations as we heard them in these verses from the Book of Micah. Micah lived during the reign of King Hezekiah, toward the end of the 8th century B.C., an unsettled time for the people of Judah, the southern kingdom, because the northern kingdom, Israel, had fallen under the control of Assyria. And so, Judah lived in fear of a similar fate. But that fear was not Micah’s primary worry. His concern was social justice. He reminded God’s people of the covenant. God would be their God and they would be God’s people, which meant that God had certain expectations of them, obligations they were to fulfill.
The Old Testament Book of Leviticus is replete with all kinds of rules and regulations about worship and right living, including ethical rules for the treatment of widows, orphans and strangers. It’s very big on ritual--- proper hand washing and food preparation rules, animal sacrifices and monetary offerings. People who had wealth, for example, were expected to sacrifice a highly prized and perfect lamb while the poorer classes might only offer a turtledove. These expectations were laid out in a very exacting manner in Leviticus, and most Christians, including clergy, simply ignore much of that book because it is so far removed from the way we conduct our lives. But it was not far from Micah’s world, and yet the proper observance of ritual was NOT Micah’s concern.
Micah has God pose a question to the people: What is it I have done that you fail to honor me? Tell me why you contend against me? How have I failed you? God expects an answer, but God does not get one. From the people’s side, there is silence. And so, God speaks, listing all that God has accomplished on behalf of the people---liberation from Egypt and victory over other oppressors; the giving of great leaders, including a woman by the name of Miriam, the protection of the people from the east to the west of Jordan---all this God has accomplished yet the people neither remember nor care. And so, God tells them flat out: what God desires above all else is not rigorous conformity to ritual. not the giving of burnt offerings---but rather the doing of justice and kindness and walking humbly with God. Do this and live the full and abundant life God desires for you. This does not mean that God rewards you with blessings, because you have done what you are expected to do. Blessings abound in life (for the unrighteous as well as the righteous) because it is the nature of God to bless. And the living of a righteous life is in and of itself a blessing, even if life might prove to be full of challenges and difficulties as it was in Micah’s time as well as in Jesus’ day.
The section from Matthew we read this morning, known as the Beatitudes, is part of the Sermon on the Mount. But notice that we hear nothing about God’s expectations. Jesus, as the new Moses, has gone up the mountain to teach, and here his teaching is the pronouncement of blessings upon all kinds of people, who are struggling with different challenges---depression, grief, lack of confidence, persecution, working on behalf of peace and mercy in a world that often prefers to give neither. When Moses ascended the mountain, he received the law from God, which are a series of commands: Do not lie, kill or steal; honor your parents, etc. But here up on the mountain, Jesus is not giving commands but is offering blessings. The Greek word, makarios, which is translated here as blessed, has a wide range of meanings that includes fortunate, happy, even privileged. But when Jesus calls the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the persecuted, those hungering for righteousness and working for peace as blessed, we are a bit bewildered, because happy and privileged and fortunate are not the words that immediately come to our minds for such people.
Part of the reason we have difficulty with Jesus calling them blessed is because we tend to think in terms of happiness, and quite frankly, the American definition of happiness is not the same as the ancient world’s understanding. While Thomas Jefferson enshrined the pursuit of happiness in our Declaration of Independence as an endowed right, he certainly understood what the Greek and Roman philosophers meant by happiness, which concerned the pursuit of the good, the just, the true, the beautiful. Perhaps happiness has a long history of being misunderstood, which might explain its absence from the gospels. We never hear Jesus promising people happiness, but rather blessings. And people whose lives are full of hardship and struggle, such as the poor in spirit, the grieving, and the persecuted, may not be happy in our conventional understanding of the word, yet nonetheless they can be blessed and feel blessed.
A few weeks ago, our nation celebrated Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday, when we remembered and celebrated not only his personal journey, but also the journey he pushed our nation to take. I recall very well his assassination in April, 1968, when I was a college freshman at the U. of Chicago, and I could see the flames and smoke to the north and south of the campus. In fact, our campus was full of National Guard tanks, since as the second largest land owner in the city of Chicago, after the Roman Catholic Church, the university, founded by J.D. Rockefeller, was going to be protected.
So yes, I remember all that, but I also remember Dr. King’s speech right before his death, which was played over and over again on both the radio and television. He said in his speech that he was happy; he had no fear of any man, and that although he would like to live a long life, if that was not to be, he was still happy. And I remember thinking: how could he be happy. I mean there were so many problems, so much that was not right with the country. Racism and the Vietnam War were raging. What could he mean by being happy? At 18 I was far too young to know and understand, but now, after all these many decades I think I grasp his meaning. The kind of happiness King was referring to, was the blessedness of a life that tries without (ever fully succeeding) to do what Micah said God desires, to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God. It was the blessedness of which Jesus spoke, when he reminded his hearers that God’s blessings are God’s to give, not rewards for being successful.
King did not think he was successful. So many times, he failed, yet he felt that God was with him; he was surrounded by God’s love, God’s mercy and yes, God’s forgiveness. And that was blessing enough. It did not protect him from the assassin’s bullet, but then Jesus did not promise protection. He promised blessings, and King felt and knew that God gave him abundant blessings. Blessedness is not about protection from worldly harm. After all, Jesus died on a cross. And yet the blessings came, and they continue to come. The question is: Are we willing to receive them, not in the form that we might want--- success and comfort---but in the form that God gives, if we have the eyes and the spirit and the desire to see and accept.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational, Unionville, CT
January 29, 2023
Micah: 6: 1-8
Matthew 5: 1-12
The lectionary choices for today pair together a reading from the prophet Micah and the Beatitudes or blessings from Matthew’s Gospel. So, we have here expectations and blessings, and I wonder if the people who decide on the lectionary texts---a group of biblical scholars, teachers and clergy--- intend for us to reflect on the relationship between God’s expectations of us and the blessings we receive.
Let’s begin with God’s expectations as we heard them in these verses from the Book of Micah. Micah lived during the reign of King Hezekiah, toward the end of the 8th century B.C., an unsettled time for the people of Judah, the southern kingdom, because the northern kingdom, Israel, had fallen under the control of Assyria. And so, Judah lived in fear of a similar fate. But that fear was not Micah’s primary worry. His concern was social justice. He reminded God’s people of the covenant. God would be their God and they would be God’s people, which meant that God had certain expectations of them, obligations they were to fulfill.
The Old Testament Book of Leviticus is replete with all kinds of rules and regulations about worship and right living, including ethical rules for the treatment of widows, orphans and strangers. It’s very big on ritual--- proper hand washing and food preparation rules, animal sacrifices and monetary offerings. People who had wealth, for example, were expected to sacrifice a highly prized and perfect lamb while the poorer classes might only offer a turtledove. These expectations were laid out in a very exacting manner in Leviticus, and most Christians, including clergy, simply ignore much of that book because it is so far removed from the way we conduct our lives. But it was not far from Micah’s world, and yet the proper observance of ritual was NOT Micah’s concern.
Micah has God pose a question to the people: What is it I have done that you fail to honor me? Tell me why you contend against me? How have I failed you? God expects an answer, but God does not get one. From the people’s side, there is silence. And so, God speaks, listing all that God has accomplished on behalf of the people---liberation from Egypt and victory over other oppressors; the giving of great leaders, including a woman by the name of Miriam, the protection of the people from the east to the west of Jordan---all this God has accomplished yet the people neither remember nor care. And so, God tells them flat out: what God desires above all else is not rigorous conformity to ritual. not the giving of burnt offerings---but rather the doing of justice and kindness and walking humbly with God. Do this and live the full and abundant life God desires for you. This does not mean that God rewards you with blessings, because you have done what you are expected to do. Blessings abound in life (for the unrighteous as well as the righteous) because it is the nature of God to bless. And the living of a righteous life is in and of itself a blessing, even if life might prove to be full of challenges and difficulties as it was in Micah’s time as well as in Jesus’ day.
The section from Matthew we read this morning, known as the Beatitudes, is part of the Sermon on the Mount. But notice that we hear nothing about God’s expectations. Jesus, as the new Moses, has gone up the mountain to teach, and here his teaching is the pronouncement of blessings upon all kinds of people, who are struggling with different challenges---depression, grief, lack of confidence, persecution, working on behalf of peace and mercy in a world that often prefers to give neither. When Moses ascended the mountain, he received the law from God, which are a series of commands: Do not lie, kill or steal; honor your parents, etc. But here up on the mountain, Jesus is not giving commands but is offering blessings. The Greek word, makarios, which is translated here as blessed, has a wide range of meanings that includes fortunate, happy, even privileged. But when Jesus calls the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the persecuted, those hungering for righteousness and working for peace as blessed, we are a bit bewildered, because happy and privileged and fortunate are not the words that immediately come to our minds for such people.
Part of the reason we have difficulty with Jesus calling them blessed is because we tend to think in terms of happiness, and quite frankly, the American definition of happiness is not the same as the ancient world’s understanding. While Thomas Jefferson enshrined the pursuit of happiness in our Declaration of Independence as an endowed right, he certainly understood what the Greek and Roman philosophers meant by happiness, which concerned the pursuit of the good, the just, the true, the beautiful. Perhaps happiness has a long history of being misunderstood, which might explain its absence from the gospels. We never hear Jesus promising people happiness, but rather blessings. And people whose lives are full of hardship and struggle, such as the poor in spirit, the grieving, and the persecuted, may not be happy in our conventional understanding of the word, yet nonetheless they can be blessed and feel blessed.
A few weeks ago, our nation celebrated Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday, when we remembered and celebrated not only his personal journey, but also the journey he pushed our nation to take. I recall very well his assassination in April, 1968, when I was a college freshman at the U. of Chicago, and I could see the flames and smoke to the north and south of the campus. In fact, our campus was full of National Guard tanks, since as the second largest land owner in the city of Chicago, after the Roman Catholic Church, the university, founded by J.D. Rockefeller, was going to be protected.
So yes, I remember all that, but I also remember Dr. King’s speech right before his death, which was played over and over again on both the radio and television. He said in his speech that he was happy; he had no fear of any man, and that although he would like to live a long life, if that was not to be, he was still happy. And I remember thinking: how could he be happy. I mean there were so many problems, so much that was not right with the country. Racism and the Vietnam War were raging. What could he mean by being happy? At 18 I was far too young to know and understand, but now, after all these many decades I think I grasp his meaning. The kind of happiness King was referring to, was the blessedness of a life that tries without (ever fully succeeding) to do what Micah said God desires, to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God. It was the blessedness of which Jesus spoke, when he reminded his hearers that God’s blessings are God’s to give, not rewards for being successful.
King did not think he was successful. So many times, he failed, yet he felt that God was with him; he was surrounded by God’s love, God’s mercy and yes, God’s forgiveness. And that was blessing enough. It did not protect him from the assassin’s bullet, but then Jesus did not promise protection. He promised blessings, and King felt and knew that God gave him abundant blessings. Blessedness is not about protection from worldly harm. After all, Jesus died on a cross. And yet the blessings came, and they continue to come. The question is: Are we willing to receive them, not in the form that we might want--- success and comfort---but in the form that God gives, if we have the eyes and the spirit and the desire to see and accept.
January 31, 2023
Dear Friends,
Last Friday, January 27, was International Holocaust Remembrance Day, which falls on the anniversary of the of the Red Army’s liberation of the Auschwitz Death Camp, 78 years ago. As a way of acknowledging the day, my memory revisited my trip to Israel in 2006 with a group of Christians and Jews, when one of our excursions was to Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem. On the grounds outside the Museum is The Avenue of The Righteous Gentiles Among the Nations, where trees are planted next to the names of non-Jews, who risked their lives to save Jewish men, women and children. I remember how we walked together as a group without saying a word. Silence seemed the most appropriate response to the entire scene both within and outside the Museum. When we boarded the bus to leave the site, silence yet prevailed. No one dared to speak. What could we say?
Today, 78 years after the liberation of Auschwitz, there are yet more stories emerging about various people, who had a definite mission during the Holocaust. One such story is from Hungary. Nazi Germany invaded Hungary in March, 1944, and a group of Jewish underground fighters were ready. They realized something was coming, for in the fall of 1943 three Polish women arrived in Budapest from Poland and told stories about the systematic slaughter of Jews in concentration camps. Though many people ignored the warning, there were those who formed a resistance group to meet the challenge. Yet the story of this resistance is barely known, and the few remaining members of that Resistance would like their story told and remembered.
Hungary had nearly 1 million Jews before the Germans invaded. Its government was already allied with Nazi Germany, but the Soviet Army was moving toward Hungary, and the Nazis feared that Hungary would make a separate peace deal with the Allies, and so to prevent that, the Nazis invaded and began to murder Jews----568,000 of them.
David Gur is now 97 years old, but he was only 18, when the invasion came, and he was given the job of overseeing a massive forgery operation, preparing false documents for Jews and non-Jews alike, who were in the Hungarian Resistance. It was such a heavy burden and responsibility for someone so young, but he did what he could do. In December, 1944 he was arrested, brutally interrogated and tortured, but the Jewish Underground managed to stage a rescue operation and break him out of the central prison.
Gur claimed that at least 7,000 Jews were smuggled out of Hungary through Romania and put on ships in the Black Sea, whose final destination was Palestine. Another 10,000 Budapest Jews were saved by forged passes, which offered them protection from Nazis. Another 6,000 Hungarian Jewish children were put in “safe houses” under the protection of the International Red Cross.
Last month in Israel three remaining resistance fighters, Sara Epstein, 97, Dezi Heffner-Reiner, 95 and Betzalel Grosz, 98 received citations for their work in saving Jewish lives. David Gur received his citation in 2011, the year the first citation was granted. More than 200 other awards have been granted posthumously.
Very soon all the active participants in and survivors of the Holocaust will be dead. Currently Israel has 150,600 Holocaust survivors, but that is 15,193 less than last year. If the stories are not recorded, they will be lost forever to history. Memory never can guarantee that such a horror will not happen again, but memory is a tool and sometimes even a weapon that can help to prevent a repetition of past folly and cruelty. “Never again,” we say, but unless we remember that it happened once before, we might be tempted to forget that human beings are capable of both tremendous acts of courage and self-sacrifice as well as deeds of dastardly cruelty.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Last Friday, January 27, was International Holocaust Remembrance Day, which falls on the anniversary of the of the Red Army’s liberation of the Auschwitz Death Camp, 78 years ago. As a way of acknowledging the day, my memory revisited my trip to Israel in 2006 with a group of Christians and Jews, when one of our excursions was to Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem. On the grounds outside the Museum is The Avenue of The Righteous Gentiles Among the Nations, where trees are planted next to the names of non-Jews, who risked their lives to save Jewish men, women and children. I remember how we walked together as a group without saying a word. Silence seemed the most appropriate response to the entire scene both within and outside the Museum. When we boarded the bus to leave the site, silence yet prevailed. No one dared to speak. What could we say?
Today, 78 years after the liberation of Auschwitz, there are yet more stories emerging about various people, who had a definite mission during the Holocaust. One such story is from Hungary. Nazi Germany invaded Hungary in March, 1944, and a group of Jewish underground fighters were ready. They realized something was coming, for in the fall of 1943 three Polish women arrived in Budapest from Poland and told stories about the systematic slaughter of Jews in concentration camps. Though many people ignored the warning, there were those who formed a resistance group to meet the challenge. Yet the story of this resistance is barely known, and the few remaining members of that Resistance would like their story told and remembered.
Hungary had nearly 1 million Jews before the Germans invaded. Its government was already allied with Nazi Germany, but the Soviet Army was moving toward Hungary, and the Nazis feared that Hungary would make a separate peace deal with the Allies, and so to prevent that, the Nazis invaded and began to murder Jews----568,000 of them.
David Gur is now 97 years old, but he was only 18, when the invasion came, and he was given the job of overseeing a massive forgery operation, preparing false documents for Jews and non-Jews alike, who were in the Hungarian Resistance. It was such a heavy burden and responsibility for someone so young, but he did what he could do. In December, 1944 he was arrested, brutally interrogated and tortured, but the Jewish Underground managed to stage a rescue operation and break him out of the central prison.
Gur claimed that at least 7,000 Jews were smuggled out of Hungary through Romania and put on ships in the Black Sea, whose final destination was Palestine. Another 10,000 Budapest Jews were saved by forged passes, which offered them protection from Nazis. Another 6,000 Hungarian Jewish children were put in “safe houses” under the protection of the International Red Cross.
Last month in Israel three remaining resistance fighters, Sara Epstein, 97, Dezi Heffner-Reiner, 95 and Betzalel Grosz, 98 received citations for their work in saving Jewish lives. David Gur received his citation in 2011, the year the first citation was granted. More than 200 other awards have been granted posthumously.
Very soon all the active participants in and survivors of the Holocaust will be dead. Currently Israel has 150,600 Holocaust survivors, but that is 15,193 less than last year. If the stories are not recorded, they will be lost forever to history. Memory never can guarantee that such a horror will not happen again, but memory is a tool and sometimes even a weapon that can help to prevent a repetition of past folly and cruelty. “Never again,” we say, but unless we remember that it happened once before, we might be tempted to forget that human beings are capable of both tremendous acts of courage and self-sacrifice as well as deeds of dastardly cruelty.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
IN THE MIDST OF CRISIS
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
January 22, 2023
1 Corinthians 1: 10-18
Matthew 4: 12-23
In both our scripture readings this morning there is crisis. Let’s begin with Paul’s Letter to the Christian Church in the Greek city of Corinth, written around 54---at least 16 years before Mark, the oldest Gospel. People today sometimes have the idea that the early church was of one mind, that people were united and agreed on the fundamentals of the new faith. Not true, there was a great deal of dissension, and soon after Paul had a major hand in the establishment of this primarily gentile church, there was the threat of schism. Various groups in the church were pulling away from the community and following different leaders. Paul actually mentions them, including himself, Apollos, Cephas and finally Christ, who is supposed to be the sole head of the church. Paul reminded the congregation that they were all baptized in the name of Christ and that Christ’s cross is the ultimate point of reference for their faith. The cross is the wisdom and the power of God---though to most people it looks like foolishness and failure.
Now it would have been nice if Paul’s Letter had laid to rest the dissension, but it didn’t. The Church in Corinth continued to give Paul headaches. Some people simply questioned his authority, and Paul did not appreciate that. But there were other more serious problems like the economic diversity of the church, which meant that the wealthier members were not always good with table fellowship. So, they sometimes had these sumptuous meals at the church, which did not include the poorer members. And then there were those who boasted of their so called superior spiritual gifts, claiming that had more wisdom and knowledge than others. Some people, speaking in tongues, tried to say that this particular gift made them special, and so they tried to lord power over others.
This was the reality in which Paul had to work. He tried to tell the congregation that they are one body in Jesus Christ and that they should not be defined by their special interest groups, but people, being what they are, meant that Paul’s admonitions were not always successful. He spent a great deal of time in crisis mode, going from one crisis to another, trying to calm things down and keep people together. Not so different from what some ministers try to do today. I have a colleague who recently complained that his church is split down the middle---with half of his congregation listening to Fox News and the other half to MSNBC. And at a recent Bible study, they actually argued, he said, about which station Jesus would listen to if he were alive today. “I guess Paul has nothing on you,” another colleague told him. The point is a simple one--- crisis is never very far away.
Now consider the reading from Matthew. Jesus began his ministry with a crisis---the arrest of John the Baptist. We don’t know why he waited until John’s arrest, but for some reason John’s arrest was a signal to Jesus. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum, a fishing, farming and trading village on the Sea of Galilee. Notice that the text does not tell us Jesus received any direct word from God that this is the time to begin. No, it seems that Jesus looked at the situation, assessed it, and made a decision to move ahead, probably hoping that it was the right time. And indeed, that is how life often is. Rarely do we receive a direct go ahead from God. When a crisis crosses our path, we make a decision about the next step, and though we hopefully pray about it, our prayers are more likely to give us hints and not direct instructions.
As I was thinking about Paul and Jesus working in the midst of crisis and especially noting that Jesus’ ministry began with a crisis, I recalled how my own ministry began--- in crisis. I was ordained in April, 1983 at a church in Belmont, MA, and moved to Long Island a few months later. Now I did not yet have a job, and since I was newly ordained, I had no real experience in the ministry, except what I did in seminary. About 4 PM on a Saturday afternoon in October of that same year, I received a frantic call from a funeral director. He needed someone to conduct a funeral the next afternoon for a 26 year old man, who had just committed suicide. The story went that his wife was suffering from a degenerative nerve disease, Huntington’s, and he just wanted out. He simply could not cope. Now I had never, ever done a funeral for anyone, and I certainly did not want this one. And so, I said, “NO, I can’t do it”. “Please,” he begged. “You are the ninth minister I’ve called. I got your name and number from the last one. I am desperate.”
Well, I felt pretty desperate too, because there was no way I wanted to do this, but I felt I had no choice. He told me it was useless speaking with the wife, but you can talk to the young man’s parents, who live outside of Albany. They will be driving down early tomorrow morning, but they are home now and expecting a call from a minister willing to do the service. And so, I called, and for nearly two hours was on the phone with the father as I took pages of notes. After that conversation I was so emotionally wrung out, I did not know how I would write the service. Neither the young couple nor their families had much in the way of religion, but like many people they did have a sense of the spiritual life---that there was a power of goodness and grace, operating in the world and this power could be accessed. So, I spent much of the night reading and writing, finding words of wisdom and consolation from all kinds of sources. And then not only did I try to celebrate the young man who was no more, I had to directly talk about suicide. I was not going to pretend this was an accidental death. I remember sitting at the kitchen table, thinking to myself, “So, this crisis is my initiation into ministry!” Maybe God is trying to tell me something---that I should get out before it becomes any worse.”
Well, it became worse, because when I arrived at the Funeral Home Sunday afternoon and met the wife and her mother, the wife immediately commanded me to say nothing about suicide. So, there I was, young, completely inexperienced, holding in my hand a funeral I had written, directly confronting the truth of the situation. And I told her, “I can’t do that. We are going to tell the truth, because there is pain and there is anger, and we cannot pretend otherwise. Without the truth there can be no funeral.” I was fortunate in that her mother was on my side, and her mother also told her daughter that most people already know. And so, I walked in and said what I had to say. Afterwards, people thanked me. I remember this one young woman, sobbing to me how much she appreciated my naming the anger, because anger is exactly what she felt. You said there is something beyond the anger and that in time that something will come. So, I will wait and hope. And then there were his parents, his father in particular, who was so appreciative of what I I had been able to do on such short notice.
When I think back upon that experience, as awful as it was, I also think it was a kind of grace. I did not have an easy time in the early years of my ministry and when I later entered into chaplaincy training, I certainly had some devastating experiences to cope with. But I always felt that my initiation had given me a sense that I could do this, even under the most trying of situations. But you know something? I recently concluded that If I had failed, I would have learned another important lesson---that failure does not have to kill us. As much as we hate crises and work to avoid them, sometimes at all costs, nonetheless, there are times when a crisis forces us to step up and do something we thought we could not do. And if we fail, well, then we fail. After all, there is no avoiding failure in life.
Perhaps we should not be surprised that Paul, the single most influential person in the expansion of the Christian message to the gentile world, began his work in crisis. And he continued to work amidst all kinds of crises. And Jesus, as full of the love and spirit of God as he was, he was not protected from crisis, but he did take that love and spirit of God into every crisis he had to meet. And may the same be true for us.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
January 22, 2023
1 Corinthians 1: 10-18
Matthew 4: 12-23
In both our scripture readings this morning there is crisis. Let’s begin with Paul’s Letter to the Christian Church in the Greek city of Corinth, written around 54---at least 16 years before Mark, the oldest Gospel. People today sometimes have the idea that the early church was of one mind, that people were united and agreed on the fundamentals of the new faith. Not true, there was a great deal of dissension, and soon after Paul had a major hand in the establishment of this primarily gentile church, there was the threat of schism. Various groups in the church were pulling away from the community and following different leaders. Paul actually mentions them, including himself, Apollos, Cephas and finally Christ, who is supposed to be the sole head of the church. Paul reminded the congregation that they were all baptized in the name of Christ and that Christ’s cross is the ultimate point of reference for their faith. The cross is the wisdom and the power of God---though to most people it looks like foolishness and failure.
Now it would have been nice if Paul’s Letter had laid to rest the dissension, but it didn’t. The Church in Corinth continued to give Paul headaches. Some people simply questioned his authority, and Paul did not appreciate that. But there were other more serious problems like the economic diversity of the church, which meant that the wealthier members were not always good with table fellowship. So, they sometimes had these sumptuous meals at the church, which did not include the poorer members. And then there were those who boasted of their so called superior spiritual gifts, claiming that had more wisdom and knowledge than others. Some people, speaking in tongues, tried to say that this particular gift made them special, and so they tried to lord power over others.
This was the reality in which Paul had to work. He tried to tell the congregation that they are one body in Jesus Christ and that they should not be defined by their special interest groups, but people, being what they are, meant that Paul’s admonitions were not always successful. He spent a great deal of time in crisis mode, going from one crisis to another, trying to calm things down and keep people together. Not so different from what some ministers try to do today. I have a colleague who recently complained that his church is split down the middle---with half of his congregation listening to Fox News and the other half to MSNBC. And at a recent Bible study, they actually argued, he said, about which station Jesus would listen to if he were alive today. “I guess Paul has nothing on you,” another colleague told him. The point is a simple one--- crisis is never very far away.
Now consider the reading from Matthew. Jesus began his ministry with a crisis---the arrest of John the Baptist. We don’t know why he waited until John’s arrest, but for some reason John’s arrest was a signal to Jesus. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum, a fishing, farming and trading village on the Sea of Galilee. Notice that the text does not tell us Jesus received any direct word from God that this is the time to begin. No, it seems that Jesus looked at the situation, assessed it, and made a decision to move ahead, probably hoping that it was the right time. And indeed, that is how life often is. Rarely do we receive a direct go ahead from God. When a crisis crosses our path, we make a decision about the next step, and though we hopefully pray about it, our prayers are more likely to give us hints and not direct instructions.
As I was thinking about Paul and Jesus working in the midst of crisis and especially noting that Jesus’ ministry began with a crisis, I recalled how my own ministry began--- in crisis. I was ordained in April, 1983 at a church in Belmont, MA, and moved to Long Island a few months later. Now I did not yet have a job, and since I was newly ordained, I had no real experience in the ministry, except what I did in seminary. About 4 PM on a Saturday afternoon in October of that same year, I received a frantic call from a funeral director. He needed someone to conduct a funeral the next afternoon for a 26 year old man, who had just committed suicide. The story went that his wife was suffering from a degenerative nerve disease, Huntington’s, and he just wanted out. He simply could not cope. Now I had never, ever done a funeral for anyone, and I certainly did not want this one. And so, I said, “NO, I can’t do it”. “Please,” he begged. “You are the ninth minister I’ve called. I got your name and number from the last one. I am desperate.”
Well, I felt pretty desperate too, because there was no way I wanted to do this, but I felt I had no choice. He told me it was useless speaking with the wife, but you can talk to the young man’s parents, who live outside of Albany. They will be driving down early tomorrow morning, but they are home now and expecting a call from a minister willing to do the service. And so, I called, and for nearly two hours was on the phone with the father as I took pages of notes. After that conversation I was so emotionally wrung out, I did not know how I would write the service. Neither the young couple nor their families had much in the way of religion, but like many people they did have a sense of the spiritual life---that there was a power of goodness and grace, operating in the world and this power could be accessed. So, I spent much of the night reading and writing, finding words of wisdom and consolation from all kinds of sources. And then not only did I try to celebrate the young man who was no more, I had to directly talk about suicide. I was not going to pretend this was an accidental death. I remember sitting at the kitchen table, thinking to myself, “So, this crisis is my initiation into ministry!” Maybe God is trying to tell me something---that I should get out before it becomes any worse.”
Well, it became worse, because when I arrived at the Funeral Home Sunday afternoon and met the wife and her mother, the wife immediately commanded me to say nothing about suicide. So, there I was, young, completely inexperienced, holding in my hand a funeral I had written, directly confronting the truth of the situation. And I told her, “I can’t do that. We are going to tell the truth, because there is pain and there is anger, and we cannot pretend otherwise. Without the truth there can be no funeral.” I was fortunate in that her mother was on my side, and her mother also told her daughter that most people already know. And so, I walked in and said what I had to say. Afterwards, people thanked me. I remember this one young woman, sobbing to me how much she appreciated my naming the anger, because anger is exactly what she felt. You said there is something beyond the anger and that in time that something will come. So, I will wait and hope. And then there were his parents, his father in particular, who was so appreciative of what I I had been able to do on such short notice.
When I think back upon that experience, as awful as it was, I also think it was a kind of grace. I did not have an easy time in the early years of my ministry and when I later entered into chaplaincy training, I certainly had some devastating experiences to cope with. But I always felt that my initiation had given me a sense that I could do this, even under the most trying of situations. But you know something? I recently concluded that If I had failed, I would have learned another important lesson---that failure does not have to kill us. As much as we hate crises and work to avoid them, sometimes at all costs, nonetheless, there are times when a crisis forces us to step up and do something we thought we could not do. And if we fail, well, then we fail. After all, there is no avoiding failure in life.
Perhaps we should not be surprised that Paul, the single most influential person in the expansion of the Christian message to the gentile world, began his work in crisis. And he continued to work amidst all kinds of crises. And Jesus, as full of the love and spirit of God as he was, he was not protected from crisis, but he did take that love and spirit of God into every crisis he had to meet. And may the same be true for us.
January 25, 2023
Dear Friends,
War is a terrible thing. Its destructive power is chilling, destroying lives on so many levels. Innocence is twisted; hope is crucified and some, who have lived through the horror, are damaged beyond repair. Years ago in seminary, I knew someone whose father was a survivor of a Japanese prisoner of war camp in the Second World War. She told me it would have been better if he had died in the war. He returned home eaten up by rage and hatred. “He was cruel to my mother, my brothers, sister and me. Finally, one day when I was 15, he left. We never saw him again, and we were all relieved.”
It is January 25th, one month past Christmas. The Prince of Peace has come and gone, and once again we will wait for his coming. A colleague recently commented that the peace of Christmas is not really what we want and need right NOW. We want and need the wars to cease and people to refrain from killing each other. Any other kind of peace can so easily leave us deeply disappointed.
Yes, war is terrible on so many different fronts, including the looting and stealing of national treasures and art, as is going on now in Ukraine. How absurd that Putin has tried to justify his war against Ukraine by insisting that Russia intends to save the Ukrainian people from Nazis---- when it is Russians who are behaving as fascists, directing their violence against civilians and their infrastructure and again like the Nazis stealing and looting Ukrainian art treasures.
There are indeed many different ways to murder a people and stealing the physical embodiment of their cultural heritage is a kind of killing. Art, whether in the form of painting, architecture, language, and literature, helps to form a people’s identity, communicating who they are and who they wish to become. Art is both inspirational and aspirational, and when a people’s art is stolen and/or destroyed, a part of their identity is destroyed as well.
The city of Kherson in southern Ukraine was captured by the Russians in early March of last year, but this past November the Russians retreated from the city across the Dnipro River. When they left, Russian soldiers took truckloads of national and cultural treasures, looted from various museums. Ukrainians compare this theft to what the Nazis did during their three years of occupation, between 1941 to 1944. But in some ways this theft is even worse because the looting was aided by collaborators and informants within the city itself. The director of the Kherson Art Museum, Alina Dotsenko, entered the pillaged museum on November 11, a few days after the Russians left, and what she saw made her heart almost cease to beat: She said that at least 10,000 pieces of art, out of 14,000, were gone, stolen, looted.
Dotsenko and her trusted colleagues managed to protect the art for a while by hiding it in the basement. When the Russians invaded, they were told that the art had been removed because of renovation, and indeed, many of the walls were covered in scaffolding. There were gorgeous silver and gold frames of ancient icons that had been locked in a safe and only one manager had the key. Initially, it appeared that the plan would work and as the months moved on, the director and her managers began to believe that they would be able to protect the art from Russian hands. But there was betrayal. Two former employees of the museum told the Russians that the art was hidden in the building. Suddenly Dotsenko was called in and interrogated. “We will show you how to respect Russian power,” she was told. She was not physically abused or tortured, but she expected she would be arrested, and so rather than waiting for the inevitable, she left Kherson for Odessa, taking with her the entire digital archive of the museum’s art. Other museum employees were threatened and told to have nothing to do with the former director and her manager, but even such threats did not prevent acts of great bravery. The head of the museum’s book archives, who was an elderly woman, smuggled out a valuable 1840 edition of one of Ukrainian’s beloved poets, Taras Shevchenko. The Russian guards did not bother to search her, because they could not imagine such a daring act from someone so old!
The Museum of Fine Arts in Kherson opened in 1912 and displayed major works of both Ukrainian and Russian artists as well as various archaeological artifacts. During the Nazi occupation there was massive looting and though after the war some works were tracked down and recovered, many works have remained missing. In 1938 some of the mosaics from Kyiv’s St. Michael’s Monastery were taken by the Russians and installed in a Moscow gallery. When years later, the Ukrainians asked for their return, the response came back: “They are ours.”
When the recent war broke out, the museum had 13 employees, and the museum claims that 7 of those employees collaborated with the Russians and helped them loot treasures. All but one has left Ukraine, having chosen to settle in Crimea or other places controlled by Russia. Currently there are over 1200 criminal investigations of collaboration, but while the war is ongoing, it is very difficult for criminal prosecutions to proceed. After all, there are issues of survival that demand front and center attention.
Betrayal by close associates and friends is terrible to face. And yet it is not only a common human theme, but also a biblical theme. Jesus was betrayed by one from his inner circle; Peter denied that he knew Jesus and most of the other disciples deserted him out of fear. It was the women, who stood by and witnessed his death, and it was to a woman, Mary Magdalene to whom Jesus first appeared. We don’t know what the outcome will be in the Ukrainian investigation. Hopefully, much of the art will be eventually recovered, and as far as the collaborators go, well, who knows? But we should remember that excepting Judas, which one story claims hanged himself, all the other disciples became part of the new Christian movement. We never know what God is up to, both now and in a future we can neither see nor predict.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
War is a terrible thing. Its destructive power is chilling, destroying lives on so many levels. Innocence is twisted; hope is crucified and some, who have lived through the horror, are damaged beyond repair. Years ago in seminary, I knew someone whose father was a survivor of a Japanese prisoner of war camp in the Second World War. She told me it would have been better if he had died in the war. He returned home eaten up by rage and hatred. “He was cruel to my mother, my brothers, sister and me. Finally, one day when I was 15, he left. We never saw him again, and we were all relieved.”
It is January 25th, one month past Christmas. The Prince of Peace has come and gone, and once again we will wait for his coming. A colleague recently commented that the peace of Christmas is not really what we want and need right NOW. We want and need the wars to cease and people to refrain from killing each other. Any other kind of peace can so easily leave us deeply disappointed.
Yes, war is terrible on so many different fronts, including the looting and stealing of national treasures and art, as is going on now in Ukraine. How absurd that Putin has tried to justify his war against Ukraine by insisting that Russia intends to save the Ukrainian people from Nazis---- when it is Russians who are behaving as fascists, directing their violence against civilians and their infrastructure and again like the Nazis stealing and looting Ukrainian art treasures.
There are indeed many different ways to murder a people and stealing the physical embodiment of their cultural heritage is a kind of killing. Art, whether in the form of painting, architecture, language, and literature, helps to form a people’s identity, communicating who they are and who they wish to become. Art is both inspirational and aspirational, and when a people’s art is stolen and/or destroyed, a part of their identity is destroyed as well.
The city of Kherson in southern Ukraine was captured by the Russians in early March of last year, but this past November the Russians retreated from the city across the Dnipro River. When they left, Russian soldiers took truckloads of national and cultural treasures, looted from various museums. Ukrainians compare this theft to what the Nazis did during their three years of occupation, between 1941 to 1944. But in some ways this theft is even worse because the looting was aided by collaborators and informants within the city itself. The director of the Kherson Art Museum, Alina Dotsenko, entered the pillaged museum on November 11, a few days after the Russians left, and what she saw made her heart almost cease to beat: She said that at least 10,000 pieces of art, out of 14,000, were gone, stolen, looted.
Dotsenko and her trusted colleagues managed to protect the art for a while by hiding it in the basement. When the Russians invaded, they were told that the art had been removed because of renovation, and indeed, many of the walls were covered in scaffolding. There were gorgeous silver and gold frames of ancient icons that had been locked in a safe and only one manager had the key. Initially, it appeared that the plan would work and as the months moved on, the director and her managers began to believe that they would be able to protect the art from Russian hands. But there was betrayal. Two former employees of the museum told the Russians that the art was hidden in the building. Suddenly Dotsenko was called in and interrogated. “We will show you how to respect Russian power,” she was told. She was not physically abused or tortured, but she expected she would be arrested, and so rather than waiting for the inevitable, she left Kherson for Odessa, taking with her the entire digital archive of the museum’s art. Other museum employees were threatened and told to have nothing to do with the former director and her manager, but even such threats did not prevent acts of great bravery. The head of the museum’s book archives, who was an elderly woman, smuggled out a valuable 1840 edition of one of Ukrainian’s beloved poets, Taras Shevchenko. The Russian guards did not bother to search her, because they could not imagine such a daring act from someone so old!
The Museum of Fine Arts in Kherson opened in 1912 and displayed major works of both Ukrainian and Russian artists as well as various archaeological artifacts. During the Nazi occupation there was massive looting and though after the war some works were tracked down and recovered, many works have remained missing. In 1938 some of the mosaics from Kyiv’s St. Michael’s Monastery were taken by the Russians and installed in a Moscow gallery. When years later, the Ukrainians asked for their return, the response came back: “They are ours.”
When the recent war broke out, the museum had 13 employees, and the museum claims that 7 of those employees collaborated with the Russians and helped them loot treasures. All but one has left Ukraine, having chosen to settle in Crimea or other places controlled by Russia. Currently there are over 1200 criminal investigations of collaboration, but while the war is ongoing, it is very difficult for criminal prosecutions to proceed. After all, there are issues of survival that demand front and center attention.
Betrayal by close associates and friends is terrible to face. And yet it is not only a common human theme, but also a biblical theme. Jesus was betrayed by one from his inner circle; Peter denied that he knew Jesus and most of the other disciples deserted him out of fear. It was the women, who stood by and witnessed his death, and it was to a woman, Mary Magdalene to whom Jesus first appeared. We don’t know what the outcome will be in the Ukrainian investigation. Hopefully, much of the art will be eventually recovered, and as far as the collaborators go, well, who knows? But we should remember that excepting Judas, which one story claims hanged himself, all the other disciples became part of the new Christian movement. We never know what God is up to, both now and in a future we can neither see nor predict.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
January 19, 2023
Dear Friends,
Since Monday was the official federal holiday for Martin Luther King, Jr’s birthday I have been thinking about him. I certainly am old enough to remember the beginning of his fight for racial justice and equality. Part of the reason I remember is because I was living in Jacksonville, Florida at the time, and Jacksonville was a very southern town with many residents from Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi. I had my own struggles to content with, since I was a “Yankee” and blamed for the efforts to integrate. I had never before seen drinking fountains and bathrooms labeled, White and Colored, so I was more attuned to what was going on than I might have been had I remained living in suburban Buffalo, New York.
Though now we hear such eloquent accolades about King, that was certainly NOT my recollection from my southern experience. My 8th grade Sunday School teacher, who was a highly regarded English teacher, was adamantly opposed to civil rights and Martin Luther King, and she was not shy about saying so in our Sunday School class. She thought people should have the right to serve whom they wanted, and it was an abridgement of a person’s freedom if he or she were compelled to serve a black person at a lunch counter. One of my classmates, Robert, had a mother who was a philosophy professor at the local university and his father was a chemistry professor. I think they taught him to ask a great many questions, and so he did. “What about the freedom of the person wanting to be served?” he demanded to know. And her response was chilling: “Oh, that person’s freedom is less important.” Robert was undeterred: “But why? You are making an assumption that cannot be proven.” I admired Robert, but after that class he never returned to Sunday School and his parents soon left the church. My mother, on the other hand, just told me not to listen to the teacher when she spoke about civil rights, yet she contended that the teacher knew a great deal about the Bible and I could learn something from her, if I listened. She did know a great deal about the Bible, but I am not sure how effectively she applied it to real life.
Someone wrote in a recent article that “time tends to smooth the edges of controversy off of events commemorated by official holidays.” We forget that George Washington was almost fired as commander in chief when he lost too many battles to the British. And while we celebrate Labor Day every September, how many Americans know that the early union organizers were subjected to terrible violence and brutality at the hands of not only the police but also hired thugs? Yes, we do smooth out rough edges, sometimes by ignoring or forgetting certain unpleasantries of the past.
King faced fierce opposition in his lifetime. Not only was his call for racial justice rejected by many, but when he began to speak out against the Viet Nam War and economic inequality, even supporters began to criticize him. And when his assassination led to massive protest and violence in American cities, there were people who blamed King for the outburst, claiming that he had not done enough in his lifetime to quell violence. Then there was the long and hard opposition to the creation of a federal holiday, honoring him. Virginia was pressured into creating a state holiday for King in 1984, but then the General Assembly of the state dared to combine it with an existing holiday which honored the Confederate generals, Robert. E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. The holiday became known as Lee-Jackson-King Day, and was on the books until 2000.
Arizona refused to create a King holiday in the 1980’s, so Governor Bruce Babbitt created it by executive order in 1986. But the next governor, Evan Mecham, cancelled the holiday a few days after his 1987 inauguration. He only rescinded his decision when a host of celebrities, including Stevie Wonder, called for a boycott of the state. Though the United States Government declared January 15 as a national holiday, honoring Dr. King, still some states simply ignored it. Georgia, for example, would not mention King’s name, though the state legislature officially recognized the holiday in 1984.
People often like to forget the unpleasantries of the past. It’s embarrassing, and some counsel forgetfulness in the spirit of moving on and not clinging to the negativities of a bygone time. But embarrassments are also part of history, and unless we want to say that history does not matter, it is important that we remember as fully as we can. History is never a simple compilation of facts. History involves how facts are used to create a coherent story, how these facts are interpreted and remembered and how we feel about them. I once heard a woman “confess” that when she was 19, she participated in an anti-civil rights march in Atlanta. “I am ashamed to say,” she said, “that I actually spat upon one of the black marchers. I wish I could forget that, but it is part of who I was back then. I am grateful that I have changed and remembering who I was helps me to keep changing and growing.” Yes, history matters, including our own personal histories that do not make it into the history books.
When we read the Bible, we are reading far more than the facts of history. We are reading interpretations of what happened and what those happenings meant to the person (and the community) whose story it is to tell. When Judah fell to the Babylonians some might say that Judah simply succumbed to a superior military force, and that is all there is to it. But this is not how the prophets saw it. They saw God’s hand in the fall, and they believed that God was teaching them a lesson they needed to learn. This is not something history can either prove or disprove, but there is no doubt that such an interpretation has been an important part of the Jewish self-understanding. When we consider the crucifixion of Jesus, some see it as a cruelty visited upon an unfortunate Jew, who became a threat to both Jewish religious power as well as the imperial power of Rome. But Christians see in the crucifixion the workings of God. This does not necessarily mean that we must believe that God desired Jesus to die as the perfect sacrifice, but it does mean that the meaning of the crucifixion is not completely settled. We continue to revisit its meaning.
History is never a finished product. We are always revisiting the past, trying to come to terms with its meaning for us in the present moment. We do it with Martin Luther King, Jr, as we do with Robert E. Lee and Abraham Lincoln and many others. And Christians can never be finished with Jesus. His story invites us into the depths, where we can meet a whole new understanding that can change our lives.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Since Monday was the official federal holiday for Martin Luther King, Jr’s birthday I have been thinking about him. I certainly am old enough to remember the beginning of his fight for racial justice and equality. Part of the reason I remember is because I was living in Jacksonville, Florida at the time, and Jacksonville was a very southern town with many residents from Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi. I had my own struggles to content with, since I was a “Yankee” and blamed for the efforts to integrate. I had never before seen drinking fountains and bathrooms labeled, White and Colored, so I was more attuned to what was going on than I might have been had I remained living in suburban Buffalo, New York.
Though now we hear such eloquent accolades about King, that was certainly NOT my recollection from my southern experience. My 8th grade Sunday School teacher, who was a highly regarded English teacher, was adamantly opposed to civil rights and Martin Luther King, and she was not shy about saying so in our Sunday School class. She thought people should have the right to serve whom they wanted, and it was an abridgement of a person’s freedom if he or she were compelled to serve a black person at a lunch counter. One of my classmates, Robert, had a mother who was a philosophy professor at the local university and his father was a chemistry professor. I think they taught him to ask a great many questions, and so he did. “What about the freedom of the person wanting to be served?” he demanded to know. And her response was chilling: “Oh, that person’s freedom is less important.” Robert was undeterred: “But why? You are making an assumption that cannot be proven.” I admired Robert, but after that class he never returned to Sunday School and his parents soon left the church. My mother, on the other hand, just told me not to listen to the teacher when she spoke about civil rights, yet she contended that the teacher knew a great deal about the Bible and I could learn something from her, if I listened. She did know a great deal about the Bible, but I am not sure how effectively she applied it to real life.
Someone wrote in a recent article that “time tends to smooth the edges of controversy off of events commemorated by official holidays.” We forget that George Washington was almost fired as commander in chief when he lost too many battles to the British. And while we celebrate Labor Day every September, how many Americans know that the early union organizers were subjected to terrible violence and brutality at the hands of not only the police but also hired thugs? Yes, we do smooth out rough edges, sometimes by ignoring or forgetting certain unpleasantries of the past.
King faced fierce opposition in his lifetime. Not only was his call for racial justice rejected by many, but when he began to speak out against the Viet Nam War and economic inequality, even supporters began to criticize him. And when his assassination led to massive protest and violence in American cities, there were people who blamed King for the outburst, claiming that he had not done enough in his lifetime to quell violence. Then there was the long and hard opposition to the creation of a federal holiday, honoring him. Virginia was pressured into creating a state holiday for King in 1984, but then the General Assembly of the state dared to combine it with an existing holiday which honored the Confederate generals, Robert. E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. The holiday became known as Lee-Jackson-King Day, and was on the books until 2000.
Arizona refused to create a King holiday in the 1980’s, so Governor Bruce Babbitt created it by executive order in 1986. But the next governor, Evan Mecham, cancelled the holiday a few days after his 1987 inauguration. He only rescinded his decision when a host of celebrities, including Stevie Wonder, called for a boycott of the state. Though the United States Government declared January 15 as a national holiday, honoring Dr. King, still some states simply ignored it. Georgia, for example, would not mention King’s name, though the state legislature officially recognized the holiday in 1984.
People often like to forget the unpleasantries of the past. It’s embarrassing, and some counsel forgetfulness in the spirit of moving on and not clinging to the negativities of a bygone time. But embarrassments are also part of history, and unless we want to say that history does not matter, it is important that we remember as fully as we can. History is never a simple compilation of facts. History involves how facts are used to create a coherent story, how these facts are interpreted and remembered and how we feel about them. I once heard a woman “confess” that when she was 19, she participated in an anti-civil rights march in Atlanta. “I am ashamed to say,” she said, “that I actually spat upon one of the black marchers. I wish I could forget that, but it is part of who I was back then. I am grateful that I have changed and remembering who I was helps me to keep changing and growing.” Yes, history matters, including our own personal histories that do not make it into the history books.
When we read the Bible, we are reading far more than the facts of history. We are reading interpretations of what happened and what those happenings meant to the person (and the community) whose story it is to tell. When Judah fell to the Babylonians some might say that Judah simply succumbed to a superior military force, and that is all there is to it. But this is not how the prophets saw it. They saw God’s hand in the fall, and they believed that God was teaching them a lesson they needed to learn. This is not something history can either prove or disprove, but there is no doubt that such an interpretation has been an important part of the Jewish self-understanding. When we consider the crucifixion of Jesus, some see it as a cruelty visited upon an unfortunate Jew, who became a threat to both Jewish religious power as well as the imperial power of Rome. But Christians see in the crucifixion the workings of God. This does not necessarily mean that we must believe that God desired Jesus to die as the perfect sacrifice, but it does mean that the meaning of the crucifixion is not completely settled. We continue to revisit its meaning.
History is never a finished product. We are always revisiting the past, trying to come to terms with its meaning for us in the present moment. We do it with Martin Luther King, Jr, as we do with Robert E. Lee and Abraham Lincoln and many others. And Christians can never be finished with Jesus. His story invites us into the depths, where we can meet a whole new understanding that can change our lives.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
DO IT ANYWAY: IT IS NEVER IN VAIN
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
January 15, 2023
Isaiah 49: 1-7
I imagine that most of us have felt like Isaiah at one time in our lives. What is the point of this activity I am pursuing? It is not working out at all. Nothing is changing, I am wasting my time. I should call it quits. People have felt this way, about their marriages, their jobs, their church, their faith. Something is way off, and no matter how hard you try, you cannot make it come out right. You are at the end of your rope as you stare ahead to what looks like a big zero. And so, you walk away, or are at least tempted to walk away.
You see Isaiah was in a terrible situation. As you heard in the introduction to the text, this part is known as Second Isaiah, most likely written during the Babylonian Exile between 587 and 516 BC. Babylon had conquered the southern kingdom of Judah, destroying the Temple and the city of Jerusalem, and then the leadership was carried off to Babylon, where they could live their lives. They were not slaves; these people were the skilled workers and intellectuals. They could make a living and actually contribute to Babylonian society, which was why they were taken to Babylon in the first place. The Babylonians did not want any riff raff; they wanted people of talent and skill, and so here the Jews were in a strange land, where they felt they could not really sing the Lord’s Song. They were aliens, living in a place they had no desire to be. And so, they were discouraged and depressed, and it was Isaiah’s job to somehow pick them up, enlighten them, give them hope and a reason to go on. And he tried. He tried the best he could do.
Now this particular section of Isaiah is known as the second suffering servant song, because it points to someone---a person, a group of persons or even a nation whose sufferings will actually bring light, that is, salvation to the world. There is a great deal of scholarly discussion and even controversy about the identity of the suffering servant---whether it is an individual, like Isaiah or perhaps the nation as a whole. Now Christians use the suffering servant songs (There are four of them) to point to Christ, but that is reading back into Israel’s history our story. And that is not as our Jewish friends see it. But whomever this suffering servant was, he, she or it, became an occasion for hope, for the hope of salvation, for light. And when light shines, the darkness is overcome. A new beginning is possible, and despair is vanquished.
This is the call of the speaker, called before his birth, the text says, while he was yet n his mother’s womb. And his mouth and his words were sharp, able to cut through to the depths of truth. Or so he thought. But note what he laments in verse 4: I have labored in vain. I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity. What a terrible place to be. When people look at their labors and their lives and see that it was all for nothing, that all the work they did issued in a big fat zero, it is almost more than they can bear. Some have ended their lives because they could not face it. Others simply give up and it is as if something vital in them has died. They are no longer the people they once were.
Certainly Martin Luther King, Jr. felt that way at times. He realized what he was up against, the encrusted racism that would not give way to even the most minimal forms of integration, let alone true equality. His life and the lives of his wife and children were threatened, and he felt he had labored in vain, that his strength was spent for nothing. And yet, yet in the darkest of nights, when he was driven to his knees, because he no longer had the strength to stand on his feet, the Word of the Lord came to him. Yet surely my cause is with the Lord and my reward with my God. And so, he stood up and he continued to work and to pray. And somehow with the grace of God he did what he could do, not perfectly, of course, because nothing human is ever perfect, but he persevered in faith, hope and love. He labored on until his life was ended by a bullet on a night in April,1968 in the midst of a garbage collector’s strike, which he supported.
Some years ago, when I worked at University Hospital, I had a patient, who was beaten within an inch of his life. He was a man in his 50’s, a lawyer, who often helped homeless people, sometimes inviting them into his home. His wife had died ten years before of cancer, and he said that her death changed him. He told me he began to notice people whom he never noticed before, like addicts and homeless persons. Over the years he had some money and a few valuables stolen from him, including one of his wife’s rings. But still, he continued to help. And then he was beaten almost to death by a mentally ill addict. One of his daughters, who lived near, was furious, and when she came to see him in the hospital, she let him have it. “You brought this on yourself, she accused, and you don’t care how the rest of us feel, how the rest of us are left worrying about you. We have begged you to stop helping in this way, but you won’t listen. You say this is about faith, well, I say, to hell with your faith,” and she stormed out of the room.
When I spoke with him later that afternoon and he told me what had happened with his daughter, he said he had no intention of giving up this line of work. Maybe I do need to be a bit more careful, he said, but I have been helping such people for 10 years now and it is only four or five times I have been burned—this last time was the worst. But you know something, he said, I was not a very religious person, but my wife was a devout Roman Catholic, and she kept these words from Mother Theresa in her wallet. I found them after she died. And he pulled this sheet of paper out of his wallet. Mother Theresa, he said, knew all about working in vain. There were always dying people on the streets of Calcutta; you picked up one person to help die in peace and there were so many more moaning for help. These words helped Mother Theresa; they helped my wife and now they help me. And then he read them out loud.
People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway. If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway. What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway. The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway. Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway. In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway. I think Isaiah and John the Baptist and maybe even Jesus would agree. Do it anyway, because it is never really in vain.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
January 15, 2023
Isaiah 49: 1-7
I imagine that most of us have felt like Isaiah at one time in our lives. What is the point of this activity I am pursuing? It is not working out at all. Nothing is changing, I am wasting my time. I should call it quits. People have felt this way, about their marriages, their jobs, their church, their faith. Something is way off, and no matter how hard you try, you cannot make it come out right. You are at the end of your rope as you stare ahead to what looks like a big zero. And so, you walk away, or are at least tempted to walk away.
You see Isaiah was in a terrible situation. As you heard in the introduction to the text, this part is known as Second Isaiah, most likely written during the Babylonian Exile between 587 and 516 BC. Babylon had conquered the southern kingdom of Judah, destroying the Temple and the city of Jerusalem, and then the leadership was carried off to Babylon, where they could live their lives. They were not slaves; these people were the skilled workers and intellectuals. They could make a living and actually contribute to Babylonian society, which was why they were taken to Babylon in the first place. The Babylonians did not want any riff raff; they wanted people of talent and skill, and so here the Jews were in a strange land, where they felt they could not really sing the Lord’s Song. They were aliens, living in a place they had no desire to be. And so, they were discouraged and depressed, and it was Isaiah’s job to somehow pick them up, enlighten them, give them hope and a reason to go on. And he tried. He tried the best he could do.
Now this particular section of Isaiah is known as the second suffering servant song, because it points to someone---a person, a group of persons or even a nation whose sufferings will actually bring light, that is, salvation to the world. There is a great deal of scholarly discussion and even controversy about the identity of the suffering servant---whether it is an individual, like Isaiah or perhaps the nation as a whole. Now Christians use the suffering servant songs (There are four of them) to point to Christ, but that is reading back into Israel’s history our story. And that is not as our Jewish friends see it. But whomever this suffering servant was, he, she or it, became an occasion for hope, for the hope of salvation, for light. And when light shines, the darkness is overcome. A new beginning is possible, and despair is vanquished.
This is the call of the speaker, called before his birth, the text says, while he was yet n his mother’s womb. And his mouth and his words were sharp, able to cut through to the depths of truth. Or so he thought. But note what he laments in verse 4: I have labored in vain. I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity. What a terrible place to be. When people look at their labors and their lives and see that it was all for nothing, that all the work they did issued in a big fat zero, it is almost more than they can bear. Some have ended their lives because they could not face it. Others simply give up and it is as if something vital in them has died. They are no longer the people they once were.
Certainly Martin Luther King, Jr. felt that way at times. He realized what he was up against, the encrusted racism that would not give way to even the most minimal forms of integration, let alone true equality. His life and the lives of his wife and children were threatened, and he felt he had labored in vain, that his strength was spent for nothing. And yet, yet in the darkest of nights, when he was driven to his knees, because he no longer had the strength to stand on his feet, the Word of the Lord came to him. Yet surely my cause is with the Lord and my reward with my God. And so, he stood up and he continued to work and to pray. And somehow with the grace of God he did what he could do, not perfectly, of course, because nothing human is ever perfect, but he persevered in faith, hope and love. He labored on until his life was ended by a bullet on a night in April,1968 in the midst of a garbage collector’s strike, which he supported.
Some years ago, when I worked at University Hospital, I had a patient, who was beaten within an inch of his life. He was a man in his 50’s, a lawyer, who often helped homeless people, sometimes inviting them into his home. His wife had died ten years before of cancer, and he said that her death changed him. He told me he began to notice people whom he never noticed before, like addicts and homeless persons. Over the years he had some money and a few valuables stolen from him, including one of his wife’s rings. But still, he continued to help. And then he was beaten almost to death by a mentally ill addict. One of his daughters, who lived near, was furious, and when she came to see him in the hospital, she let him have it. “You brought this on yourself, she accused, and you don’t care how the rest of us feel, how the rest of us are left worrying about you. We have begged you to stop helping in this way, but you won’t listen. You say this is about faith, well, I say, to hell with your faith,” and she stormed out of the room.
When I spoke with him later that afternoon and he told me what had happened with his daughter, he said he had no intention of giving up this line of work. Maybe I do need to be a bit more careful, he said, but I have been helping such people for 10 years now and it is only four or five times I have been burned—this last time was the worst. But you know something, he said, I was not a very religious person, but my wife was a devout Roman Catholic, and she kept these words from Mother Theresa in her wallet. I found them after she died. And he pulled this sheet of paper out of his wallet. Mother Theresa, he said, knew all about working in vain. There were always dying people on the streets of Calcutta; you picked up one person to help die in peace and there were so many more moaning for help. These words helped Mother Theresa; they helped my wife and now they help me. And then he read them out loud.
People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway. If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway. What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway. The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway. Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway. In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway. I think Isaiah and John the Baptist and maybe even Jesus would agree. Do it anyway, because it is never really in vain.
January 12, 2023
Dear Friends,
For some reason, unknown to me, I have always loved the sound of bells, chimes, whistles, even fog horns. I remember being very young, probably around 3, and waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of a train whistle blowing in the distance. I found it a very comforting sound. And I always loved my Nana’s house, because she had all these chiming clocks. I loved staying overnight there and waking up in the night and counting the number of times the clock would chime. I have a grandfather’s clock in my own home, which chimes on the hour, the half hour, and the quarter hour. It plays the Westminster chime, which I also find very comforting. And, of course, there are the church bells, which until time keeping became more accurate, were a common way that people noted the hour, because that’s when they chimed.
I was probably around ten years of age, when my mother permitted me to stay up to witness the Times Square Ball coming down to mark the New Year. For some reason I expected there to be a big chiming sound, when it reached the bottom, but there was none, so I was very disappointed. Yet every year after that, with few exceptions, I would usually stay up to see that silly ball descend to mark the New Year. Once, when I was 19, my best friend from college and I went to New York to see the ball descend. Those were the days you could wander around, unlike now, when you must remain in designated “pens” for hours at a time. Both Lisa and I hated the experience, because at midnight all these strangers around you would grab you and try to kiss you. Once was enough, and I never, ever went back again. Yet every New Years’ Eve, there I am, watching that silly ball come down. But I learned something recently that I found quite interesting about ball drops.
The first ball drops were designed for ship captains, not for New Year’s Eve. In 1829 Robert Wauchope, a captain in the British Navy, designed the time ball. These raised balls were visible to ships along the British coastline, and they were manually dropped the same time each day, allowing the ships to set their chronometers (which kept track of time on the ships) to the time at the port of departure. Time balls were used throughout the world to keep track of time, though today evidence of them is not easy to find. In 1845 The U.S. Naval Observatory in Washington D.C. installed one, which later helped people to determine the precise time of Lincoln’s assassination. It was used daily until 1936, but by the 1880’s most time balls fell out of fashion, because of the availability of self winding clocks.
It was the New York Times in 1907 that decided to use a ball drop to commemorate the New Year, when using fireworks were banned by the city. A reporter did some research and found that time balls had an interesting history, and so a new tradition was invented for New Year’s Eve. There have been seven different designs of the ball since 1907, and it has been dropped every year since then---except in 1942 and 1943, during the Second World War, when wartime blackouts prevented the lighted ball from dropping. Yet revelers still gathered in Times Square those two years and when midnight came, a moment of silence was observed, followed by chimes! (By the way, the current ball weighs 11,875 pounds!)
What I find so interesting about all this is that it speaks to the human desire and need to mark time. There are fascinating books written on the history of clocks and time keeping and the obsession to create the most accurate clock or watch. From the time I was quite young, I always had a watch, and I do remember in high school that my watch would lose time, a few minutes a week, which meant that I would reset it. It did not seem like a big deal to me, but when the digital revolution came in, resetting watches and clocks became an activity of the past.
We human beings do seem to have this need to note time and mark time, which is perhaps why so many of us find the passage from Ecclesiastes so fitting and even comforting: To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, a time to die, a time to plant, a time to pluck up what is planted, a time to kill, a time to heal, etc. My Old Testament teacher, Harrell Beck, would point out that this view of time as essentially circular, was neither the Jewish nor the Christian view of time, which interpreted history and time as linear, moving toward the goal of God’s reign or realm. He complained that he did not understand why so many people, including Christian ministers, found the passage comforting. Time in Ecclesiastes is just an ongoing circular pattern, repeating itself endlessly, going nowhere, he insisted. But I think the reason we find the passage comforting is because this is how we experience life. The truth of the passage is existential. As we live our lives, we cannot see the final end or goal, which is in God’s hands and God’s sight, not in ours. It seems to me that Ecclesiastes speaks to the actual condition of our day to day lives. I am presiding at a funeral this Saturday, and Ecclesiastes is one of the passages being read. Harrell Beck might disapprove of the choice, but at least I remember what he said and what he taught about the passage. I simply think its function is existentially true, even if not theologically exact.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
For some reason, unknown to me, I have always loved the sound of bells, chimes, whistles, even fog horns. I remember being very young, probably around 3, and waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of a train whistle blowing in the distance. I found it a very comforting sound. And I always loved my Nana’s house, because she had all these chiming clocks. I loved staying overnight there and waking up in the night and counting the number of times the clock would chime. I have a grandfather’s clock in my own home, which chimes on the hour, the half hour, and the quarter hour. It plays the Westminster chime, which I also find very comforting. And, of course, there are the church bells, which until time keeping became more accurate, were a common way that people noted the hour, because that’s when they chimed.
I was probably around ten years of age, when my mother permitted me to stay up to witness the Times Square Ball coming down to mark the New Year. For some reason I expected there to be a big chiming sound, when it reached the bottom, but there was none, so I was very disappointed. Yet every year after that, with few exceptions, I would usually stay up to see that silly ball descend to mark the New Year. Once, when I was 19, my best friend from college and I went to New York to see the ball descend. Those were the days you could wander around, unlike now, when you must remain in designated “pens” for hours at a time. Both Lisa and I hated the experience, because at midnight all these strangers around you would grab you and try to kiss you. Once was enough, and I never, ever went back again. Yet every New Years’ Eve, there I am, watching that silly ball come down. But I learned something recently that I found quite interesting about ball drops.
The first ball drops were designed for ship captains, not for New Year’s Eve. In 1829 Robert Wauchope, a captain in the British Navy, designed the time ball. These raised balls were visible to ships along the British coastline, and they were manually dropped the same time each day, allowing the ships to set their chronometers (which kept track of time on the ships) to the time at the port of departure. Time balls were used throughout the world to keep track of time, though today evidence of them is not easy to find. In 1845 The U.S. Naval Observatory in Washington D.C. installed one, which later helped people to determine the precise time of Lincoln’s assassination. It was used daily until 1936, but by the 1880’s most time balls fell out of fashion, because of the availability of self winding clocks.
It was the New York Times in 1907 that decided to use a ball drop to commemorate the New Year, when using fireworks were banned by the city. A reporter did some research and found that time balls had an interesting history, and so a new tradition was invented for New Year’s Eve. There have been seven different designs of the ball since 1907, and it has been dropped every year since then---except in 1942 and 1943, during the Second World War, when wartime blackouts prevented the lighted ball from dropping. Yet revelers still gathered in Times Square those two years and when midnight came, a moment of silence was observed, followed by chimes! (By the way, the current ball weighs 11,875 pounds!)
What I find so interesting about all this is that it speaks to the human desire and need to mark time. There are fascinating books written on the history of clocks and time keeping and the obsession to create the most accurate clock or watch. From the time I was quite young, I always had a watch, and I do remember in high school that my watch would lose time, a few minutes a week, which meant that I would reset it. It did not seem like a big deal to me, but when the digital revolution came in, resetting watches and clocks became an activity of the past.
We human beings do seem to have this need to note time and mark time, which is perhaps why so many of us find the passage from Ecclesiastes so fitting and even comforting: To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, a time to die, a time to plant, a time to pluck up what is planted, a time to kill, a time to heal, etc. My Old Testament teacher, Harrell Beck, would point out that this view of time as essentially circular, was neither the Jewish nor the Christian view of time, which interpreted history and time as linear, moving toward the goal of God’s reign or realm. He complained that he did not understand why so many people, including Christian ministers, found the passage comforting. Time in Ecclesiastes is just an ongoing circular pattern, repeating itself endlessly, going nowhere, he insisted. But I think the reason we find the passage comforting is because this is how we experience life. The truth of the passage is existential. As we live our lives, we cannot see the final end or goal, which is in God’s hands and God’s sight, not in ours. It seems to me that Ecclesiastes speaks to the actual condition of our day to day lives. I am presiding at a funeral this Saturday, and Ecclesiastes is one of the passages being read. Harrell Beck might disapprove of the choice, but at least I remember what he said and what he taught about the passage. I simply think its function is existentially true, even if not theologically exact.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
The Old Question that Intrudes
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
January 1, 2023
Matthew 2: 13-23
It would be comforting if we could continue to bask in the heavenly light and songs of Christmas for just a while longer. Luke is the Christmas story most of us prefer and know best. We romanticize the birth in a stable, surrounded by animals, because there was no room in the inn. And then there is Luke’s image of the poor shepherds being the first to hear the good news from the angels, who fill the heavenly skies with both their presence and their voices. Shepherds, by the way, were economically vulnerable and ritually unclean, and yet they are the ones chosen to hear the good news first. Luke does have a special feeling for the outcast, the poor and the downtrodden, so we should not be too surprised by the important role the shepherds play in his gospel.
But Mathew is different. He begins with the reaction of the rich and powerful, men like the Magi and King Herod. Matthew makes no mention at all of the shepherds, but instead has the kings, the magi, educated and wise people, who studied the movement of the stars and planets. And in Matthew it is these pagans who travel to Bethlehem to pay homage to the newborn baby. In our reading for today, the magi have already made their journey, and though Herod wanted them to return to him and tell him about this newborn king, they were warned in a dream to stay away. And so, they traveled home by another road.
Of course, Herod was beyond furious, when he realized that he had been tricked by these wise men, and so because he could not find this new born king, he decreed that all baby boys 2 and under were to be put to the sword. But by the time Herod’s soldiers arrived in Bethlehem, the Holy Family had already departed, because Joseph was warned in a dream to take Mary and the baby and flee to Egypt. Joseph NEVER speaks a word in the Bible. He is supposed to remind us of Joseph in the Old Testament, who escaped the wrath of his brothers, who were jealous of him, because he was their father’s favorite, and so he ended up being sold into slavery in Egypt by his brothers, who told their father his favorite son was devoured by a wild beast. Joseph, however, did not remain a slave, because he was able to brilliantly interpret Pharaohs dreams. So, these two Josephs are men of dreams. And dreams sometimes save lives as they did in both the Old and New Testaments.
Now there was something profoundly disturbing about Herod. Today we would call him a paranoid sociopath. He trusted no one, having had two of his sons murdered, because he thought they were conspiring against him, and he had one of his wives killed for the same reason. He would do anything to hold on to his power. And we all can think of actors in our own world who do the same. Power is the name of the game they play. Herod did not care if babies were murdered any more than Putin cares about the babies and children dying in Ukraine today.
So, because of the evil Herod would do, Jesus and his family became refugees. They went to Egypt, a pagan place. They went not because they wanted a life of ease, but because their lives were threatened---the same way many people end up as refugees today, because their lives are threatened by war, political and economic instability, murder by drug cartels or terrorist groups, climate change, leaving them without water and food. The list goes on, and we should note that half of the world’s 26 million refugees are children, under the age of 18. And Jesus and his family shared a part of the immigrant story. In Egypt they found a home. Perhaps this is what they hoped for and expected, since their own Jewish tradition as expressed in the book of Leviticus (written at least 500 years before the birth of Jesus) also commanded respect for immigrants: It reads: “When immigrants live in your land, you must not cheat them. You must treat them as your own citizens. You must love them as yourself, for you were once immigrants in Egypt.”
Now Jesus and his family did not remain in Egypt for very long, because once Herod was dead, the story goes that Joseph was told in a dream to return. But the family did not go back to Bethlehem. Instead, they moved to Nazareth, a small town in Galilee, filled with foreigners and immigrants. No wonder many Jews at the time wondered: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth? Why this isn’t even a Jewish town!” And this not so Jewish town was where Jesus grew up.
Let’s face it: many of us come to church to escape all the messiness of the world outside these walls. We want to be assured of God’s love for us, and we want to find the peace that the world fails to give us. But the trouble is the love and peace God promises come amidst all the messiness and trouble in the world. This is how it was for Jesus, and this is how it is for us. There is no real escape and hardly much relief. The Holy family with a newborn baby must make a run for their lives, and the story puts us face to face once again with evil. King Herod killed babies and though God helped Jesus and his family escape, God did not save the lives of those other innocents. Perhaps it was not a large number of babies killed in Bethlehem; I read somewhere around 20. That is not a slaughter on the scale of the Holocaust or even Ukraine today, but it is still slaughter and it is still evil.
Why is it that even at Christmas time the question of evil intrudes? Why does the birth of such promised goodness invite the tyranny and hatred of the powerful? Why is it that when people demand their freedom and dignity the response is often cruelty? Old questions, aren’t they, which never go away. In Afghanistan today girls are now being denied education in middle and high schools, let alone in universities. For 20 years women trained to become doctors, lawyers, teachers, nurses, etc. and now they are forbidden to work. In Iran women are demanding their rights, and men and boys have been supporting them, and now Iran is executing people---children as young as 12 and 13 are being shot in the back of the heads because they have joined the protests. And the Iranian leadership insists this form of execution shows their tenderness toward the young, who are at least not being beheaded.
The Christmas story unfolds in real history, just as our lives do. And yes, the evil does speak, and it speaks loudly, but it does not speak the final word. That is the good news. For even in the midst of great evil we do see goodness and courage assert themselves. We do see people refuse to surrender to the evil. No human choice is ever perfect; no human choice is ever wholly godly. Yet choices must be made, and there is no doubt that some choices are better than others, and some share more of God’s blessings than others. The question for us is always: Which choices are truly worthy of our faith? And so we take the risk of decision without absolute certitude that we are deciding rightly. But then if we had certitude, we would have no need of faith.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
January 1, 2023
Matthew 2: 13-23
It would be comforting if we could continue to bask in the heavenly light and songs of Christmas for just a while longer. Luke is the Christmas story most of us prefer and know best. We romanticize the birth in a stable, surrounded by animals, because there was no room in the inn. And then there is Luke’s image of the poor shepherds being the first to hear the good news from the angels, who fill the heavenly skies with both their presence and their voices. Shepherds, by the way, were economically vulnerable and ritually unclean, and yet they are the ones chosen to hear the good news first. Luke does have a special feeling for the outcast, the poor and the downtrodden, so we should not be too surprised by the important role the shepherds play in his gospel.
But Mathew is different. He begins with the reaction of the rich and powerful, men like the Magi and King Herod. Matthew makes no mention at all of the shepherds, but instead has the kings, the magi, educated and wise people, who studied the movement of the stars and planets. And in Matthew it is these pagans who travel to Bethlehem to pay homage to the newborn baby. In our reading for today, the magi have already made their journey, and though Herod wanted them to return to him and tell him about this newborn king, they were warned in a dream to stay away. And so, they traveled home by another road.
Of course, Herod was beyond furious, when he realized that he had been tricked by these wise men, and so because he could not find this new born king, he decreed that all baby boys 2 and under were to be put to the sword. But by the time Herod’s soldiers arrived in Bethlehem, the Holy Family had already departed, because Joseph was warned in a dream to take Mary and the baby and flee to Egypt. Joseph NEVER speaks a word in the Bible. He is supposed to remind us of Joseph in the Old Testament, who escaped the wrath of his brothers, who were jealous of him, because he was their father’s favorite, and so he ended up being sold into slavery in Egypt by his brothers, who told their father his favorite son was devoured by a wild beast. Joseph, however, did not remain a slave, because he was able to brilliantly interpret Pharaohs dreams. So, these two Josephs are men of dreams. And dreams sometimes save lives as they did in both the Old and New Testaments.
Now there was something profoundly disturbing about Herod. Today we would call him a paranoid sociopath. He trusted no one, having had two of his sons murdered, because he thought they were conspiring against him, and he had one of his wives killed for the same reason. He would do anything to hold on to his power. And we all can think of actors in our own world who do the same. Power is the name of the game they play. Herod did not care if babies were murdered any more than Putin cares about the babies and children dying in Ukraine today.
So, because of the evil Herod would do, Jesus and his family became refugees. They went to Egypt, a pagan place. They went not because they wanted a life of ease, but because their lives were threatened---the same way many people end up as refugees today, because their lives are threatened by war, political and economic instability, murder by drug cartels or terrorist groups, climate change, leaving them without water and food. The list goes on, and we should note that half of the world’s 26 million refugees are children, under the age of 18. And Jesus and his family shared a part of the immigrant story. In Egypt they found a home. Perhaps this is what they hoped for and expected, since their own Jewish tradition as expressed in the book of Leviticus (written at least 500 years before the birth of Jesus) also commanded respect for immigrants: It reads: “When immigrants live in your land, you must not cheat them. You must treat them as your own citizens. You must love them as yourself, for you were once immigrants in Egypt.”
Now Jesus and his family did not remain in Egypt for very long, because once Herod was dead, the story goes that Joseph was told in a dream to return. But the family did not go back to Bethlehem. Instead, they moved to Nazareth, a small town in Galilee, filled with foreigners and immigrants. No wonder many Jews at the time wondered: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth? Why this isn’t even a Jewish town!” And this not so Jewish town was where Jesus grew up.
Let’s face it: many of us come to church to escape all the messiness of the world outside these walls. We want to be assured of God’s love for us, and we want to find the peace that the world fails to give us. But the trouble is the love and peace God promises come amidst all the messiness and trouble in the world. This is how it was for Jesus, and this is how it is for us. There is no real escape and hardly much relief. The Holy family with a newborn baby must make a run for their lives, and the story puts us face to face once again with evil. King Herod killed babies and though God helped Jesus and his family escape, God did not save the lives of those other innocents. Perhaps it was not a large number of babies killed in Bethlehem; I read somewhere around 20. That is not a slaughter on the scale of the Holocaust or even Ukraine today, but it is still slaughter and it is still evil.
Why is it that even at Christmas time the question of evil intrudes? Why does the birth of such promised goodness invite the tyranny and hatred of the powerful? Why is it that when people demand their freedom and dignity the response is often cruelty? Old questions, aren’t they, which never go away. In Afghanistan today girls are now being denied education in middle and high schools, let alone in universities. For 20 years women trained to become doctors, lawyers, teachers, nurses, etc. and now they are forbidden to work. In Iran women are demanding their rights, and men and boys have been supporting them, and now Iran is executing people---children as young as 12 and 13 are being shot in the back of the heads because they have joined the protests. And the Iranian leadership insists this form of execution shows their tenderness toward the young, who are at least not being beheaded.
The Christmas story unfolds in real history, just as our lives do. And yes, the evil does speak, and it speaks loudly, but it does not speak the final word. That is the good news. For even in the midst of great evil we do see goodness and courage assert themselves. We do see people refuse to surrender to the evil. No human choice is ever perfect; no human choice is ever wholly godly. Yet choices must be made, and there is no doubt that some choices are better than others, and some share more of God’s blessings than others. The question for us is always: Which choices are truly worthy of our faith? And so we take the risk of decision without absolute certitude that we are deciding rightly. But then if we had certitude, we would have no need of faith.
One of Us
Preached by Sandra Olsen
Center Church on the Green in New Haven
January 8th, 2023
Isaiah 42: 1-9
Matthew 3: 13-17
Jesus came to John the Baptist so quietly and unobtrusively in stark contrast to John the Baptist, who was anything but quiet and unobtrusive. During Advent we read the passage immediately preceding this one, where the text tells us, “the people of Jerusalem and all of Judea” were coming to be baptized by John. And John was a wild man, dressed in his camel haired clothes, screaming at the religious leadership, who also showed up to be baptized, “Who told you to flee from the wrath that is to come?” John was not about to give them any credit for what could have been their genuine humility in coming to his baptism of repentance. He assumed the worst about them, and he told them so---hardly a way to win friends and influence people. But, for all John’s harshness, he does deserve credit for knowing who he is and what his role is. He knows he is not the One. He realizes someone greater is coming.
And then Jesus came. He came from Galilee to be baptized by John. He came without fanfare or any pretense that he was above and beyond anyone else. Yet Immediately John recognized that there was something different about this man, because the story tells us that he said to Jesus, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” And Jesus simply responded,” This is the way it must be to fulfill God’s commands of righteousness, which means acts of right conduct. And so, Jesus was baptized, which makes him one of us. He did not separate himself from the mass of people, coming to John for baptism. He did not show himself to be holier or better or smarter or more worthy, or even God’s chosen. He claimed no such power or title for himself. It was God, not Jesus, who named him the Son, the Beloved. You see, baptism is not something Jesus could do for himself, any more than it is something we can do for ourselves. Baptism is a gift from God, but also a submission to God. If we are babies or children, we are submitted to baptism by someone else’s decision. But as an adult Jesus made the decision to be baptized, to submit to God, and in this act two truths ring out: Jesus is one of us and he will be a different kind of Messiah.
Israel’s conventional expectation of a Messiah was one who would lead as King David did---a glorious ruler, who would make Israel into a conquering empire. But this was not how it would be. Oh, there were hints in Israelite history and scripture of another kind of savior. In the prophet, Isaiah, for example, the people heard the voice of one, who tried to bring a measure of hope and comfort in the midst of what looked like stinging defeat. The Babylonian empire had conquered the Jews, destroying their Temple, and carrying off their leaders and educated citizens to Babylon for over 50 years. Even when Cyrus the Persian conquered Babylon and agreed to send the Jews home, they returned to a devastated society, and in the midst of devastation, the natural impulse is to look for power and strength from a leader like David or Solomon. And yet this is not what Isaiah told them. A servant will be sent from God, who will “bring forth justice to the nations.” That sounded good, but Isaiah continued, he will do it not by crying out or lifting up his voice or making it heard in the streets. “A bruised reed he will not break and a dimly burning wick he will not quench.” What kind of leadership is this? It certainly did not sound like a prescription for success. How do you rebuild a destroyed city and make a new civilization with someone who cannot even break a bruised reed?
Well, the same questions were undoubtedly asked about Jesus. He did not present himself as the one who could and would overcome Roman power. In today’s reading from Matthew, we are in the third chapter, and so far, until his baptism Jesus has not spoken one word. And when he finally speaks, he says his baptism is to fulfill all righteousness. As I said earlier, righteousness is right conduct, according to God’s commands. But the purpose of right conduct should not be reduced to a form of legalism, as if following the law is all there is to holiness. This is the problem Jesus had with some of the Jewish religious leadership. They followed the letter of the law, but Jesus charged them the lack of spirit. Oh, they did not commit adultery; they followed the proper rituals of cleanliness, but they lacked compassion and deep understanding. They failed to see that true righteousness concerns one’s relationship with God, and since God is love, the absence of love pulls one further away from God. In his baptism Jesus shows himself to be one of the people; he’s just like everyone else, even part of the riff raff. He is not in the business of lording his own righteousness over others. He will not use raw power or coercion. Instead, he will walk a path of humility and obedience to show what it truly means to love God with the fullness of heart, mind, soul, and strength. This is not what people would have expected from a Messiah or the savior of the world. He should not be like one of us, and certainly not like one of them, the wrong kind of people, whoever it is we think the wrong kind of people are.
A number of years ago, I worked for a short period of time in a drug rehabilitation center. I didn’t want to work there, but I had no other job offer and the family needed my money, so against MY desire and inclination, I took the job. Just about all the other counselors were recovered addicts, but the new social worker in charge of hiring wanted counselors with other backgrounds as well. She told me that although recovered addicts often made excellent counselors, sometimes their own past got in the way. And so, she hired some people who had no history of drug abuse.
This was probably the toughest job I have ever done in my life, partly because I felt humiliated to even be there. I mean all these other counselors had messed up big time; they had stolen, lied, cheated their families out of money and so many other things as well, and here they were, making the same salary as I, and in some cases even more. Many of them had no more education than a GED, and here I was with two Masters’ degrees and a doctorate. I remember very well when one of
my clients asked me about my recovery. I was horrified. “Why I’ve never been an addict, I protested. I never did any of that stuff.” Oh, she said. And I could tell by her Oh and her expression that suddenly she did not trust me---but not because I had not been an addict, but because by the tone of my response, she detected that I really thought I was better than she. As one of my other clients later said, “You know, you’re not better than we are---just luckier and maybe smarter. But luck and smarts don’t make you better---they just make you luckier and smarter---that’s all.”
She was right. It was something I had to learn, and learn I did. Jesus did not begin his ministry until around the age of 30, and we really do not know how much learning he had to do before he began. But in his story, we meet the One in whom God is well pleased. And he never lords his identity over anyone; he never shows by his actions or voice that he thinks he is better than anyone else. HE enters fully into the human condition. That is what his submission to John’s baptism reveals---a full identification with humanity. And that is the way God in Jesus Christ can help and save us.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
Center Church on the Green in New Haven
January 8th, 2023
Isaiah 42: 1-9
Matthew 3: 13-17
Jesus came to John the Baptist so quietly and unobtrusively in stark contrast to John the Baptist, who was anything but quiet and unobtrusive. During Advent we read the passage immediately preceding this one, where the text tells us, “the people of Jerusalem and all of Judea” were coming to be baptized by John. And John was a wild man, dressed in his camel haired clothes, screaming at the religious leadership, who also showed up to be baptized, “Who told you to flee from the wrath that is to come?” John was not about to give them any credit for what could have been their genuine humility in coming to his baptism of repentance. He assumed the worst about them, and he told them so---hardly a way to win friends and influence people. But, for all John’s harshness, he does deserve credit for knowing who he is and what his role is. He knows he is not the One. He realizes someone greater is coming.
And then Jesus came. He came from Galilee to be baptized by John. He came without fanfare or any pretense that he was above and beyond anyone else. Yet Immediately John recognized that there was something different about this man, because the story tells us that he said to Jesus, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” And Jesus simply responded,” This is the way it must be to fulfill God’s commands of righteousness, which means acts of right conduct. And so, Jesus was baptized, which makes him one of us. He did not separate himself from the mass of people, coming to John for baptism. He did not show himself to be holier or better or smarter or more worthy, or even God’s chosen. He claimed no such power or title for himself. It was God, not Jesus, who named him the Son, the Beloved. You see, baptism is not something Jesus could do for himself, any more than it is something we can do for ourselves. Baptism is a gift from God, but also a submission to God. If we are babies or children, we are submitted to baptism by someone else’s decision. But as an adult Jesus made the decision to be baptized, to submit to God, and in this act two truths ring out: Jesus is one of us and he will be a different kind of Messiah.
Israel’s conventional expectation of a Messiah was one who would lead as King David did---a glorious ruler, who would make Israel into a conquering empire. But this was not how it would be. Oh, there were hints in Israelite history and scripture of another kind of savior. In the prophet, Isaiah, for example, the people heard the voice of one, who tried to bring a measure of hope and comfort in the midst of what looked like stinging defeat. The Babylonian empire had conquered the Jews, destroying their Temple, and carrying off their leaders and educated citizens to Babylon for over 50 years. Even when Cyrus the Persian conquered Babylon and agreed to send the Jews home, they returned to a devastated society, and in the midst of devastation, the natural impulse is to look for power and strength from a leader like David or Solomon. And yet this is not what Isaiah told them. A servant will be sent from God, who will “bring forth justice to the nations.” That sounded good, but Isaiah continued, he will do it not by crying out or lifting up his voice or making it heard in the streets. “A bruised reed he will not break and a dimly burning wick he will not quench.” What kind of leadership is this? It certainly did not sound like a prescription for success. How do you rebuild a destroyed city and make a new civilization with someone who cannot even break a bruised reed?
Well, the same questions were undoubtedly asked about Jesus. He did not present himself as the one who could and would overcome Roman power. In today’s reading from Matthew, we are in the third chapter, and so far, until his baptism Jesus has not spoken one word. And when he finally speaks, he says his baptism is to fulfill all righteousness. As I said earlier, righteousness is right conduct, according to God’s commands. But the purpose of right conduct should not be reduced to a form of legalism, as if following the law is all there is to holiness. This is the problem Jesus had with some of the Jewish religious leadership. They followed the letter of the law, but Jesus charged them the lack of spirit. Oh, they did not commit adultery; they followed the proper rituals of cleanliness, but they lacked compassion and deep understanding. They failed to see that true righteousness concerns one’s relationship with God, and since God is love, the absence of love pulls one further away from God. In his baptism Jesus shows himself to be one of the people; he’s just like everyone else, even part of the riff raff. He is not in the business of lording his own righteousness over others. He will not use raw power or coercion. Instead, he will walk a path of humility and obedience to show what it truly means to love God with the fullness of heart, mind, soul, and strength. This is not what people would have expected from a Messiah or the savior of the world. He should not be like one of us, and certainly not like one of them, the wrong kind of people, whoever it is we think the wrong kind of people are.
A number of years ago, I worked for a short period of time in a drug rehabilitation center. I didn’t want to work there, but I had no other job offer and the family needed my money, so against MY desire and inclination, I took the job. Just about all the other counselors were recovered addicts, but the new social worker in charge of hiring wanted counselors with other backgrounds as well. She told me that although recovered addicts often made excellent counselors, sometimes their own past got in the way. And so, she hired some people who had no history of drug abuse.
This was probably the toughest job I have ever done in my life, partly because I felt humiliated to even be there. I mean all these other counselors had messed up big time; they had stolen, lied, cheated their families out of money and so many other things as well, and here they were, making the same salary as I, and in some cases even more. Many of them had no more education than a GED, and here I was with two Masters’ degrees and a doctorate. I remember very well when one of
my clients asked me about my recovery. I was horrified. “Why I’ve never been an addict, I protested. I never did any of that stuff.” Oh, she said. And I could tell by her Oh and her expression that suddenly she did not trust me---but not because I had not been an addict, but because by the tone of my response, she detected that I really thought I was better than she. As one of my other clients later said, “You know, you’re not better than we are---just luckier and maybe smarter. But luck and smarts don’t make you better---they just make you luckier and smarter---that’s all.”
She was right. It was something I had to learn, and learn I did. Jesus did not begin his ministry until around the age of 30, and we really do not know how much learning he had to do before he began. But in his story, we meet the One in whom God is well pleased. And he never lords his identity over anyone; he never shows by his actions or voice that he thinks he is better than anyone else. HE enters fully into the human condition. That is what his submission to John’s baptism reveals---a full identification with humanity. And that is the way God in Jesus Christ can help and save us.
December 28, 2022
Dear Friends,
Nature has been having quite a dramatic time of it over the past few weeks with winter storms and plummeting temperatures blanketing large swaths of the country with cold and snow. Just yesterday I saw a picture in the Washington Post of people trying to shovel their driveway and sidewalks in Hamburg, New York, the town where I graduated from high school. I know all about lake effect snow, having spent most of my childhood in the Buffalo region. When I first moved to Massachusetts after four years spent in college in Chicago, I thought New Englanders were the biggest wimps when it came to coping with snow. Yes, nature does have a way of humbling human beings, reminding us that for all our creative brilliance and technological advancement, we cannot always outsmart nature to save ourselves from the ravages of hurricanes and snowstorms.
Shortly after seeing the picture of Hamburg’s snow, I read an article about humpback whales. Apparently, humpbacks are the most studied of all the whales, and we are learning fascinating things about their “language.” They sing these amazing songs and pass them on to other whales in the same region. When whales travel, as they do in various seasons, such as the breeding season, the whales in the area hear this new song from the male humpbacks, coming to breed. And they pick it up and pass it on. So, whales in Australia passed their songs on to other whales in French Polynesia, who in turn passed it on to whales in Ecuador. Scientists claim that nearly half the globe’s whales are now vocally connected.
It is the male humpbacks who sing, and their songs last about one half hour. Why do they sing? One conjecture is to attract females. Other whales sing as well, but the humpbacks are the ones most studied, so we know the most about their songs. There is apparently a complex structure to the language of the song. The whales combine short sounds, which we call units, into phrases, then the phrases form themes. Each song has several themes.
Sometimes the male whale will change a unit in a song or add a phrase or even delete a theme. Other males will copy it, which means that songs do change and evolve. So, different populations, which initially learned the same song, may have different versions of the one song. Of course, not all changes are copied, and I would imagine that while some whales might like the new version, there are others who do not, and so they prefer to stick to the original----not so different from human beings.
Marine biologists have been studying humpbacks for quite some time. In 1996 one biologist noticed that a particular humpback male off the east coast of Australia had given up a local song and was singing a song that had been sung on the west coast of the country. Within two years all the males on the east coast were singing the new song. More research indicated that songs sung in eastern Australia showed up in a couple of years in French Polynesia, over 6000 miles away! This led marine biologists to wonder if the songs traveled even further east across the Pacific, and so they began to collaborate with marine biologists in Ecuador. The whales in Ecuador had their own distinctive songs, but soon they were putting French Polynesian themes into their songs. So, the singing cannot simply be reduced to mere copying. There is creative use of units, phrases, and themes.
WE human beings can get quite a swelled head about our privileged place in the creation. We remember the Old Testament story of creation, where God apparently gave “dominion” to human beings over the rest of the creation. There is no doubt our hands, especially our thumb, and our upright locomotion have given us tremendous advantages. Then there is the evolution of our cerebral cortex, which has allowed us to invent something as complex as tensor calculus. And yet marine biologists, who have studied the brains of humpback whales, assure us that the cerebral cortex of whales is large and complex enough to permit them the same creative ingenuity. But whales live in an evolutionary nirvana. They have no need to change their environments, since they have no natural enemies---except humans!
We human beings, on the other hand, are restless creatures. We are not so easily at home in the world, whose environment can challenge our very survival. And so, we push against boundaries and limits. We invent things which are more than physical survival. We do not require tenor calculus to survive; we do not need choral music or symphonies or magnificent cathedrals or paintings or sculpture. And yet this is what we have made and continue to make. Whales sing songs, and they pass them on, and we are mightily impressed that they do. Even the Bible attested to the magnificence of whales, referring to them as the great leviathan. But when the psalmist sang his songs, praising the work of God’s hands, the heavens, the stars, the moon, he specifically wondered about human beings:
What are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?
You have made them a little lower than God,
and crowned them with glory and honor.
You have given then dominion over the works of your hands;
you have put all things under their feet.
We do live in a time when we are asked to reconsider our “dominion” over other creatures. What does it really mean? And the more we learn about these magnificent other creatures, hopefully, the more we shall realize that responsibility might be preferable to dominion.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Nature has been having quite a dramatic time of it over the past few weeks with winter storms and plummeting temperatures blanketing large swaths of the country with cold and snow. Just yesterday I saw a picture in the Washington Post of people trying to shovel their driveway and sidewalks in Hamburg, New York, the town where I graduated from high school. I know all about lake effect snow, having spent most of my childhood in the Buffalo region. When I first moved to Massachusetts after four years spent in college in Chicago, I thought New Englanders were the biggest wimps when it came to coping with snow. Yes, nature does have a way of humbling human beings, reminding us that for all our creative brilliance and technological advancement, we cannot always outsmart nature to save ourselves from the ravages of hurricanes and snowstorms.
Shortly after seeing the picture of Hamburg’s snow, I read an article about humpback whales. Apparently, humpbacks are the most studied of all the whales, and we are learning fascinating things about their “language.” They sing these amazing songs and pass them on to other whales in the same region. When whales travel, as they do in various seasons, such as the breeding season, the whales in the area hear this new song from the male humpbacks, coming to breed. And they pick it up and pass it on. So, whales in Australia passed their songs on to other whales in French Polynesia, who in turn passed it on to whales in Ecuador. Scientists claim that nearly half the globe’s whales are now vocally connected.
It is the male humpbacks who sing, and their songs last about one half hour. Why do they sing? One conjecture is to attract females. Other whales sing as well, but the humpbacks are the ones most studied, so we know the most about their songs. There is apparently a complex structure to the language of the song. The whales combine short sounds, which we call units, into phrases, then the phrases form themes. Each song has several themes.
Sometimes the male whale will change a unit in a song or add a phrase or even delete a theme. Other males will copy it, which means that songs do change and evolve. So, different populations, which initially learned the same song, may have different versions of the one song. Of course, not all changes are copied, and I would imagine that while some whales might like the new version, there are others who do not, and so they prefer to stick to the original----not so different from human beings.
Marine biologists have been studying humpbacks for quite some time. In 1996 one biologist noticed that a particular humpback male off the east coast of Australia had given up a local song and was singing a song that had been sung on the west coast of the country. Within two years all the males on the east coast were singing the new song. More research indicated that songs sung in eastern Australia showed up in a couple of years in French Polynesia, over 6000 miles away! This led marine biologists to wonder if the songs traveled even further east across the Pacific, and so they began to collaborate with marine biologists in Ecuador. The whales in Ecuador had their own distinctive songs, but soon they were putting French Polynesian themes into their songs. So, the singing cannot simply be reduced to mere copying. There is creative use of units, phrases, and themes.
WE human beings can get quite a swelled head about our privileged place in the creation. We remember the Old Testament story of creation, where God apparently gave “dominion” to human beings over the rest of the creation. There is no doubt our hands, especially our thumb, and our upright locomotion have given us tremendous advantages. Then there is the evolution of our cerebral cortex, which has allowed us to invent something as complex as tensor calculus. And yet marine biologists, who have studied the brains of humpback whales, assure us that the cerebral cortex of whales is large and complex enough to permit them the same creative ingenuity. But whales live in an evolutionary nirvana. They have no need to change their environments, since they have no natural enemies---except humans!
We human beings, on the other hand, are restless creatures. We are not so easily at home in the world, whose environment can challenge our very survival. And so, we push against boundaries and limits. We invent things which are more than physical survival. We do not require tenor calculus to survive; we do not need choral music or symphonies or magnificent cathedrals or paintings or sculpture. And yet this is what we have made and continue to make. Whales sing songs, and they pass them on, and we are mightily impressed that they do. Even the Bible attested to the magnificence of whales, referring to them as the great leviathan. But when the psalmist sang his songs, praising the work of God’s hands, the heavens, the stars, the moon, he specifically wondered about human beings:
What are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?
You have made them a little lower than God,
and crowned them with glory and honor.
You have given then dominion over the works of your hands;
you have put all things under their feet.
We do live in a time when we are asked to reconsider our “dominion” over other creatures. What does it really mean? And the more we learn about these magnificent other creatures, hopefully, the more we shall realize that responsibility might be preferable to dominion.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
I HEARD THE BELLS
Christmas Day, 2022
First Church of Christ, Unionville, CT
There are many different ways to make an announcement and one way is to use bells. Remember high school, when the bell signified whether or not you were late to a class. And of course, church bells, which announce that a service is about to begin, or that something monumental is happening or about to happen. The church bells rang out all across France and England when the war ended in Europe in 1945. And then there is the tradition of ringing church bells to announce Christmas as the morning light breaks forth.
And so it was that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow heard the church bells ringing on Christmas morning in 1863. Longfellow was one of America’s great poets, who once wrote, “Everyone has their secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and too often we think a person cold, when he is only sad.” Longfellow’s life had hardly begun in sadness. He was a child of privilege and promise. His ancestors had come to the American shore in 1676 from Yorkshire, England, and he was born in 1807 in Portland Maine to parents, who loved him and nurtured his talents. At age 3, he began school and by age 6 he was reading classical literature (in Latin) and writing stories. By 19 he had graduated from college and was a professor of language at Bowdoin College in Maine. At age 22 he had already written college textbooks, so it was hardly surprising that Harvard wooed him away from Bowdoin.
By the time he was 27, Longfellow had a national reputation, but within a year of moving to Harvard, his wife died. Grief stricken, he poured himself into his teaching, and seven years later, with a heart ready to love again, he remarried. Five children were born to him and his wife and during these years, he produced some of the poetry that is most familiar to us: Evangeline, The Song of Hiawatha, The Courtship of Miles Standish. The decades moved on, and life was good to the Longfellows. By 1860, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was lionized as one of the greatest writers ever to come from the North American continent. With honorary degrees from Oxford and Cambridge Universities, he would have been a happy man, but in 1861, his wife, while lighting a match, caught her clothes on fire and burned to death.
Longfellows’s grief was devastating and adding to his personal loss was the American Civil War, whose brutality and cruelty brought him to his knees. He quite literally pleaded with God to end the madness of the slaughter, and then his oldest son, Charles, who was but 19 year old, was wounded. When Charles arrived home, more dead than alive, Longfellow’s sadness turned to rage. More and more wounded soldiers were arriving in Cambridge, Ma. and the poet also had friends who lost sons in the war. He could not even begin to comprehend what it was that God was doing, and a deep and dark depression set in.
On the morning of Dec. 25, 1863, he awoke to the chiming of church bells. Taking pen in hand, he wrote out five stanzas, two of which are rarely sung today: Then from each black, accursed mouth,/ The cannon thundered in the South/And with the sound the carols drowned/Of peace on earth good will to men. It was as if an earthquake rent/The hearthstones of a continent/And made forlorn the households born/Of peace on earth goodwill to men.
He would have ended his poem there on a sad and tragic note---except the bells peeled even louder, and in the midst of the chiming, he penned out two more stanzas: Then peeled the bells more loud and deep/God is not dead nor doth He sleep/The wrong shall fail/The right prevail/ With peace on earth goodwill to men. Till ringing, signing, on its way/ The world revolved from night to day/ A voice, a chime, a chant sublime/Of peace on earth, good will to men! Longfellow would later say those words came from God, not from him.
In 1872, almost 10 years later, an Englishman, John Baptiste Calkin, who was an organist and music teacher, put Longfellow’s words to a melody that not only conveyed the bleak imagery and haunting sadness of the opening verses, but also the hopeful faith in the poem’s conclusion. When published, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” quickly became one of the most popular of Christmas songs---minus the two verses about the Civil War.
The song was sung in the trenches during the First World War and also during the Second. One young army captain, Stanley Young, age 24, wrote his wife during the Battle of the Bulge. “War is so terrible, and both sides do terrible things. Just a few days ago, four young Germans, younger than I, entered our lines under a white flag with a simple offer: Surrender now, or face complete annihilation. General McAuliffe disdainfully answered “Nuts,” and when the Germans looked confused and asked for a clearer translation, Colonel Harper said, “Go to hell.”
The men all about me cheered, and I suppose I should have too, but all I felt was a deep sadness. Those German boys were hardly more than children; they did not make this war any more than I did. We are all pawns in a history not of our own making. And all God seems to do is look down upon the slaughter. Those were my thoughts a few days later as I stumbled into a church service early one morning, when it was still too dark to see. I did not even remember that it was Christmas morning. I remember nothing about the service---except for a chorus of about a dozen men, singing.” I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” Then peeled the bells more loud and deep/God is not dead/Nor doth he sleep. The wrong shall fail, the right, prevail/ With peace on earth, good will to men!” “Oh, my love,” the soldier finished the last line in his letter. I do so hope and pray it is true.”
And so do we all.
Christmas Day, 2022
First Church of Christ, Unionville, CT
There are many different ways to make an announcement and one way is to use bells. Remember high school, when the bell signified whether or not you were late to a class. And of course, church bells, which announce that a service is about to begin, or that something monumental is happening or about to happen. The church bells rang out all across France and England when the war ended in Europe in 1945. And then there is the tradition of ringing church bells to announce Christmas as the morning light breaks forth.
And so it was that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow heard the church bells ringing on Christmas morning in 1863. Longfellow was one of America’s great poets, who once wrote, “Everyone has their secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and too often we think a person cold, when he is only sad.” Longfellow’s life had hardly begun in sadness. He was a child of privilege and promise. His ancestors had come to the American shore in 1676 from Yorkshire, England, and he was born in 1807 in Portland Maine to parents, who loved him and nurtured his talents. At age 3, he began school and by age 6 he was reading classical literature (in Latin) and writing stories. By 19 he had graduated from college and was a professor of language at Bowdoin College in Maine. At age 22 he had already written college textbooks, so it was hardly surprising that Harvard wooed him away from Bowdoin.
By the time he was 27, Longfellow had a national reputation, but within a year of moving to Harvard, his wife died. Grief stricken, he poured himself into his teaching, and seven years later, with a heart ready to love again, he remarried. Five children were born to him and his wife and during these years, he produced some of the poetry that is most familiar to us: Evangeline, The Song of Hiawatha, The Courtship of Miles Standish. The decades moved on, and life was good to the Longfellows. By 1860, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was lionized as one of the greatest writers ever to come from the North American continent. With honorary degrees from Oxford and Cambridge Universities, he would have been a happy man, but in 1861, his wife, while lighting a match, caught her clothes on fire and burned to death.
Longfellows’s grief was devastating and adding to his personal loss was the American Civil War, whose brutality and cruelty brought him to his knees. He quite literally pleaded with God to end the madness of the slaughter, and then his oldest son, Charles, who was but 19 year old, was wounded. When Charles arrived home, more dead than alive, Longfellow’s sadness turned to rage. More and more wounded soldiers were arriving in Cambridge, Ma. and the poet also had friends who lost sons in the war. He could not even begin to comprehend what it was that God was doing, and a deep and dark depression set in.
On the morning of Dec. 25, 1863, he awoke to the chiming of church bells. Taking pen in hand, he wrote out five stanzas, two of which are rarely sung today: Then from each black, accursed mouth,/ The cannon thundered in the South/And with the sound the carols drowned/Of peace on earth good will to men. It was as if an earthquake rent/The hearthstones of a continent/And made forlorn the households born/Of peace on earth goodwill to men.
He would have ended his poem there on a sad and tragic note---except the bells peeled even louder, and in the midst of the chiming, he penned out two more stanzas: Then peeled the bells more loud and deep/God is not dead nor doth He sleep/The wrong shall fail/The right prevail/ With peace on earth goodwill to men. Till ringing, signing, on its way/ The world revolved from night to day/ A voice, a chime, a chant sublime/Of peace on earth, good will to men! Longfellow would later say those words came from God, not from him.
In 1872, almost 10 years later, an Englishman, John Baptiste Calkin, who was an organist and music teacher, put Longfellow’s words to a melody that not only conveyed the bleak imagery and haunting sadness of the opening verses, but also the hopeful faith in the poem’s conclusion. When published, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” quickly became one of the most popular of Christmas songs---minus the two verses about the Civil War.
The song was sung in the trenches during the First World War and also during the Second. One young army captain, Stanley Young, age 24, wrote his wife during the Battle of the Bulge. “War is so terrible, and both sides do terrible things. Just a few days ago, four young Germans, younger than I, entered our lines under a white flag with a simple offer: Surrender now, or face complete annihilation. General McAuliffe disdainfully answered “Nuts,” and when the Germans looked confused and asked for a clearer translation, Colonel Harper said, “Go to hell.”
The men all about me cheered, and I suppose I should have too, but all I felt was a deep sadness. Those German boys were hardly more than children; they did not make this war any more than I did. We are all pawns in a history not of our own making. And all God seems to do is look down upon the slaughter. Those were my thoughts a few days later as I stumbled into a church service early one morning, when it was still too dark to see. I did not even remember that it was Christmas morning. I remember nothing about the service---except for a chorus of about a dozen men, singing.” I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” Then peeled the bells more loud and deep/God is not dead/Nor doth he sleep. The wrong shall fail, the right, prevail/ With peace on earth, good will to men!” “Oh, my love,” the soldier finished the last line in his letter. I do so hope and pray it is true.”
And so do we all.
When the Guns Were Silent
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
December 24, 2022
The time: December 1, 1914; the place, No Man’s Land, a piece of trenched earth, running across France and Belgium, where men lived and died. World War I was but four months old, and already hundreds of thousands of men were dead, maimed or missing. The newly elected Pope, Benedict XV, appealed to both sides for a Christmas truce. The only reply from the high commands from both sides was more shelling. “If men must kill,” one editor from a London newspaper wrote, “it is perhaps just as well they make no truce for Christmas.”
But by December 8th, something unusual began to happen: both sides stopped firing at meal times, despite orders to the contrary. Packages from home began ,places where the trenches of the enemies were separated by a mere 50 yards, and soon men began exchanging newspapers, rations, and Christmas gifts by throwing them out into the distance, toward the trenches of the opposing side. The orders from both sides were loud and clear: no fraternizing with the enemy, but the orders were ignored.
On the morning of December 19 a young English Lieutenant Geoffrey Heinekey, leaned back against the walls of his trench, trying to find an acceptable position in which to write his mother. “Mother,” he wrote, “this morning an extraordinary thing happened. Some Germans came out of their trenches and held up their hands and began to take in some of their wounded and dying. So, we did the same. The Germans then beckoned us to come over, and we did. We talked to them for a while, and one young man gave me a cigarette---the first one I had in quite some time, which wasn’t soggy. He seemed nice, Mother, well spoken and well mannered, the kind of person you always encouraged me to have as a friend. It’s ironic; we don’t have to hate our enemy; we only have to kill him.”
For the Germans Christmas was a particularly festive time, so a few days before Christmas, little Christmas trees, illuminated by white candles, began appearing all along the German trenches. It looked like footlights in the theatre, one English soldier wrote to his wife. The Queen’s elite Westminster Rifle Guard was suspicious, and so they fired, but no shots were returned. Suddenly out of the darkness a voice shouted, “Englishmen, Englishmen, it’s Christmas Eve. You don’t shoot; we don’t shoot.” And then the Germans began to sing, Silent Night, Holy Night, followed by God Save the King.
Daylight brought the familiar view: dead bodies, strewn across No Man’s Land, though newly fallen snow had covered the worst scenes of death. Each side agreed to send men out to help bury each other’s dead, and that’s how they spent Christmas morning of 1914----burying their enemies. One German officer approached an English chaplain to tell him how a young Scotsman had died a few feet from his trench. He was beyond medical aid, the officer explained, so I stayed with him as he lay dying. He was struggling to remove something from his pocket---this picture of his wife. I held it up for him so he could see her. Perhaps you could let her know that her husband did not die alone.
The Christmas truce of 1914 was widespread, but not everywhere effective. One young English soldier by the name of Henry Williamson wrote to his mother about a “poor tormented German soldier,” who refused to step forward to participate in a joint burial service. “Have you no German sense of shame at all?” he snorted to his comrades. The soldier’s name, it was later learned, was Adolf Hitler.
In some places the truce lasted nearly two weeks; in other places, only a few days. Understand this: the truce came from the bottom up, from the soldiers in the trenches. It came despite direct orders from both the English and German high command. Official military history has tried to hide the truce; it was, after all, an embarrassment to those who would wage war. On the first day of December, 1915 to prevent a repeat of the previous year’s truce, the English command ordered constant, daylight shelling to last throughout the entire month of December. During December, 1915 there would be more men killed on any single day (averaging about 6000 per day) than yards gained in the entire year. And then four more years of war---not to determine who was right, but who was left.
So, what does this mean---this Christmas truce of 1914? As deep as the mark of sin is, it is not so deep that war is something human beings so easily desire. Oh, some do. We see it in our world today: Putin invading a sovereign nation, because he could, and power, not peace, is what he most desires. Each year Christmas comes, and we sing Silent Night, Holy Night. We remember the coming of Christ, whom we name Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, and Prince of Peace. And, of course, the story goes that the angels sing of peace: Peace on earth. Is it possible that in December of 1914 the Prince of Peace came once again among the lowly---the common soldiers from both sides who against all orders from their superiors did not fight and would not fight. The Prince of Peace comes, and continues to come. And what do we do? Do we recognize and welcome him, or do we repeat history’s terrible refrain, “Crucify him! Crucify him. And then the dastardly deed is done not on a cross but on war’s cruel battlefield? Oh God, despite our foolish ways, give us peace.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
December 24, 2022
The time: December 1, 1914; the place, No Man’s Land, a piece of trenched earth, running across France and Belgium, where men lived and died. World War I was but four months old, and already hundreds of thousands of men were dead, maimed or missing. The newly elected Pope, Benedict XV, appealed to both sides for a Christmas truce. The only reply from the high commands from both sides was more shelling. “If men must kill,” one editor from a London newspaper wrote, “it is perhaps just as well they make no truce for Christmas.”
But by December 8th, something unusual began to happen: both sides stopped firing at meal times, despite orders to the contrary. Packages from home began ,places where the trenches of the enemies were separated by a mere 50 yards, and soon men began exchanging newspapers, rations, and Christmas gifts by throwing them out into the distance, toward the trenches of the opposing side. The orders from both sides were loud and clear: no fraternizing with the enemy, but the orders were ignored.
On the morning of December 19 a young English Lieutenant Geoffrey Heinekey, leaned back against the walls of his trench, trying to find an acceptable position in which to write his mother. “Mother,” he wrote, “this morning an extraordinary thing happened. Some Germans came out of their trenches and held up their hands and began to take in some of their wounded and dying. So, we did the same. The Germans then beckoned us to come over, and we did. We talked to them for a while, and one young man gave me a cigarette---the first one I had in quite some time, which wasn’t soggy. He seemed nice, Mother, well spoken and well mannered, the kind of person you always encouraged me to have as a friend. It’s ironic; we don’t have to hate our enemy; we only have to kill him.”
For the Germans Christmas was a particularly festive time, so a few days before Christmas, little Christmas trees, illuminated by white candles, began appearing all along the German trenches. It looked like footlights in the theatre, one English soldier wrote to his wife. The Queen’s elite Westminster Rifle Guard was suspicious, and so they fired, but no shots were returned. Suddenly out of the darkness a voice shouted, “Englishmen, Englishmen, it’s Christmas Eve. You don’t shoot; we don’t shoot.” And then the Germans began to sing, Silent Night, Holy Night, followed by God Save the King.
Daylight brought the familiar view: dead bodies, strewn across No Man’s Land, though newly fallen snow had covered the worst scenes of death. Each side agreed to send men out to help bury each other’s dead, and that’s how they spent Christmas morning of 1914----burying their enemies. One German officer approached an English chaplain to tell him how a young Scotsman had died a few feet from his trench. He was beyond medical aid, the officer explained, so I stayed with him as he lay dying. He was struggling to remove something from his pocket---this picture of his wife. I held it up for him so he could see her. Perhaps you could let her know that her husband did not die alone.
The Christmas truce of 1914 was widespread, but not everywhere effective. One young English soldier by the name of Henry Williamson wrote to his mother about a “poor tormented German soldier,” who refused to step forward to participate in a joint burial service. “Have you no German sense of shame at all?” he snorted to his comrades. The soldier’s name, it was later learned, was Adolf Hitler.
In some places the truce lasted nearly two weeks; in other places, only a few days. Understand this: the truce came from the bottom up, from the soldiers in the trenches. It came despite direct orders from both the English and German high command. Official military history has tried to hide the truce; it was, after all, an embarrassment to those who would wage war. On the first day of December, 1915 to prevent a repeat of the previous year’s truce, the English command ordered constant, daylight shelling to last throughout the entire month of December. During December, 1915 there would be more men killed on any single day (averaging about 6000 per day) than yards gained in the entire year. And then four more years of war---not to determine who was right, but who was left.
So, what does this mean---this Christmas truce of 1914? As deep as the mark of sin is, it is not so deep that war is something human beings so easily desire. Oh, some do. We see it in our world today: Putin invading a sovereign nation, because he could, and power, not peace, is what he most desires. Each year Christmas comes, and we sing Silent Night, Holy Night. We remember the coming of Christ, whom we name Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, and Prince of Peace. And, of course, the story goes that the angels sing of peace: Peace on earth. Is it possible that in December of 1914 the Prince of Peace came once again among the lowly---the common soldiers from both sides who against all orders from their superiors did not fight and would not fight. The Prince of Peace comes, and continues to come. And what do we do? Do we recognize and welcome him, or do we repeat history’s terrible refrain, “Crucify him! Crucify him. And then the dastardly deed is done not on a cross but on war’s cruel battlefield? Oh God, despite our foolish ways, give us peace.
A Monologue by Mary
First Church in Unionville, CT
December 18, 2022
Matthew 1: 18-24
I was so afraid when the Angel first told me. Finding out I was pregnant was shocking – to me, to my parents, to Joseph. That poor man, he did not know what “hit him,” but then neither did I. How could I? I mean I was so young, a child by your standards today. I lived in a world that was so very small. Most people never traveled very far from their homes, and women had few options. I could read but a few words, and I could not write at all. Where would I have learned? I came from a poor and humble family ---- although many years later there were stories that I came from wealth. I guess some people just couldn’t believe that the savior of the world came from such poor, humble, uneducated beginnings. Ironic, isn’t it? But then God has this habit of being ironic, paradoxical, downright mysterious.
Many of you recall the story from Luke, about how the angel Gabriel came to me and said, “Hail, favored one!” What a startling greeting, and right then and there---right at that very moment, before one more sound was uttered---I knew, I knew that this was something shockingly new, something not to be comprehended by the normal categories of human thought and experience. And that is the first thing you must understand. If you understand nothing else today, get this: the normal categories we human beings use to cope with life, to understand life, to give us support and direction and even wisdom---all that can break apart in one instant when God crosses your path. I am not talking about craziness or irrationality or an assault on reason: I mean something that pushes down into reason’s depths -- deep, deep it goes; deeper than you can imagine, really, and this is what revelation is. Never an insult to reason, but always a deepening of it. So, you see, Luke got it exactly right when he wrote that I pondered all this. I never stopped pondering, no, not for a minute. If I had, I might have gone mad! And so, for me there was a lifetime of questions, a lifetime of pondering and wondering.
Sure, I was poor, uneducated, and humble, but that does not mean I was simple minded. I wasn’t afraid to ask questions: And so, I asked what I thought was the most basic question of all: How can this be, since I have no husband? I couldn’t see how the son of God could come into the world through a situation that many would view as scandalous. In my day an unwed woman could be stoned to death for becoming pregnant. There were no paternity tests, and the only thing needed to confirm or deny paternity was the word of a man. If he said he was the father, that settled it! If a married woman had a baby by someone else beside her husband, most of the time her husband would claim the child as his own. Even a betrayed husband did not want to see his betraying wife executed! But if no man claimed the child---well, that was a big problem for the woman because then she would be stoned. As soon as a man stepped forth to say, “This is my child,” that finished it. And that is what Joseph did for me; he stepped forward to claim the child. He would make no public accusation against me. His plan was to divorce me quietly.
There is something else I want you to understand. People think that the essential question is where Jesus received half of his chromosomes – from God or from a human father. But I have come to understand that the issue is not so much about biology as it is about theology, that is, about what God is doing, what God is intending. God is always doing something in real human life. But we so often miss it. And you know something? I could have easily missed it too, and that is why Gabriel showed up and grabbed my attention.
And now when I look back on what Gabriel told me then, I think it was more than my being chosen to be the mother of the Messiah. God wanted me to be fully human, fully alive, just as God wants that for you, and the trouble is, we get so easily distracted by the details of life, which claim our attention. We have work to do, making a home and earning a living, getting food. And we all have our worries and troubles. It is so easy to become distracted, to fail to pay attention. And so when Gabriel invaded my space, my distractions were overcome by the news that I was to be a mother, the mother of the promised Messiah. I was overwhelmed both by the magnitude of this proposition and the uncertainty about how things would proceed. It is one thing to know that all will be according to God’s plan, and quite another to experience life while that plan unfolds. I felt so uncertain and afraid – afraid for myself and for Joseph, for sure, but mostly afraid for the child that I was being asked to raise and teach and nurture along his path toward fulfilling his destiny. In light of that, every other concern seemed small. And I think that is why God came here on earth to show us that although we have to live with the details, we do not have to lose ourselves in them. You see, if we look, if we are open, the details point to something beyond themselves, something bigger and more important...and perhaps something we cannot fully envision on our own, and must leave to what God has envisioned for us.
And this is what Joseph saw or dreamed. He was able to see the big picture; he didn’t get lost in the details, though he could have. The text you heard today, from Matthew’s Gospel, is nothing like Luke’s. There is no mention here of Gabriel coming to me; no mention of my pondering, no words like, “Let it be to me according to your word.” Luke says nothing about Joseph having a dream where he is reassured to take me as his wife. Each Gospel has a different perspective, a different way of telling the story. And in Matthew, Joseph is important. He is the one who opens himself to God’s will, taking me as his wife, as the text so succinctly says.
He could have dismissed me quietly, and I did wonder why he did not. I mean Joseph wasn’t one to talk or explain himself, which is why in the New Testament, there is not one spoken word from him. He was not comfortable with words, and what he was thinking is not something I ever really knew. I don’t think we understood each other very well---Joseph with his dreams and me with my questions and ponderings. Sometimes I would catch him looking sadly at me, the same way that years later, he would look sadly at Jesus, as if he knew then that there was something about Jesus neither of us would ever understand. And one day, when I saw him look at Jesus that way, I said, “Oh, Joseph, I do not understand him either and all my ponderings have brought me no nearer to understanding.” He looked at me and said, “And all my dreaming has brought me no nearer to understanding either”. So, it seemed that what separated us also brought us together.
It’s kind of like a lot of churches today, churches like yours, where people have many different beliefs about God and Jesus and the Bible and what finally matters. Maybe what brings you together is the sense that it is worthwhile to come together--- to worship, to pray, to forgive, to ponder and dream, to practice hospitality, to do justice and mercy. All this is worthwhile because you know, deep down inside, that although you do not fully understand it all, there is something beyond the understanding that calls you to be here, that calls you to believe. Oh, how I pondered and oh, how Joseph dreamed, and despite all that separated us, God brought us together that God’s work might be done through us. And perhaps that is why you are here as well----that God might do something through you and through this church. And what that is, well, you figure it out as you go along, just as Joseph and I had to do.
First Church in Unionville, CT
December 18, 2022
Matthew 1: 18-24
I was so afraid when the Angel first told me. Finding out I was pregnant was shocking – to me, to my parents, to Joseph. That poor man, he did not know what “hit him,” but then neither did I. How could I? I mean I was so young, a child by your standards today. I lived in a world that was so very small. Most people never traveled very far from their homes, and women had few options. I could read but a few words, and I could not write at all. Where would I have learned? I came from a poor and humble family ---- although many years later there were stories that I came from wealth. I guess some people just couldn’t believe that the savior of the world came from such poor, humble, uneducated beginnings. Ironic, isn’t it? But then God has this habit of being ironic, paradoxical, downright mysterious.
Many of you recall the story from Luke, about how the angel Gabriel came to me and said, “Hail, favored one!” What a startling greeting, and right then and there---right at that very moment, before one more sound was uttered---I knew, I knew that this was something shockingly new, something not to be comprehended by the normal categories of human thought and experience. And that is the first thing you must understand. If you understand nothing else today, get this: the normal categories we human beings use to cope with life, to understand life, to give us support and direction and even wisdom---all that can break apart in one instant when God crosses your path. I am not talking about craziness or irrationality or an assault on reason: I mean something that pushes down into reason’s depths -- deep, deep it goes; deeper than you can imagine, really, and this is what revelation is. Never an insult to reason, but always a deepening of it. So, you see, Luke got it exactly right when he wrote that I pondered all this. I never stopped pondering, no, not for a minute. If I had, I might have gone mad! And so, for me there was a lifetime of questions, a lifetime of pondering and wondering.
Sure, I was poor, uneducated, and humble, but that does not mean I was simple minded. I wasn’t afraid to ask questions: And so, I asked what I thought was the most basic question of all: How can this be, since I have no husband? I couldn’t see how the son of God could come into the world through a situation that many would view as scandalous. In my day an unwed woman could be stoned to death for becoming pregnant. There were no paternity tests, and the only thing needed to confirm or deny paternity was the word of a man. If he said he was the father, that settled it! If a married woman had a baby by someone else beside her husband, most of the time her husband would claim the child as his own. Even a betrayed husband did not want to see his betraying wife executed! But if no man claimed the child---well, that was a big problem for the woman because then she would be stoned. As soon as a man stepped forth to say, “This is my child,” that finished it. And that is what Joseph did for me; he stepped forward to claim the child. He would make no public accusation against me. His plan was to divorce me quietly.
There is something else I want you to understand. People think that the essential question is where Jesus received half of his chromosomes – from God or from a human father. But I have come to understand that the issue is not so much about biology as it is about theology, that is, about what God is doing, what God is intending. God is always doing something in real human life. But we so often miss it. And you know something? I could have easily missed it too, and that is why Gabriel showed up and grabbed my attention.
And now when I look back on what Gabriel told me then, I think it was more than my being chosen to be the mother of the Messiah. God wanted me to be fully human, fully alive, just as God wants that for you, and the trouble is, we get so easily distracted by the details of life, which claim our attention. We have work to do, making a home and earning a living, getting food. And we all have our worries and troubles. It is so easy to become distracted, to fail to pay attention. And so when Gabriel invaded my space, my distractions were overcome by the news that I was to be a mother, the mother of the promised Messiah. I was overwhelmed both by the magnitude of this proposition and the uncertainty about how things would proceed. It is one thing to know that all will be according to God’s plan, and quite another to experience life while that plan unfolds. I felt so uncertain and afraid – afraid for myself and for Joseph, for sure, but mostly afraid for the child that I was being asked to raise and teach and nurture along his path toward fulfilling his destiny. In light of that, every other concern seemed small. And I think that is why God came here on earth to show us that although we have to live with the details, we do not have to lose ourselves in them. You see, if we look, if we are open, the details point to something beyond themselves, something bigger and more important...and perhaps something we cannot fully envision on our own, and must leave to what God has envisioned for us.
And this is what Joseph saw or dreamed. He was able to see the big picture; he didn’t get lost in the details, though he could have. The text you heard today, from Matthew’s Gospel, is nothing like Luke’s. There is no mention here of Gabriel coming to me; no mention of my pondering, no words like, “Let it be to me according to your word.” Luke says nothing about Joseph having a dream where he is reassured to take me as his wife. Each Gospel has a different perspective, a different way of telling the story. And in Matthew, Joseph is important. He is the one who opens himself to God’s will, taking me as his wife, as the text so succinctly says.
He could have dismissed me quietly, and I did wonder why he did not. I mean Joseph wasn’t one to talk or explain himself, which is why in the New Testament, there is not one spoken word from him. He was not comfortable with words, and what he was thinking is not something I ever really knew. I don’t think we understood each other very well---Joseph with his dreams and me with my questions and ponderings. Sometimes I would catch him looking sadly at me, the same way that years later, he would look sadly at Jesus, as if he knew then that there was something about Jesus neither of us would ever understand. And one day, when I saw him look at Jesus that way, I said, “Oh, Joseph, I do not understand him either and all my ponderings have brought me no nearer to understanding.” He looked at me and said, “And all my dreaming has brought me no nearer to understanding either”. So, it seemed that what separated us also brought us together.
It’s kind of like a lot of churches today, churches like yours, where people have many different beliefs about God and Jesus and the Bible and what finally matters. Maybe what brings you together is the sense that it is worthwhile to come together--- to worship, to pray, to forgive, to ponder and dream, to practice hospitality, to do justice and mercy. All this is worthwhile because you know, deep down inside, that although you do not fully understand it all, there is something beyond the understanding that calls you to be here, that calls you to believe. Oh, how I pondered and oh, how Joseph dreamed, and despite all that separated us, God brought us together that God’s work might be done through us. And perhaps that is why you are here as well----that God might do something through you and through this church. And what that is, well, you figure it out as you go along, just as Joseph and I had to do.
December 14, 2022
Dear Friends,
I have always loved Christmas trees. Even now, when many of my friends, no longer bother putting them up, I insist we have one, a real one. My husband tells me that he will not forever be able to go out to the Christmas Tree Farm to chop one down and put in either in or on the car, and then carry it into the house. At some point, he assures me, we will have to go artificial. Well, when that time comes, I will accept it. But I told him I would buy a very expensive one, so it looked real. He rolled his eyes in his head and said, “I have no doubt about the expense.”
Evergreen conifers are among the earth’s oldest trees. Someone told me it is possible that some of the dinosaurs even crunched and munched on such trees. The conifers are a hardy lot, having survived what the dinosaurs could not which is perhaps why we humans attribute to them such characteristics as endurance and perseverance. But how did they become the chosen Christmas trees?
In 1419 in the German city of Freiburg, someone noted that he had seen a fir tree set up in a hospital and decorated with apples, gingerbread and wafers. Then in Riga, Latvia in 1510 a group of merchants decorated a tree in the main square at Christmas and later burned it at the beginning of Lent to be used as ashes. There are references to other trees, sometimes referred to solstice trees or New Year’s trees. There were also rules limiting how trees could be used. There was a regulation in Upper Alsace (now part of France) that said each citizen could take only one pine from the forest with a height of no more than eight shoes. And then in the year 1611 in a town called Turckheim in Alsace, there was a ban on cutting down any trees to be used for decorations. This was the first time the term Christmas tree was used.
Christmas trees seem to have been more Protestant and pagan than Roman Catholic. The Roman Catholic Church disdained Christmas trees and referred to Protestantism as the “Tannenbaum religion.” In fact, the Vatican did not put up a Christmas tree until 1982. Martin Luther was said to have brought a tree to his home, decorating it with fruit and nuts as well as lit candles. But in our own country, the Puritans were not only against Christmas trees, but also against the celebration of Christmas. Anyone celebrating Christmas had to pay a hefty fine. The Puritans were not able to have their way, especially as the Germans of Pennsylvania insisted on their celebrations of Christmas, which included Christmas trees. And celebrations have a way of catching on, especially when joy is spread.
Today Americans buy over 25 million trees annually and, when you consider that many people do indeed use artificial ones, that is an impressive number. The trees on city squares or town centers always draw crowds for the lighting and the viewing. A few Saturdays ago, I was in New York with my daughter in law and five year old granddaughter to see the Nutcracker, and taking a taxi from Lincoln Center to Grand Central Station was almost impossible, since we had to go by the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center. The crowds were massive, pushing, and pulling as crowds poured over the sidewalks into the streets, for the sole purpose of getting a look at a decorated and lit tree. The Puritans still may not approve, but their disapproval has long been ignored!
I doubt there is a relationship between the Christmas tree and Jesus, though someone tried to make a connection by saying the cross is a tree, shorn of all its branches and beauty. Perhaps that means decorating Christmas trees is a way of reclaiming and celebrating the beauty of nature, which sometimes human beings have abused and misused. Whatever it is, I still love Christmas trees and expect I always will.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
I have always loved Christmas trees. Even now, when many of my friends, no longer bother putting them up, I insist we have one, a real one. My husband tells me that he will not forever be able to go out to the Christmas Tree Farm to chop one down and put in either in or on the car, and then carry it into the house. At some point, he assures me, we will have to go artificial. Well, when that time comes, I will accept it. But I told him I would buy a very expensive one, so it looked real. He rolled his eyes in his head and said, “I have no doubt about the expense.”
Evergreen conifers are among the earth’s oldest trees. Someone told me it is possible that some of the dinosaurs even crunched and munched on such trees. The conifers are a hardy lot, having survived what the dinosaurs could not which is perhaps why we humans attribute to them such characteristics as endurance and perseverance. But how did they become the chosen Christmas trees?
In 1419 in the German city of Freiburg, someone noted that he had seen a fir tree set up in a hospital and decorated with apples, gingerbread and wafers. Then in Riga, Latvia in 1510 a group of merchants decorated a tree in the main square at Christmas and later burned it at the beginning of Lent to be used as ashes. There are references to other trees, sometimes referred to solstice trees or New Year’s trees. There were also rules limiting how trees could be used. There was a regulation in Upper Alsace (now part of France) that said each citizen could take only one pine from the forest with a height of no more than eight shoes. And then in the year 1611 in a town called Turckheim in Alsace, there was a ban on cutting down any trees to be used for decorations. This was the first time the term Christmas tree was used.
Christmas trees seem to have been more Protestant and pagan than Roman Catholic. The Roman Catholic Church disdained Christmas trees and referred to Protestantism as the “Tannenbaum religion.” In fact, the Vatican did not put up a Christmas tree until 1982. Martin Luther was said to have brought a tree to his home, decorating it with fruit and nuts as well as lit candles. But in our own country, the Puritans were not only against Christmas trees, but also against the celebration of Christmas. Anyone celebrating Christmas had to pay a hefty fine. The Puritans were not able to have their way, especially as the Germans of Pennsylvania insisted on their celebrations of Christmas, which included Christmas trees. And celebrations have a way of catching on, especially when joy is spread.
Today Americans buy over 25 million trees annually and, when you consider that many people do indeed use artificial ones, that is an impressive number. The trees on city squares or town centers always draw crowds for the lighting and the viewing. A few Saturdays ago, I was in New York with my daughter in law and five year old granddaughter to see the Nutcracker, and taking a taxi from Lincoln Center to Grand Central Station was almost impossible, since we had to go by the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center. The crowds were massive, pushing, and pulling as crowds poured over the sidewalks into the streets, for the sole purpose of getting a look at a decorated and lit tree. The Puritans still may not approve, but their disapproval has long been ignored!
I doubt there is a relationship between the Christmas tree and Jesus, though someone tried to make a connection by saying the cross is a tree, shorn of all its branches and beauty. Perhaps that means decorating Christmas trees is a way of reclaiming and celebrating the beauty of nature, which sometimes human beings have abused and misused. Whatever it is, I still love Christmas trees and expect I always will.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
DOUBT & DISAPPOINTMENT: ARE YOU THE ONE?
Preached by: The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen
The Third Sunday of Advent, December 11, 2022
Matthew 11: 2-11
Here we are on the third Sunday of Advent, known as Gaudete Sunday, or the Sunday of Joy or sometimes it is even called Rose Sunday, when the liturgical color is changed from penitential purple to rose. And yet, on this Sunday of Joy, where does our lectionary reading put us: in prison. That’s right, John the Baptist suddenly finds himself in jail. After insulting King Herod and his wife about their illegal marriage, John is suddenly reduced to pacing up and down in a tiny cell, wondering what his fate will be. He might have well expected the worse, and indeed the worse is what he received. After being decapitated, his head was arranged on a fancy serving platter per demand of Salome, King Herod’s step daughter. At least this is how the story goes. What had gone wrong?
Early in Matthew we see John offering a fiery baptism of repentance in the River Jordan, assuring those who came to be baptized that there was one who would follow him, one whose sandal thong John was not worthy to touch or tie. And when Jesus then made his appearance to John, the latter said, “You should baptize me, not me you.” So at least at the beginning John was thoroughly confident that this Jesus was indeed the one, the one who would initiate the new creation desired by God. And yet some chapters later John finds himself in prison, wondering “Are you really the one?” Where had all that confidence gone?
I guess we could say, ‘Life happened,’ and when life happens human experience intervenes to make John and us reconsider what it is we thought was so unassailably true. Like John we too wonder and question about all kinds of things, because that is partly what it means to be a human being. We are not passive meaning makers; we don’t always accept what others believe or say, especially when our own experience intrudes and pushes us in another direction, pushes us to ask questions we might not have asked before: Are you the one? Are you really the One we have been waiting for?
What do you think of the answer that Jesus gave to John’s followers, who had come to Jesus on behalf of John to ask this all important question? Notice that Jesus did not offer a direct answer to the inquiry. He did not say, “Yes, I am the one.” Instead, he basically gave a job description, listing the kinds of things he had been doing: healing the blind, the lame, the deaf and the lepers, raising the dead and preaching Good News to the poor. Now I don’t know about you, but I can imagine that if the same had been said to me, my response would have been: “Yes, yes, but are you really the One? And that is a question, never directly answered, either then or now. The answer is found in the tension----in the tension between faith and doubt, in the tension between hope and disappointment, in the tension between already and not yet. Jesus is already the redeemer, but the world has not yet been fully redeemed. So we live with doubt and disappointment, and try as we might, most of us are not completely successful at banishing them. And perhaps, if we could banish them, it might not be such a good thing for faith, for real faith (as the great 20th century Protestant theologian, Paul Tilich once said) is never in place of doubt, but rather in spite of doubt.
We all know what it means to be disappointed. We have all faced disappointment----perhaps in work, when that job we so much wanted did not come our way, in love or marriage, when what we believed would last forever, turned out to be as fleeting as the season. Disappointment: we all have lived with it when circumstances as well as people have disappointed us. But what happens when God disappoints, when you cannot rid yourself of the idea and the feeling that somehow God has let you down. What then? Perhaps this is exactly where John found himself. Maybe this is how he was feeling as he paced back and forth in his tiny cell. Why am I in this mess, and why isn’t God doing something to save me? Why, indeed? Are you the One, or am I destined to be disappointed?
There is this beautiful spiritual movie I highly recommend starring Naomi Watts and Edward Norton, The Painted Veil, based on a novel by W. Somerset Maugham. The movie was made in 2006, and we showed it here one evening, maybe 4 or 5 years ago. The story, set in China, is about a couple, who has a lot to learn about love and forgiveness. The couple is caught in a loveless marriage, and the husband, a doctor, is fighting a cholera epidemic in China through his research. When he discovers that his wife has been unfaithful to him, he punishes her by insisting she accompany him into the heart of the infection. There is this one scene, where the young wife, played by Naomi Watts, is talking to the Mother Superior, who runs an orphanage. And the nun tells her, “When I was 17, I fell deeply and passionately in love with God. But over the decades of my life God has proven to be so disappointing. Now God and I are like an old married couple; we don’t talk much anymore, but God knows I will never leave him, and I know God will never leave me.” And so, she stays, despite the disappointment. The passion is gone, but nonetheless there is something noble in this staying. There is something courageous in being willing to accept what is--- without demanding and expecting more, because the more that is PERHAPS around the corner is always out of our eyesight and understanding.
John the Baptist could not read the future; he did not know what kind of Messiah Jesus would be or would become, and perhaps if he had known, he would have withdrawn in horror at the idea of a crucified savior. Yes, God disappoints, because we do not fully know or understand what kind of a God it is with whom we are dealing.
Decades ago, when I working as a chaplain at a big city hospital, I was suddenly called to the emergency room, where a young woman was miscarrying. She was wailing, yelling at the top of her lungs that God had once again failed and disappointed her. And yes, her story was heart wrenching. As a young child she had been physically abused by her mother, and as a teenager she lived on the street for two years trying to escape a stepfather, who had sexually abused her. She married way too young, and that marriage ended in divorce and her second husband, the father of this baby, had been killed in a hit and run accident, just a month before. And now she was losing this pregnancy, which she said was all she had of her husband. Over and over again she railed against God, so finally in desperation I asked her: Then why do you believe? Why do you persist in holding on to a God who does nothing but hurt and disappoint you? Suddenly she let go of my hand, looked at me with this shocked expression, as if she had never before considered the question, and very slowly she answered, “No, I could never leave God.” And then a stony silence before she uttered these words, “Maybe I cannot leave God, because somehow deep down I know God can never really leave me.”
I wonder if this is how John the Baptist might have felt while in King Herod’s prison. Things certainly did not look very promising. His life was on the line, and perhaps God would not intervene to save him. Did this mean then that Jesus was God’s imposter or that salvation was all a hoax? Or did it point to the deeper truth that God is NOT made in our image as much as we try to force God to conform to our dimensions. And so sometimes the best we can do is hang on, stay with God as we pace up and down the cells, we find ourselves in, just as John paced up and down his cell, asking the question, Are you really the One?
John never received a complete answer. He died by the sword without ever laying eyes on Jesus again. Such is the human condition. We rarely receive complete answers, so we find ourselves living in the tension---the tension between doubt and faith, the tension between hope and disappointment, the tension between already and not yet. And here is the irony--- once we recognize and accept the tension, what we are left with is the quiet joy of knowing that just as we will not leave God, so God will not leave us.
Preached by: The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen
The Third Sunday of Advent, December 11, 2022
Matthew 11: 2-11
Here we are on the third Sunday of Advent, known as Gaudete Sunday, or the Sunday of Joy or sometimes it is even called Rose Sunday, when the liturgical color is changed from penitential purple to rose. And yet, on this Sunday of Joy, where does our lectionary reading put us: in prison. That’s right, John the Baptist suddenly finds himself in jail. After insulting King Herod and his wife about their illegal marriage, John is suddenly reduced to pacing up and down in a tiny cell, wondering what his fate will be. He might have well expected the worse, and indeed the worse is what he received. After being decapitated, his head was arranged on a fancy serving platter per demand of Salome, King Herod’s step daughter. At least this is how the story goes. What had gone wrong?
Early in Matthew we see John offering a fiery baptism of repentance in the River Jordan, assuring those who came to be baptized that there was one who would follow him, one whose sandal thong John was not worthy to touch or tie. And when Jesus then made his appearance to John, the latter said, “You should baptize me, not me you.” So at least at the beginning John was thoroughly confident that this Jesus was indeed the one, the one who would initiate the new creation desired by God. And yet some chapters later John finds himself in prison, wondering “Are you really the one?” Where had all that confidence gone?
I guess we could say, ‘Life happened,’ and when life happens human experience intervenes to make John and us reconsider what it is we thought was so unassailably true. Like John we too wonder and question about all kinds of things, because that is partly what it means to be a human being. We are not passive meaning makers; we don’t always accept what others believe or say, especially when our own experience intrudes and pushes us in another direction, pushes us to ask questions we might not have asked before: Are you the one? Are you really the One we have been waiting for?
What do you think of the answer that Jesus gave to John’s followers, who had come to Jesus on behalf of John to ask this all important question? Notice that Jesus did not offer a direct answer to the inquiry. He did not say, “Yes, I am the one.” Instead, he basically gave a job description, listing the kinds of things he had been doing: healing the blind, the lame, the deaf and the lepers, raising the dead and preaching Good News to the poor. Now I don’t know about you, but I can imagine that if the same had been said to me, my response would have been: “Yes, yes, but are you really the One? And that is a question, never directly answered, either then or now. The answer is found in the tension----in the tension between faith and doubt, in the tension between hope and disappointment, in the tension between already and not yet. Jesus is already the redeemer, but the world has not yet been fully redeemed. So we live with doubt and disappointment, and try as we might, most of us are not completely successful at banishing them. And perhaps, if we could banish them, it might not be such a good thing for faith, for real faith (as the great 20th century Protestant theologian, Paul Tilich once said) is never in place of doubt, but rather in spite of doubt.
We all know what it means to be disappointed. We have all faced disappointment----perhaps in work, when that job we so much wanted did not come our way, in love or marriage, when what we believed would last forever, turned out to be as fleeting as the season. Disappointment: we all have lived with it when circumstances as well as people have disappointed us. But what happens when God disappoints, when you cannot rid yourself of the idea and the feeling that somehow God has let you down. What then? Perhaps this is exactly where John found himself. Maybe this is how he was feeling as he paced back and forth in his tiny cell. Why am I in this mess, and why isn’t God doing something to save me? Why, indeed? Are you the One, or am I destined to be disappointed?
There is this beautiful spiritual movie I highly recommend starring Naomi Watts and Edward Norton, The Painted Veil, based on a novel by W. Somerset Maugham. The movie was made in 2006, and we showed it here one evening, maybe 4 or 5 years ago. The story, set in China, is about a couple, who has a lot to learn about love and forgiveness. The couple is caught in a loveless marriage, and the husband, a doctor, is fighting a cholera epidemic in China through his research. When he discovers that his wife has been unfaithful to him, he punishes her by insisting she accompany him into the heart of the infection. There is this one scene, where the young wife, played by Naomi Watts, is talking to the Mother Superior, who runs an orphanage. And the nun tells her, “When I was 17, I fell deeply and passionately in love with God. But over the decades of my life God has proven to be so disappointing. Now God and I are like an old married couple; we don’t talk much anymore, but God knows I will never leave him, and I know God will never leave me.” And so, she stays, despite the disappointment. The passion is gone, but nonetheless there is something noble in this staying. There is something courageous in being willing to accept what is--- without demanding and expecting more, because the more that is PERHAPS around the corner is always out of our eyesight and understanding.
John the Baptist could not read the future; he did not know what kind of Messiah Jesus would be or would become, and perhaps if he had known, he would have withdrawn in horror at the idea of a crucified savior. Yes, God disappoints, because we do not fully know or understand what kind of a God it is with whom we are dealing.
Decades ago, when I working as a chaplain at a big city hospital, I was suddenly called to the emergency room, where a young woman was miscarrying. She was wailing, yelling at the top of her lungs that God had once again failed and disappointed her. And yes, her story was heart wrenching. As a young child she had been physically abused by her mother, and as a teenager she lived on the street for two years trying to escape a stepfather, who had sexually abused her. She married way too young, and that marriage ended in divorce and her second husband, the father of this baby, had been killed in a hit and run accident, just a month before. And now she was losing this pregnancy, which she said was all she had of her husband. Over and over again she railed against God, so finally in desperation I asked her: Then why do you believe? Why do you persist in holding on to a God who does nothing but hurt and disappoint you? Suddenly she let go of my hand, looked at me with this shocked expression, as if she had never before considered the question, and very slowly she answered, “No, I could never leave God.” And then a stony silence before she uttered these words, “Maybe I cannot leave God, because somehow deep down I know God can never really leave me.”
I wonder if this is how John the Baptist might have felt while in King Herod’s prison. Things certainly did not look very promising. His life was on the line, and perhaps God would not intervene to save him. Did this mean then that Jesus was God’s imposter or that salvation was all a hoax? Or did it point to the deeper truth that God is NOT made in our image as much as we try to force God to conform to our dimensions. And so sometimes the best we can do is hang on, stay with God as we pace up and down the cells, we find ourselves in, just as John paced up and down his cell, asking the question, Are you really the One?
John never received a complete answer. He died by the sword without ever laying eyes on Jesus again. Such is the human condition. We rarely receive complete answers, so we find ourselves living in the tension---the tension between doubt and faith, the tension between hope and disappointment, the tension between already and not yet. And here is the irony--- once we recognize and accept the tension, what we are left with is the quiet joy of knowing that just as we will not leave God, so God will not leave us.
A QUIET THING
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
December 4, 2022
Matthew 3: 1-12
On my recent trip to northern Spain, I visited the famous Guggenheim Museum in the city of Bilbao. While the building’s architecture was certainly interesting, I thought the contemporary art in it was just awful. Much of it was ugly, in my opinion, and the few things I found interesting to look at, were hardly (again in my humble opinion) very inspiring. While I do like much modern art---Picasso, Braque, Mondrian, to name a few, contemporary art turns me off. When I commented about this to a few of my fellow travelers, one reminded me that sometimes art must struggle to be accepted. And that is true. The Sistine Chapel, by Michelangelo, surely one of the greatest creations of western art, was criticized for too much nakedness in the scene of the Last Judgment. And indeed, artists were later hired to cover up some of the more explicitly naked creatures depicted in the fresco, though the painted coverings were in time carefully removed.
And then I recall maybe 10 years ago or so, when the Canadian sculptor by the name of Timothy Schmalz had trouble getting his statue of a homeless Jesus accepted. St. Patrick’s in New York and St. Michael’s in Toronto both rejected it, so the sculpture went to Regis College, part of the University of Toronto, where it sat for a while, until finally going to Rome, where it was blessed by Pope Francis.
The sculptor conceived the idea of portraying Jesus as homeless after he spotted a homeless person sleeping on the corner of one of Toronto’s busiest streets. It was Christmastime, and while the rest of the city was bustling with the holiday spirit, this person lay wrapped up in a sleeping bag. Schmalz did not know if the person was male or female, because all he could see was a mass of cloth lying still on the bench. And so, he sculpted Jesus as a homeless man with the wounds from his crucifixion on his bare feet. Apparently, a number of people found the sculptor offensive---until Pope Francis gave it his blessing---though there were still some who thought it was an insult to Christ to portray him as homeless.
Religious sensibilities can easily become hurt when the normal conventions are transgressed. Can you imagine what most of us would think if someone like John the Baptist marched into our church and started calling us a brood of vipers because he deemed us insufficiently repentant. Of course, we would be defensive, and might even point out to him that his accusatory style hardly seems the way to win friends and influence people. And yet, in his day, as insulting as John was, he still was quite popular among a certain group of people, like the outsiders, which would include the poor, the sick and the just plain weird, those who simply did not fit in. But it is also true that some Pharisees and Sadducees came---the Pharisees teaching some progressive ideas such as the oral interpretation of the law and the bodily resurrection, while the Sadducees were the established, wealthy class from which the temple priests came.
The strange clothing worn by John, the camel haired shirt and the leather belt around his waist, is actually code language, a reference to Elijah, that Old Testament prophet, who did battle with King Ahab and his queen, Jezebel. The story goes that Elijah never died but was taken up into heaven and would return at the end of history, when God would create a new heaven and a new earth. Now Elijah had it tough, because Jezebel was out to get him, and so in fear and anger, Elijah ran away. Furious with God for putting him in this untenable situation, he hid in the crevice of a rock, while God went by, and Elijah heard God not in the wind or the earthquake or the fire, but in the still, small sound of silence. Quite interesting, because here we have in Matthew’s gospel this eccentric John, yelling at people, calling them a brood of vipers and threatening them with eternal fire, and yet here is a coded reference to Elijah, who found God in the stillness of silence, a quiet thing.
Now Elijah and John did have a lot in common. They both demanded repentance, which means to change, to turn around, to move in a new direction. Both of them wanted change, a turning away from the past toward a new future. And like John, Elijah could yell and threaten, and he also had his own bag of tricks, including making fire that would consume both the offering of the Baal worshippers as well as their priests. No wonder Jezebel was out to get him. And John, well, he had a loud voice, announcing the drama of baptism, the dying to the old life and a rebirth to a new one. He told the people that another one would come, greater than he, and while he, John, baptized with water, the one to come would baptize with fire. Notice what John said about this one in verse 12: His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire. You don’t get much more dramatic build up than that.
Then in verse 13, which immediately follows this morning’s text, it simply says, Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. He came without fanfare; he came without yelling or accusing; he came without threats. He came quietly---like that still, small sound of silence, heard by Elijah. Oh, the story goes that at his birth there was a star, shining in the heavens, symbolically announcing that he would be the light of the world. But how many really paid that star any heed? Some poor shepherds out in the fields, Herod, jealous for his power and three gentile kings, who studied the movement of the stars and thought it must portend something significant. No one would have expected anything from a baby born to poor parents, a teenage mother, whose pregnancy was shrouded in scandal, and a man, named Joseph, about whom we know almost nothing, and who never spoke one word in the Bible. Such a birth would hardly have been considered of great significance. It was a quiet thing, and even the baby was said to be quiet, according to that lovely carol, Away In a Manger---“the little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.” Yes, he came quietly without pomp and circumstance.
Of course, Jesus would later speak. He would teach and yes, in Matthew he sometimes did speak tough words to the rich and powerful and those who wielded religious authority. But when you consider the whole sound of his story, it was a quiet thing, so quiet, in fact, that the sound and drama of his life were easy to ignore, not unlike the way we so often ignore and dismiss the homeless, which is why the Canadian sculptor cast Jesus as a homeless man that we might pay closer attention to both Jesus and the homeless.
John the Baptist came with noise and drama. His strange clothes and diet and threats certainly turned heads in his direction. He was not so much trying to call attention to himself, but rather to point the way toward another, who would come quietly and unobtrusively, and yet without the might and force of either an army or riches, he would change history. It was a quiet thing, at least in comparison to all the world’s noise, and yet sometimes quiet does change the world.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
December 4, 2022
Matthew 3: 1-12
On my recent trip to northern Spain, I visited the famous Guggenheim Museum in the city of Bilbao. While the building’s architecture was certainly interesting, I thought the contemporary art in it was just awful. Much of it was ugly, in my opinion, and the few things I found interesting to look at, were hardly (again in my humble opinion) very inspiring. While I do like much modern art---Picasso, Braque, Mondrian, to name a few, contemporary art turns me off. When I commented about this to a few of my fellow travelers, one reminded me that sometimes art must struggle to be accepted. And that is true. The Sistine Chapel, by Michelangelo, surely one of the greatest creations of western art, was criticized for too much nakedness in the scene of the Last Judgment. And indeed, artists were later hired to cover up some of the more explicitly naked creatures depicted in the fresco, though the painted coverings were in time carefully removed.
And then I recall maybe 10 years ago or so, when the Canadian sculptor by the name of Timothy Schmalz had trouble getting his statue of a homeless Jesus accepted. St. Patrick’s in New York and St. Michael’s in Toronto both rejected it, so the sculpture went to Regis College, part of the University of Toronto, where it sat for a while, until finally going to Rome, where it was blessed by Pope Francis.
The sculptor conceived the idea of portraying Jesus as homeless after he spotted a homeless person sleeping on the corner of one of Toronto’s busiest streets. It was Christmastime, and while the rest of the city was bustling with the holiday spirit, this person lay wrapped up in a sleeping bag. Schmalz did not know if the person was male or female, because all he could see was a mass of cloth lying still on the bench. And so, he sculpted Jesus as a homeless man with the wounds from his crucifixion on his bare feet. Apparently, a number of people found the sculptor offensive---until Pope Francis gave it his blessing---though there were still some who thought it was an insult to Christ to portray him as homeless.
Religious sensibilities can easily become hurt when the normal conventions are transgressed. Can you imagine what most of us would think if someone like John the Baptist marched into our church and started calling us a brood of vipers because he deemed us insufficiently repentant. Of course, we would be defensive, and might even point out to him that his accusatory style hardly seems the way to win friends and influence people. And yet, in his day, as insulting as John was, he still was quite popular among a certain group of people, like the outsiders, which would include the poor, the sick and the just plain weird, those who simply did not fit in. But it is also true that some Pharisees and Sadducees came---the Pharisees teaching some progressive ideas such as the oral interpretation of the law and the bodily resurrection, while the Sadducees were the established, wealthy class from which the temple priests came.
The strange clothing worn by John, the camel haired shirt and the leather belt around his waist, is actually code language, a reference to Elijah, that Old Testament prophet, who did battle with King Ahab and his queen, Jezebel. The story goes that Elijah never died but was taken up into heaven and would return at the end of history, when God would create a new heaven and a new earth. Now Elijah had it tough, because Jezebel was out to get him, and so in fear and anger, Elijah ran away. Furious with God for putting him in this untenable situation, he hid in the crevice of a rock, while God went by, and Elijah heard God not in the wind or the earthquake or the fire, but in the still, small sound of silence. Quite interesting, because here we have in Matthew’s gospel this eccentric John, yelling at people, calling them a brood of vipers and threatening them with eternal fire, and yet here is a coded reference to Elijah, who found God in the stillness of silence, a quiet thing.
Now Elijah and John did have a lot in common. They both demanded repentance, which means to change, to turn around, to move in a new direction. Both of them wanted change, a turning away from the past toward a new future. And like John, Elijah could yell and threaten, and he also had his own bag of tricks, including making fire that would consume both the offering of the Baal worshippers as well as their priests. No wonder Jezebel was out to get him. And John, well, he had a loud voice, announcing the drama of baptism, the dying to the old life and a rebirth to a new one. He told the people that another one would come, greater than he, and while he, John, baptized with water, the one to come would baptize with fire. Notice what John said about this one in verse 12: His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire. You don’t get much more dramatic build up than that.
Then in verse 13, which immediately follows this morning’s text, it simply says, Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. He came without fanfare; he came without yelling or accusing; he came without threats. He came quietly---like that still, small sound of silence, heard by Elijah. Oh, the story goes that at his birth there was a star, shining in the heavens, symbolically announcing that he would be the light of the world. But how many really paid that star any heed? Some poor shepherds out in the fields, Herod, jealous for his power and three gentile kings, who studied the movement of the stars and thought it must portend something significant. No one would have expected anything from a baby born to poor parents, a teenage mother, whose pregnancy was shrouded in scandal, and a man, named Joseph, about whom we know almost nothing, and who never spoke one word in the Bible. Such a birth would hardly have been considered of great significance. It was a quiet thing, and even the baby was said to be quiet, according to that lovely carol, Away In a Manger---“the little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.” Yes, he came quietly without pomp and circumstance.
Of course, Jesus would later speak. He would teach and yes, in Matthew he sometimes did speak tough words to the rich and powerful and those who wielded religious authority. But when you consider the whole sound of his story, it was a quiet thing, so quiet, in fact, that the sound and drama of his life were easy to ignore, not unlike the way we so often ignore and dismiss the homeless, which is why the Canadian sculptor cast Jesus as a homeless man that we might pay closer attention to both Jesus and the homeless.
John the Baptist came with noise and drama. His strange clothes and diet and threats certainly turned heads in his direction. He was not so much trying to call attention to himself, but rather to point the way toward another, who would come quietly and unobtrusively, and yet without the might and force of either an army or riches, he would change history. It was a quiet thing, at least in comparison to all the world’s noise, and yet sometimes quiet does change the world.
December 6, 2022
Dear Friends,
As I write this, I am aware that it is St. Nicholas Day, a day we remember and celebrate a saint from Turkey, who spent his life doing kind and compassionate deeds. Though he became a bishop, he was never interested in the power of his office as much as he cared about the power of doing good. So, on this day, I was overjoyed to read about a Children’s Choir from Ukraine, who will be singing in Carnegie Hall this coming Sunday.
The Shchedryk Choir, founded in 1971, is composed of 56 members, 51 girls and 5 boys, ranging in age from 11 to 25. At Carnegie Hall they will perform traditional Ukrainian songs and carols as well as music from other Ukrainian artists in a program called, Notes From Ukraine, sponsored in part by the Ukrainian Foreign Ministry. Money raised from the concert will go to United24, an organization, dedicated to repairing damaged infrastructure.
These young people sing with a great deal of hope, since many of them have suffered the loss of loved ones, and they look to their music as healing. When the war began, the choir was practicing for a Christmas program, and suddenly the air raid sirens began to sound, and they rushed with their sheet music in hand to a nearby bomb shelter. Using the light from their cell phones, they continued to sing, filling the coldness and the fearfulness of the shelter with song that lifted the spirit of not only the singers but also others, gathered there for safety. Some of the choir members left Kyiv for other Ukrainian cites with their families, while others scattered abroad. But the choir continued to practice virtually, and though meeting in person was very difficult, the choir director was determined to keep the choir going.
When you read what some of these youngsters say, you are filled with deep sadness as well as admiration for their determination to heal from the war. One 15 year old said, “Now when I sing, I see the faces of five people I knew and loved, who have died in the war. I sing for them and to them.” Another 15 year old said she was living in a constant state of fear and she had a hard time seeing friends and relatives deal with physical injuries. But still she sings. A 13 year old commented she had suffered great psychological trauma, which she cannot even talk about, because it makes her trauma worse. And so, she too sings, and for now, at least, that is her therapy.
In August the choir came together physically for the first time since the war began. They practiced for a series of concerts in Copenhagen, Denmark, and then in the fall the singers began to practice for the Carnegie Hall debut. For the first time since the war began, they practiced in Kyiv, which was hard for some of the youngsters, since it reminded them of the initial terror of the war. This choir is one of several Ukrainian ensembles to go abroad since the war began. The Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra is made up of an ensemble of refugees who fled Ukraine as well as those who stayed behind. Last summer they toured Europe and the United States. And the Kyiv City Ballet toured many American cities this past fall.
The Shchedryk Choir arrived in New York last week, and they have a busy schedule of rehearsing at local churches as well as visits to Times Square and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. On Wednesday of last week, they gathered at Grand Central Station to sing Carol of the Bells, composed by Ukrainian composer, Mykola Leontovych. In fact, the name of the choir comes from the Ukrainian title for the music.
The great Russian writer, Dostoevsky once remarked, “Beauty will save the world,” and when you listen to the choir sing and ponder their words about what it means for them to sing, you can believe that indeed, beauty is one of the instruments God uses to redeem a hurting and besieged humanity. And I think St. Nicholas would agree.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
As I write this, I am aware that it is St. Nicholas Day, a day we remember and celebrate a saint from Turkey, who spent his life doing kind and compassionate deeds. Though he became a bishop, he was never interested in the power of his office as much as he cared about the power of doing good. So, on this day, I was overjoyed to read about a Children’s Choir from Ukraine, who will be singing in Carnegie Hall this coming Sunday.
The Shchedryk Choir, founded in 1971, is composed of 56 members, 51 girls and 5 boys, ranging in age from 11 to 25. At Carnegie Hall they will perform traditional Ukrainian songs and carols as well as music from other Ukrainian artists in a program called, Notes From Ukraine, sponsored in part by the Ukrainian Foreign Ministry. Money raised from the concert will go to United24, an organization, dedicated to repairing damaged infrastructure.
These young people sing with a great deal of hope, since many of them have suffered the loss of loved ones, and they look to their music as healing. When the war began, the choir was practicing for a Christmas program, and suddenly the air raid sirens began to sound, and they rushed with their sheet music in hand to a nearby bomb shelter. Using the light from their cell phones, they continued to sing, filling the coldness and the fearfulness of the shelter with song that lifted the spirit of not only the singers but also others, gathered there for safety. Some of the choir members left Kyiv for other Ukrainian cites with their families, while others scattered abroad. But the choir continued to practice virtually, and though meeting in person was very difficult, the choir director was determined to keep the choir going.
When you read what some of these youngsters say, you are filled with deep sadness as well as admiration for their determination to heal from the war. One 15 year old said, “Now when I sing, I see the faces of five people I knew and loved, who have died in the war. I sing for them and to them.” Another 15 year old said she was living in a constant state of fear and she had a hard time seeing friends and relatives deal with physical injuries. But still she sings. A 13 year old commented she had suffered great psychological trauma, which she cannot even talk about, because it makes her trauma worse. And so, she too sings, and for now, at least, that is her therapy.
In August the choir came together physically for the first time since the war began. They practiced for a series of concerts in Copenhagen, Denmark, and then in the fall the singers began to practice for the Carnegie Hall debut. For the first time since the war began, they practiced in Kyiv, which was hard for some of the youngsters, since it reminded them of the initial terror of the war. This choir is one of several Ukrainian ensembles to go abroad since the war began. The Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra is made up of an ensemble of refugees who fled Ukraine as well as those who stayed behind. Last summer they toured Europe and the United States. And the Kyiv City Ballet toured many American cities this past fall.
The Shchedryk Choir arrived in New York last week, and they have a busy schedule of rehearsing at local churches as well as visits to Times Square and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. On Wednesday of last week, they gathered at Grand Central Station to sing Carol of the Bells, composed by Ukrainian composer, Mykola Leontovych. In fact, the name of the choir comes from the Ukrainian title for the music.
The great Russian writer, Dostoevsky once remarked, “Beauty will save the world,” and when you listen to the choir sing and ponder their words about what it means for them to sing, you can believe that indeed, beauty is one of the instruments God uses to redeem a hurting and besieged humanity. And I think St. Nicholas would agree.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
December 1, 2022
Dear Friends,
Chuck Collins writes about economic inequality. He has written a book, The Wealth Hoarders: How Billionaires Pay Millions to Hide Trillions, and he has co-authored a report, Gilded Giving: How Wealth Inequality Distorts Philanthropy and Imperils Democracy. Collins writes that right now our nation has 728 billionaires, holding a combined wealth pf 4.48 trillion, which is an increase of 1.5 trillion since March 2020, when the pandemic began. What to do with all this wealth?
It is “interesting,” to say the least, that many billionaires are encouraging their peers to be generous to various philanthropies. But the truth is, it can take years or even decades for these pledges of gifts from billionaires to reach the nonprofit destinations. And Collins is a big believer that philanthropy is no substitute for just taxation policies.
Consider, for example, the Giving Pledge, an initiative founded in 2010 by Warren Buffett, Melinda French Gates and Bill Gages as a means to encourage increased giving by the extremely wealthy. Apparently, more than 250 billionaires from 28 nations have pledged to give away the majority of their wealth. As Collins points out, this should mean we should be seeing a decline in billionaire wealth. But the opposite is true. As of 2020---ten years after the pledge---62 of the initial pledgers had not seen any decrease in their wealth. In fact, it had nearly doubled, adjusted for inflation.
While many billionaires do donate to charities, the biggest pledges are often made to family foundations or donor advised funds, which make up around 30% of all charitable donations by billionaires. And they can claim BIG tax donations for putting funds in these foundations or donor advised funds. Foundations are only required to pay out 5% of their assets each year, and most only dole out a bit more. And the donor advised funds have no minimum pay out, which means that many of them give out very small amounts.
Collins fervently believes that billionaire foundations should not be a substitute for fair taxation policies. For every dollar a billionaire gives to charity or a foundation, taxpayers pay up to 74 cents in lost federal tax revenues. In other words, tax dollars are subsidizing the system that billionaires use to avoid paying taxes! We need to be more vigorous in requiring transparency from charities and foundations---who gives what and when, and when does the payout actually reach the working charities. There are people like Mackenzie Scott, ex wife of Jeff Bezos, who gives away money directly to various chariities. Since 2019 she has given away $14 billion.
People become very nervous when politics enters the church grounds, let alone the pulpit, but we should think very carefully and deeply about the message that Jesus preached. We need to remember that he was executed as a political prisoner, someone who threatened the stability of the Roman Empire as well as the Jewish Temple. He spilled a great many words over wealth and money, taking about it more than any other single subject. He certainly taught and believed that what one did with one’s wealth was not a private matter, since how wealth is used has tremendous public consequences. He was also a supporter of the Jubilee, a celebration, occurring every 50 years, when property and wealth were returned to past owners. I don’t know how the process was administered, but certainly there were many who objected to this radical redistribution of wealth. While it is true that Jesus often accepted hospitality from the wealthy, he also told stories about how dangerous wealth could be and how it was easier for a camel to go through an eye of a needle than it was for a rich person to gain entrance into heaven. We don’t have to take his words literally, of course, but we should acknowledge that he had something important to say about wealth and how it should be used.
I don’t know exactly what Jesus would say to our nations’ 728 billionaires, but I don’t think he would tell them that the point of their lives is to continue to grow their wealth. What you give away does come back to bless you and others.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Chuck Collins writes about economic inequality. He has written a book, The Wealth Hoarders: How Billionaires Pay Millions to Hide Trillions, and he has co-authored a report, Gilded Giving: How Wealth Inequality Distorts Philanthropy and Imperils Democracy. Collins writes that right now our nation has 728 billionaires, holding a combined wealth pf 4.48 trillion, which is an increase of 1.5 trillion since March 2020, when the pandemic began. What to do with all this wealth?
It is “interesting,” to say the least, that many billionaires are encouraging their peers to be generous to various philanthropies. But the truth is, it can take years or even decades for these pledges of gifts from billionaires to reach the nonprofit destinations. And Collins is a big believer that philanthropy is no substitute for just taxation policies.
Consider, for example, the Giving Pledge, an initiative founded in 2010 by Warren Buffett, Melinda French Gates and Bill Gages as a means to encourage increased giving by the extremely wealthy. Apparently, more than 250 billionaires from 28 nations have pledged to give away the majority of their wealth. As Collins points out, this should mean we should be seeing a decline in billionaire wealth. But the opposite is true. As of 2020---ten years after the pledge---62 of the initial pledgers had not seen any decrease in their wealth. In fact, it had nearly doubled, adjusted for inflation.
While many billionaires do donate to charities, the biggest pledges are often made to family foundations or donor advised funds, which make up around 30% of all charitable donations by billionaires. And they can claim BIG tax donations for putting funds in these foundations or donor advised funds. Foundations are only required to pay out 5% of their assets each year, and most only dole out a bit more. And the donor advised funds have no minimum pay out, which means that many of them give out very small amounts.
Collins fervently believes that billionaire foundations should not be a substitute for fair taxation policies. For every dollar a billionaire gives to charity or a foundation, taxpayers pay up to 74 cents in lost federal tax revenues. In other words, tax dollars are subsidizing the system that billionaires use to avoid paying taxes! We need to be more vigorous in requiring transparency from charities and foundations---who gives what and when, and when does the payout actually reach the working charities. There are people like Mackenzie Scott, ex wife of Jeff Bezos, who gives away money directly to various chariities. Since 2019 she has given away $14 billion.
People become very nervous when politics enters the church grounds, let alone the pulpit, but we should think very carefully and deeply about the message that Jesus preached. We need to remember that he was executed as a political prisoner, someone who threatened the stability of the Roman Empire as well as the Jewish Temple. He spilled a great many words over wealth and money, taking about it more than any other single subject. He certainly taught and believed that what one did with one’s wealth was not a private matter, since how wealth is used has tremendous public consequences. He was also a supporter of the Jubilee, a celebration, occurring every 50 years, when property and wealth were returned to past owners. I don’t know how the process was administered, but certainly there were many who objected to this radical redistribution of wealth. While it is true that Jesus often accepted hospitality from the wealthy, he also told stories about how dangerous wealth could be and how it was easier for a camel to go through an eye of a needle than it was for a rich person to gain entrance into heaven. We don’t have to take his words literally, of course, but we should acknowledge that he had something important to say about wealth and how it should be used.
I don’t know exactly what Jesus would say to our nations’ 728 billionaires, but I don’t think he would tell them that the point of their lives is to continue to grow their wealth. What you give away does come back to bless you and others.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
EVEN THE SON DOES NOT KNOW
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
November 27, 2022
First Sunday in Advent
Matthew 24: 36-44
I recently returned from a trip to Spain and Portugal, which involved a walk along the Camino de Santiago, one of the great pilgrimages, still popular today as it has been for many centuries. There are a number of paths to take, and many walkers take five or six weeks to finally reach the great cathedral in Santiago, where masses are held for the pilgrimages. I attended one of the Masses, which was in Spanish, and the only time in the service English was used, was when the priest made it clear that no one except Roman Catholics, were welcome to take the sacrament of Holy Communion---no matter that many, if not most of the pilgrims these days, are not Roman Catholic. Still, it reminded me of another trip I took years ago, an ecumenical journey of Roman Catholics and Protestants to famous sites of the Reformation.
When I first read the lectionary choice for today from Matthew, my thoughts returned to a conversation I had with a Roman Catholic couple from Colorado. They were both very interested in history as well as ecumenical relationships. As our conversation progressed, the husband said something about the purpose of life being to get into heaven. Well, I said, I think the purpose is to be as fully alive as we can be, open to the world in all its wonderful diversity and be servants of truth and goodness and compassion. What comes after this life--- who knows? Jesus did not spend time talking about heaven as a final destination after death. He spoke of the Kingdom of Heaven, by which he meant a fulfillment of God’s intentions for the human community here on earth.
In today’s reading from Matthew, heaven is not the subject, but the end times are, the last things, technically known as eschatology. At the dawn of the 20th century, Albert Schweitzer---the same man who went to Africa as a doctor--- published a very important book called, The Quest of the Historical Jesus in which Schweitzer laid out the various understandings of Jesus, which Enlightenment thought—that is, critical, historical, and literary analysis--- had constructed. Toward the end of his book, Schweitzer then defended the conviction that Jesus was an eschatological figure, meaning that he lived in expectation of the end times. God, Jesus thought, was about to intervene in history and bring a climactic end to the normal run of events and establish a new kingdom, and he, Jesus, was the sign that the kingdom was imminent. This radical ending is what our Gospel reading this morning is concerned with. The end is on the way, Jesus said, so be watchful; be vigilant, because you do not know its time. But it will come like a thief in the night, and even the Son does not know the day or hour.
It is not a very comforting image, is it---some being left behind and others taken. And yes, there are a whole lot of Christians, who spend their time trying to insure that they will be among those taken rather than those left behind. Such anxiety about the end, like the anxiety about getting into heaven strikes me as too self concerned and even self defeating, for didn’t Jesus remind people that the one who would save his or her life will ultimately lose it.
We really do not know much, if anything about the end; even Jesus would not make exact predictions. Scientists tell us that just as the universe had a beginning in what they believe was a big bang, it will also have an end. Matter and energy will dissipate or collapse, imploding upon itself. And what all this means for our human destiny remains to us mere mortals a mystery, something best left to God. It is not in our hands. And so, we live, and I think this is precisely what Jesus would have us do. Live now; live fully in the present. But do not be like the people of Noah’s day, who ignored God’s commandments to do justice and love mercy. Do not be careless toward the future, but do not be overly anxious either. Change comes without our consent. Something ends and something new is born.
Last week I told you that one of my most moving experiences on my Reformation trip in Germany was visiting Wartburg Castle, where Luther hid from his enemies while translating the New Testament into German. Another moving experience was the night we spent in Nuremberg, where we heard a talk by a Lutheran pastor from what had been East Germany, communist Germany. He spoke about how hard it was to be the church before the end of the Soviet Empire in 1989. We clergy, he said, had to be so careful about what we preached in our sermons. After all, Christian ethics are not just what you do in your private life; they do have public and political consequences. We knew that, and so did the East German leadership, so it was not unusual to have spies in our midst.”
But despite the anxiety, in 1986 he, along with some of his colleagues, Protestant and Roman Catholic, began to hold prayer vigils for peace. “We decided to hold them in my church,” the pastor said, “because it was exactly in the town center. The vigils began with only a half dozen clergy, and maybe one or two others. But slowly more people came and by the end of the first year we had 50 people; by the second year, maybe 100, and then by the third year, it was 300. Then in 1989 on All Saints Day, a few days after Reformation Sunday, one evening without any planning on the clergy’s part, the church began to fill up beyond capacity. Suddenly one of my Roman Catholic colleagues came running into the church, breathless, with this announcement “There are thousands of people out in the square. They are demanding an end to Communist rule. What should we do? Surely, they will close down the churches! They will blame us.”
“There is no denying that we were afraid,” the pastor continued. “We did not know what to do. None of us relished the thought of being arrested. All of us knew the regime could be brutal. Some of us had lost family members and friends to its brutality. But then a young woman not more than 25, stood up in church and said, “This is God’s work, not ours. Let’s pray that we will not get in God’s way.” When the prayer meeting finished, we opened up the doors to over 100,000 people in the square. One week later the wall in Berlin came down. None of us saw the end of the regime coming. But it came--- without one shot being fired. Something ended, and a new beginning came upon us.”
If you think this is a story only about politics, think again. Or if you think that political reality has no place in the church, consider again. The pastor’s story, or so it seems to me, is not so far from this morning’s reading from Matthew’s Gospel. Both involved radical change, spiritual and political. Matthew was probably written sometime around the year 80---after the Jerusalem Temple had been destroyed. And some Jews as well as Christians, including those in Matthew’s community, looked upon the Temple’s destruction as a sign that the end was coming. Well, something did end---Judaism centered on the Temple--- but something new appeared---the synagogue movement, which kept Judaism alive and the church was born.
There are all kinds of ends--- political regimes end; eras like the Renaissance, the Reformation or even the 60’s have their time, and their end. Our lives will one day end, and so too will the universe. We human beings often do not see the end coming, but maybe that is a blessing, because the final end is not in our hands, but rather in God’s. And so all we can do is to cultivate hope and trust in the God in whose hands both endings and beginnings lie.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
November 27, 2022
First Sunday in Advent
Matthew 24: 36-44
I recently returned from a trip to Spain and Portugal, which involved a walk along the Camino de Santiago, one of the great pilgrimages, still popular today as it has been for many centuries. There are a number of paths to take, and many walkers take five or six weeks to finally reach the great cathedral in Santiago, where masses are held for the pilgrimages. I attended one of the Masses, which was in Spanish, and the only time in the service English was used, was when the priest made it clear that no one except Roman Catholics, were welcome to take the sacrament of Holy Communion---no matter that many, if not most of the pilgrims these days, are not Roman Catholic. Still, it reminded me of another trip I took years ago, an ecumenical journey of Roman Catholics and Protestants to famous sites of the Reformation.
When I first read the lectionary choice for today from Matthew, my thoughts returned to a conversation I had with a Roman Catholic couple from Colorado. They were both very interested in history as well as ecumenical relationships. As our conversation progressed, the husband said something about the purpose of life being to get into heaven. Well, I said, I think the purpose is to be as fully alive as we can be, open to the world in all its wonderful diversity and be servants of truth and goodness and compassion. What comes after this life--- who knows? Jesus did not spend time talking about heaven as a final destination after death. He spoke of the Kingdom of Heaven, by which he meant a fulfillment of God’s intentions for the human community here on earth.
In today’s reading from Matthew, heaven is not the subject, but the end times are, the last things, technically known as eschatology. At the dawn of the 20th century, Albert Schweitzer---the same man who went to Africa as a doctor--- published a very important book called, The Quest of the Historical Jesus in which Schweitzer laid out the various understandings of Jesus, which Enlightenment thought—that is, critical, historical, and literary analysis--- had constructed. Toward the end of his book, Schweitzer then defended the conviction that Jesus was an eschatological figure, meaning that he lived in expectation of the end times. God, Jesus thought, was about to intervene in history and bring a climactic end to the normal run of events and establish a new kingdom, and he, Jesus, was the sign that the kingdom was imminent. This radical ending is what our Gospel reading this morning is concerned with. The end is on the way, Jesus said, so be watchful; be vigilant, because you do not know its time. But it will come like a thief in the night, and even the Son does not know the day or hour.
It is not a very comforting image, is it---some being left behind and others taken. And yes, there are a whole lot of Christians, who spend their time trying to insure that they will be among those taken rather than those left behind. Such anxiety about the end, like the anxiety about getting into heaven strikes me as too self concerned and even self defeating, for didn’t Jesus remind people that the one who would save his or her life will ultimately lose it.
We really do not know much, if anything about the end; even Jesus would not make exact predictions. Scientists tell us that just as the universe had a beginning in what they believe was a big bang, it will also have an end. Matter and energy will dissipate or collapse, imploding upon itself. And what all this means for our human destiny remains to us mere mortals a mystery, something best left to God. It is not in our hands. And so, we live, and I think this is precisely what Jesus would have us do. Live now; live fully in the present. But do not be like the people of Noah’s day, who ignored God’s commandments to do justice and love mercy. Do not be careless toward the future, but do not be overly anxious either. Change comes without our consent. Something ends and something new is born.
Last week I told you that one of my most moving experiences on my Reformation trip in Germany was visiting Wartburg Castle, where Luther hid from his enemies while translating the New Testament into German. Another moving experience was the night we spent in Nuremberg, where we heard a talk by a Lutheran pastor from what had been East Germany, communist Germany. He spoke about how hard it was to be the church before the end of the Soviet Empire in 1989. We clergy, he said, had to be so careful about what we preached in our sermons. After all, Christian ethics are not just what you do in your private life; they do have public and political consequences. We knew that, and so did the East German leadership, so it was not unusual to have spies in our midst.”
But despite the anxiety, in 1986 he, along with some of his colleagues, Protestant and Roman Catholic, began to hold prayer vigils for peace. “We decided to hold them in my church,” the pastor said, “because it was exactly in the town center. The vigils began with only a half dozen clergy, and maybe one or two others. But slowly more people came and by the end of the first year we had 50 people; by the second year, maybe 100, and then by the third year, it was 300. Then in 1989 on All Saints Day, a few days after Reformation Sunday, one evening without any planning on the clergy’s part, the church began to fill up beyond capacity. Suddenly one of my Roman Catholic colleagues came running into the church, breathless, with this announcement “There are thousands of people out in the square. They are demanding an end to Communist rule. What should we do? Surely, they will close down the churches! They will blame us.”
“There is no denying that we were afraid,” the pastor continued. “We did not know what to do. None of us relished the thought of being arrested. All of us knew the regime could be brutal. Some of us had lost family members and friends to its brutality. But then a young woman not more than 25, stood up in church and said, “This is God’s work, not ours. Let’s pray that we will not get in God’s way.” When the prayer meeting finished, we opened up the doors to over 100,000 people in the square. One week later the wall in Berlin came down. None of us saw the end of the regime coming. But it came--- without one shot being fired. Something ended, and a new beginning came upon us.”
If you think this is a story only about politics, think again. Or if you think that political reality has no place in the church, consider again. The pastor’s story, or so it seems to me, is not so far from this morning’s reading from Matthew’s Gospel. Both involved radical change, spiritual and political. Matthew was probably written sometime around the year 80---after the Jerusalem Temple had been destroyed. And some Jews as well as Christians, including those in Matthew’s community, looked upon the Temple’s destruction as a sign that the end was coming. Well, something did end---Judaism centered on the Temple--- but something new appeared---the synagogue movement, which kept Judaism alive and the church was born.
There are all kinds of ends--- political regimes end; eras like the Renaissance, the Reformation or even the 60’s have their time, and their end. Our lives will one day end, and so too will the universe. We human beings often do not see the end coming, but maybe that is a blessing, because the final end is not in our hands, but rather in God’s. And so all we can do is to cultivate hope and trust in the God in whose hands both endings and beginnings lie.
November 23, 2022
Dear Friends,
When I was in the first grade, Mrs. Krauss’ class, we made pilgrim hats and cranberry sauce. Mrs. Krauss told us the story of the First Thanksgiving, describing how the Pilgrims and the Indians (We did not call them Native Americans back then) sat down and ate a meal together. She told us how helpful the Indians were to the Pilgrims and that without such help the Pilgrims would have starved. I was very impressed with this story. In fact, it was told as more than story. It was history, what actually had happened a long time ago.
We have crossed quite a bit of historical territory since then. And probably most of us are more than a bit confused about what really happened. Was there truly a Thanksgiving meal? While Thanksgiving is probably the most beloved American holiday, its history is a muddle. There is a letter from an English settler named Edward Winslow that never uses the word thanksgiving, but does mention a weeklong harvest celebration that included a three day celebration with King Massasoit and 90 Wampanoag men so that “we might after a more special manner rejoice together.” This was in 1621 in the Plymouth Colony. But some historians argue that the first Thanksgiving meal was celebrated in Florida, not Massachusetts, when in 1565, a Spanish fleet landed and planted a cross in the sandy soil of St. Augustine “to christen the soil.” The story goes that the 800 Spanish settlers shared a festive meal with the native Timucuan people. The Spanish had the food they brought with them from Europe, mainly hard rolls, and the Timucuan probably shared some fish and clams with the settlers.
Other historians claim that the first Thanksgiving was not at St. Augustine but on the St. John’s River, what is now Jacksonville. These were French Protestants, Huguenots, Calvinists like the Pilgrims, and they held a service of thanksgiving with the Timucuans to celebrate the 1564 establishment of Fort Caroline. The French explorer, Rene Goulaine de Laudonniere, wrote in his journal, “We sang a psalm of thanksgiving unto God, beseeching him that it would please his Grace to continue his goodness toward us.” Unfortunately, grace did not overcome hatred, because the Spanish attacked the French Protestants, accusing them of being heretics. The Spanish murdered 130 French Protestants, and two weeks later massacred an additional 200 French shipwreck survivors at an inlet near St. Augustine. The bloodshed undoubtedly helped to wash away the memory of any Thanksgiving meal.
James W. Baker, who wrote a book, Thanksgiving: The Biography of an American Holiday, notes that it was traditional for European explorers to give thanks after a safe trans-Atlantic crossing, but he claims these isolated instances bear no relation to the American Thanksgiving. He also claims that there was NEVER a single first Thanksgiving, neither in Plymouth for the three day harvest festival in 1621 nor in any other location. It was not until 1841, he claimed, that people began to talk about the Pilgrims hosting the first Thanksgiving.
A National Day of Thanksgiving was first called for to celebrate a victory over the British at the Battle of Saratoga, which took place in two stages on September 19 and October 7, 1777. In 1789 George Washington again called for a National Day of Thanksgiving to celebrate the end of the Revolutionary War and the ratification of the Constitution. And during the Civil War, both the North and the South issued Thanksgiving Day celebrations following major victories. It is interesting to note that President Thomas Jefferson NEVER called for a National Day of Thanksgiving, believing that a wall of separation between church and state precluded any such celebrations.
It was not until 1863, when President Abraham Lincoln called for an annual Thanksgiving celebration on the final Thursday in November. Sarah Josepha Hale was an impassioned advocate for the holiday, and she has become known as “The Mother of Thanksgiving.” Sarah Hale had written the children’s poem, Mary Had a Little Lamb, and she was a tireless advocate for women’s education, helping to found Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York. She also saw to it that a monument to the Battle of Bunker Hill was created, and she helped to save George Washington’s Mount Vernon home. For decades, Sarah Hale had written impassioned letters to various presidents, pleading for a National Day of Thanksgiving. Finally, Abraham Lincoln agreed.
As you can see, the history around Thanksgiving is extremely convoluted and multi-faceted. I must admit, however, that I still very much like what my first grade teacher told our class. The lesson back then was clear and a good one: cooperation matters, and human survival depends upon it. Jesus would certainly agree. It is a lesson that still needs learning as our nation continues to deal with hatred and prejudice.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
When I was in the first grade, Mrs. Krauss’ class, we made pilgrim hats and cranberry sauce. Mrs. Krauss told us the story of the First Thanksgiving, describing how the Pilgrims and the Indians (We did not call them Native Americans back then) sat down and ate a meal together. She told us how helpful the Indians were to the Pilgrims and that without such help the Pilgrims would have starved. I was very impressed with this story. In fact, it was told as more than story. It was history, what actually had happened a long time ago.
We have crossed quite a bit of historical territory since then. And probably most of us are more than a bit confused about what really happened. Was there truly a Thanksgiving meal? While Thanksgiving is probably the most beloved American holiday, its history is a muddle. There is a letter from an English settler named Edward Winslow that never uses the word thanksgiving, but does mention a weeklong harvest celebration that included a three day celebration with King Massasoit and 90 Wampanoag men so that “we might after a more special manner rejoice together.” This was in 1621 in the Plymouth Colony. But some historians argue that the first Thanksgiving meal was celebrated in Florida, not Massachusetts, when in 1565, a Spanish fleet landed and planted a cross in the sandy soil of St. Augustine “to christen the soil.” The story goes that the 800 Spanish settlers shared a festive meal with the native Timucuan people. The Spanish had the food they brought with them from Europe, mainly hard rolls, and the Timucuan probably shared some fish and clams with the settlers.
Other historians claim that the first Thanksgiving was not at St. Augustine but on the St. John’s River, what is now Jacksonville. These were French Protestants, Huguenots, Calvinists like the Pilgrims, and they held a service of thanksgiving with the Timucuans to celebrate the 1564 establishment of Fort Caroline. The French explorer, Rene Goulaine de Laudonniere, wrote in his journal, “We sang a psalm of thanksgiving unto God, beseeching him that it would please his Grace to continue his goodness toward us.” Unfortunately, grace did not overcome hatred, because the Spanish attacked the French Protestants, accusing them of being heretics. The Spanish murdered 130 French Protestants, and two weeks later massacred an additional 200 French shipwreck survivors at an inlet near St. Augustine. The bloodshed undoubtedly helped to wash away the memory of any Thanksgiving meal.
James W. Baker, who wrote a book, Thanksgiving: The Biography of an American Holiday, notes that it was traditional for European explorers to give thanks after a safe trans-Atlantic crossing, but he claims these isolated instances bear no relation to the American Thanksgiving. He also claims that there was NEVER a single first Thanksgiving, neither in Plymouth for the three day harvest festival in 1621 nor in any other location. It was not until 1841, he claimed, that people began to talk about the Pilgrims hosting the first Thanksgiving.
A National Day of Thanksgiving was first called for to celebrate a victory over the British at the Battle of Saratoga, which took place in two stages on September 19 and October 7, 1777. In 1789 George Washington again called for a National Day of Thanksgiving to celebrate the end of the Revolutionary War and the ratification of the Constitution. And during the Civil War, both the North and the South issued Thanksgiving Day celebrations following major victories. It is interesting to note that President Thomas Jefferson NEVER called for a National Day of Thanksgiving, believing that a wall of separation between church and state precluded any such celebrations.
It was not until 1863, when President Abraham Lincoln called for an annual Thanksgiving celebration on the final Thursday in November. Sarah Josepha Hale was an impassioned advocate for the holiday, and she has become known as “The Mother of Thanksgiving.” Sarah Hale had written the children’s poem, Mary Had a Little Lamb, and she was a tireless advocate for women’s education, helping to found Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York. She also saw to it that a monument to the Battle of Bunker Hill was created, and she helped to save George Washington’s Mount Vernon home. For decades, Sarah Hale had written impassioned letters to various presidents, pleading for a National Day of Thanksgiving. Finally, Abraham Lincoln agreed.
As you can see, the history around Thanksgiving is extremely convoluted and multi-faceted. I must admit, however, that I still very much like what my first grade teacher told our class. The lesson back then was clear and a good one: cooperation matters, and human survival depends upon it. Jesus would certainly agree. It is a lesson that still needs learning as our nation continues to deal with hatred and prejudice.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
A New Kind of King, A New Kind of Grace
The Reign of Christ Sunday, Nov. 20, 2022
First Church in Unionville, CT
Colossians 1: 11-20
Luke 22: 33-43
Some years ago, I went on an ecumenical Reformation trip through many of the Reformation sites in Germany and then onto Rome and the glory of St. Peter’s and the exquisite beauty of the Vatican’s Sistine Chapel. But what moved me the most was seeing Wartburg Castle with this little dark room and its cold, stony walls, the place where Martin Luther in just 11 weeks translated the New Testament from Greek into German. If you looked very carefully at the wall you could see the ink stain, the mark Luther made when he threw his inkwell at the devil.
Luther doubted that he could really make God’s Word accessible to the common man and woman. Rome did not want the Bible translated into the language people spoke. He could feel, he said, the devil’s grip on his soul, and it was then that he threw his inkwell. “Be gone, Satan, you shall not tempt me away from God’s Word.” Luther’s world was one people understood to be filled with principalities and powers, powers not so unlike those to which Paul refers in his letter to the Colossians. These powers and principalities were the forces people believed influenced and even controlled their world and their destiny. A Roman soldier would think he would do well to placate the god, Mars, and both Jews and Christians would have believed in the power of angels and devils to influence earthly events. And though we might smile at such naivete, consider the powers that rule our lives---the market or the economy or politics or terrorism---principalities and powers that none of us can really touch or see, but we believe in their power to influence our lives. This is the way we talk about our reality, just as Paul and later Luther would talk about their reality. The language they used was different from ours, but they did mean what we mean--- there are forces operating outside our immediate control.
And yet what Paul is saying in Colossians is that as powerful as all these forces are, they are subservient to Christ. Christ has conquered them, but not through the traditional channels of power, not like a Caesar or a mighty warrior, but through what appears to be complete weakness and utter defeat---death on a cross, an excruciating, humiliating death. Some (including Luther) would say that Christ’s death satisfied an angry God for the insult of sin, and Christ, being the perfect human, could make the perfect sacrifice or pay the perfect payment.
But it is not God who demands blood; it’s human beings. You are going to pay, we say---pay for this and that terrible crime, like some of the parents, enraged because the young man, who killed their children at Marjorie Stoneham High School did not get the death penalty. And in Jesus’ case his “terrible” crime was the refusal to grant to the principalities and powers ultimate authority. They have their place---render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar---but not everything belongs to Caesar, or the Temple or the economy or the war. Our ultimate loyalty belongs to God, and when you live as if you really believe that (as Jesus did) you get into a lot of trouble. Now Luther was no Jesus Christ, but when he stopped ceding power to the Pope, his fate was sealed, and had it not been for Frederick the Wise, who hid Luther in Wartburg Castle, Luther would have been burned for heresy.
Now Luther made a brilliant distinction between a theology of glory and a theology of the cross. The church, he claimed, was very adept at cultivating the theology of glory. The glory was all around. You could see it, touch it, smell it, and even buy it. But the theology of the cross reveals grace in what appears as weakness and defeat. It does not look like the victories the successful want and get.
In the liturgical calendar today is called The Reign of Christ Sunday, the last Sunday in the church year with next Sunday being the first Sunday in Advent. On this Sunday Christ is crowned King. And kings are supposed to rule in power and majesty. Yet the Gospel reading the lectionary chooses is the story of Christ’s crucifixion as told in Luke. In other words, Christ’s kingship and power and victory are hidden in the humiliation and weakness and defeat of the cross. The theology of glory is easy to see. We know what success looks like, but what kind of king, what kind of grace comes in the form of a defeated crucified human being? That is not what we want, and it is not what we expect. But sometimes this is exactly how grace comes---in places and ways that have nothing to do with success or power.
As in the story of a 10 year old boy named Shay, mentally and physically challenged. His father and he were out for a walk one Saturday afternoon, when they came upon a baseball game of kids Shay knew. And Shay asked his father in his halting way if he thought the boys might let him play. His father thought he knew the answer, but still, he approached one of the boys on the field and asked on his son’s behalf. The boy looked around and said, “We’re losing by 6 runs and the game is in the 8th inning. I guess he can be on our team, and we’ll try to put him in to bat in the 9th inning.”
Shay struggled over to the team’s bench and with a broad smile put on a team t shirt. In the 8th inning, Shay’s team scored some runs but was still behind by three, and in the bottom of the 9th inning, Shay’s team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base, and Shay was scheduled to be at bat. There was some hesitation on the team, and one parent walked over, but before anyone could say a word, the team captain handed Shay the bat.
As Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher on the other team recognized what was going on---the team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay’s life, and so the pitcher moved in a few steps and threw the ball at Shay’s bat. Shay swung wildly and missed, and so the pitcher took a few more steps forward and once again threw the ball toward Shay’s bat. Again, Shay swung and missed. A third try and this time the ball made contact with the bat with a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher, who could have easily picked it up and thrown it to first base. Instead, he threw the ball right over the first baseman’s head, out of reach of all his team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, “Run Shay, run. Run to first.” Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. And then people began yelling, Run to second, run to second. Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded toward second base, the right fielder, the smallest guy on the team, had the ball, and he could have thrown the ball to the second baseman for the tag, but he understood what this game was really about, and so he intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third baseman’s head. Shay ran toward third base as the runners before him circled the bases toward home. All were screaming, Shay, Shay, go Shay, go. Shay reached third base only because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the right direction. When he touched third base, everyone began yelling, “Go for home, Shay, go for home. You can do it, Shay, you can make it. Shay could barely run now. His legs were shaking, and his lungs felt as if they would burst apart, but he gave it his all, limping and falling a few times before he finally reached home base, where everyone hailed him as the hero of the day.
Six months later Shay died, and Shay’s father told this story at his son’s funeral with the boys from both teams present, wearing their baseball caps and t shirts. Shay, in fact, was buried in the same pair of pants and team t-shirt he wore the day of the game. At the end of the story, the father looked out at the boys and said, “You helped to bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world that day.” And the minister added, “God throws out pieces of grace everyday, and sometimes people catch it and pass it on, as these boys did with Shay.”
We think we know what is important, what really matters. Our newspapers and television are filled with stories about big and important people and events. And yes, inflation matters and so do elections. But in Jesus’ day, his death on a cross would have hardly registered on Rome’s screen, because Rome executed thousands of Jews. What kind of king is this? And what kind of grace does this crucified king bring? As Protestants we might say it is the kind of grace that sometimes defies Popes and councils and changes the world—front page news. But sometimes it’s the kind grace that comes softly and quietly, appearing on a Saturday afternoon on a baseball field where a group of kids are playing. Who would have thought it? But then who would have thought that the man crucified at the place of the Skull was a king, a new kind of king, bringing a new kind of grace.
The Reign of Christ Sunday, Nov. 20, 2022
First Church in Unionville, CT
Colossians 1: 11-20
Luke 22: 33-43
Some years ago, I went on an ecumenical Reformation trip through many of the Reformation sites in Germany and then onto Rome and the glory of St. Peter’s and the exquisite beauty of the Vatican’s Sistine Chapel. But what moved me the most was seeing Wartburg Castle with this little dark room and its cold, stony walls, the place where Martin Luther in just 11 weeks translated the New Testament from Greek into German. If you looked very carefully at the wall you could see the ink stain, the mark Luther made when he threw his inkwell at the devil.
Luther doubted that he could really make God’s Word accessible to the common man and woman. Rome did not want the Bible translated into the language people spoke. He could feel, he said, the devil’s grip on his soul, and it was then that he threw his inkwell. “Be gone, Satan, you shall not tempt me away from God’s Word.” Luther’s world was one people understood to be filled with principalities and powers, powers not so unlike those to which Paul refers in his letter to the Colossians. These powers and principalities were the forces people believed influenced and even controlled their world and their destiny. A Roman soldier would think he would do well to placate the god, Mars, and both Jews and Christians would have believed in the power of angels and devils to influence earthly events. And though we might smile at such naivete, consider the powers that rule our lives---the market or the economy or politics or terrorism---principalities and powers that none of us can really touch or see, but we believe in their power to influence our lives. This is the way we talk about our reality, just as Paul and later Luther would talk about their reality. The language they used was different from ours, but they did mean what we mean--- there are forces operating outside our immediate control.
And yet what Paul is saying in Colossians is that as powerful as all these forces are, they are subservient to Christ. Christ has conquered them, but not through the traditional channels of power, not like a Caesar or a mighty warrior, but through what appears to be complete weakness and utter defeat---death on a cross, an excruciating, humiliating death. Some (including Luther) would say that Christ’s death satisfied an angry God for the insult of sin, and Christ, being the perfect human, could make the perfect sacrifice or pay the perfect payment.
But it is not God who demands blood; it’s human beings. You are going to pay, we say---pay for this and that terrible crime, like some of the parents, enraged because the young man, who killed their children at Marjorie Stoneham High School did not get the death penalty. And in Jesus’ case his “terrible” crime was the refusal to grant to the principalities and powers ultimate authority. They have their place---render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar---but not everything belongs to Caesar, or the Temple or the economy or the war. Our ultimate loyalty belongs to God, and when you live as if you really believe that (as Jesus did) you get into a lot of trouble. Now Luther was no Jesus Christ, but when he stopped ceding power to the Pope, his fate was sealed, and had it not been for Frederick the Wise, who hid Luther in Wartburg Castle, Luther would have been burned for heresy.
Now Luther made a brilliant distinction between a theology of glory and a theology of the cross. The church, he claimed, was very adept at cultivating the theology of glory. The glory was all around. You could see it, touch it, smell it, and even buy it. But the theology of the cross reveals grace in what appears as weakness and defeat. It does not look like the victories the successful want and get.
In the liturgical calendar today is called The Reign of Christ Sunday, the last Sunday in the church year with next Sunday being the first Sunday in Advent. On this Sunday Christ is crowned King. And kings are supposed to rule in power and majesty. Yet the Gospel reading the lectionary chooses is the story of Christ’s crucifixion as told in Luke. In other words, Christ’s kingship and power and victory are hidden in the humiliation and weakness and defeat of the cross. The theology of glory is easy to see. We know what success looks like, but what kind of king, what kind of grace comes in the form of a defeated crucified human being? That is not what we want, and it is not what we expect. But sometimes this is exactly how grace comes---in places and ways that have nothing to do with success or power.
As in the story of a 10 year old boy named Shay, mentally and physically challenged. His father and he were out for a walk one Saturday afternoon, when they came upon a baseball game of kids Shay knew. And Shay asked his father in his halting way if he thought the boys might let him play. His father thought he knew the answer, but still, he approached one of the boys on the field and asked on his son’s behalf. The boy looked around and said, “We’re losing by 6 runs and the game is in the 8th inning. I guess he can be on our team, and we’ll try to put him in to bat in the 9th inning.”
Shay struggled over to the team’s bench and with a broad smile put on a team t shirt. In the 8th inning, Shay’s team scored some runs but was still behind by three, and in the bottom of the 9th inning, Shay’s team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base, and Shay was scheduled to be at bat. There was some hesitation on the team, and one parent walked over, but before anyone could say a word, the team captain handed Shay the bat.
As Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher on the other team recognized what was going on---the team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay’s life, and so the pitcher moved in a few steps and threw the ball at Shay’s bat. Shay swung wildly and missed, and so the pitcher took a few more steps forward and once again threw the ball toward Shay’s bat. Again, Shay swung and missed. A third try and this time the ball made contact with the bat with a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher, who could have easily picked it up and thrown it to first base. Instead, he threw the ball right over the first baseman’s head, out of reach of all his team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, “Run Shay, run. Run to first.” Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. And then people began yelling, Run to second, run to second. Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded toward second base, the right fielder, the smallest guy on the team, had the ball, and he could have thrown the ball to the second baseman for the tag, but he understood what this game was really about, and so he intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third baseman’s head. Shay ran toward third base as the runners before him circled the bases toward home. All were screaming, Shay, Shay, go Shay, go. Shay reached third base only because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the right direction. When he touched third base, everyone began yelling, “Go for home, Shay, go for home. You can do it, Shay, you can make it. Shay could barely run now. His legs were shaking, and his lungs felt as if they would burst apart, but he gave it his all, limping and falling a few times before he finally reached home base, where everyone hailed him as the hero of the day.
Six months later Shay died, and Shay’s father told this story at his son’s funeral with the boys from both teams present, wearing their baseball caps and t shirts. Shay, in fact, was buried in the same pair of pants and team t-shirt he wore the day of the game. At the end of the story, the father looked out at the boys and said, “You helped to bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world that day.” And the minister added, “God throws out pieces of grace everyday, and sometimes people catch it and pass it on, as these boys did with Shay.”
We think we know what is important, what really matters. Our newspapers and television are filled with stories about big and important people and events. And yes, inflation matters and so do elections. But in Jesus’ day, his death on a cross would have hardly registered on Rome’s screen, because Rome executed thousands of Jews. What kind of king is this? And what kind of grace does this crucified king bring? As Protestants we might say it is the kind of grace that sometimes defies Popes and councils and changes the world—front page news. But sometimes it’s the kind grace that comes softly and quietly, appearing on a Saturday afternoon on a baseball field where a group of kids are playing. Who would have thought it? But then who would have thought that the man crucified at the place of the Skull was a king, a new kind of king, bringing a new kind of grace.
November 16, 2022
Dear Friends,
Right after the recent election, I came across an interesting article about a walk across Maine, made in 1972 by a then 31 year old trial lawyer and mayor of Bangor. William Cohen was a Republican, interested in serving in Congress and so in 1972 he undertook a six week walk across Maine. The man who engineered the walk, now a retired professor of government from Bowdoin College, Christian Potholm, said that today such a walk would be impossible. Media is far too interfering and leaves no privacy at all. The conversations Cohen had occurred on sidewalks or on front porches and lawns, sometimes in factories and also in peoples’ living and dining rooms. There was no knocking on doors. Signs were posted along the path that Bob Cohen would be coming along around such and such a time, and anyone wanting to speak with him, was encouraged to be “there.” And people were “there”. They wanted to see this young guy, who was walking 20 miles a day for a job none of them could ever imagine wanting. Cohen did not have a lot of plans and no money to pay for hotels and food. But people always offered him a place to spend the night as well as plenty of food. Despite walking 20 miles a day, he gained 20 pounds over the six week period.
Cohen had a small group of campaign volunteers, four or five. They hardly had any budget, maybe enough to pay for one motel room for all of them, but money for food was their own responsibility. There was this one time when the one phone booth in this small town was vandalized, and the town was just in an outrage. Well, the volunteers let Bob know about the concern, and when he arrived at the town, he talked to them about crime and how it can make people feel assaulted, even if it does not directly happen to them. And that is exactly how people felt. That phone booth was a part of their little town, a part of them, and they could not imagine why anyone would want to vandalize their phone booth. And though it may to us sound trivial, to these townspeople it mattered!
Most of the people Cohen stayed with were on the lower economic scale, and since Cohen was from a working class family, he could easily relate. He would ask them what they were looking for and what he could do for them, if he ever got to Washington, DC, but he often had the feeling they were just looking for someone to hear them, to listen to them. Think back to 1972, if you can. Things were tightening up: inflation was on the rise and the energy crisis was beginning to make its harshness felt. It would not be long before people were waiting in line to buy gas for their cars and trucks. And in Maine there were and still are a great many trucks!
Cohen won that election and the next two as well. In the House he served on the Judiciary Committee, building an impeachment case against Richard Nixon, whom he would have voted to impeach, if it had come to a formal vote. In 1976 he won a Senate Seat, and served there until 1996, when he said he would not run for re-election, because of partisan gridlock. But President Bill Clinton had other plans for Cohen, and offered him the position of Secretary of Defense, which Cohen took, the first time a President of a different Party offered a position on his Cabinet to an elected official from another Party.
The Christian Science Monitor named William Cohen “a Renaissance Man,” educated at Bowdoin College in Latin and Greek classics, a writer of poetry and non-fiction and later trained in law at Boston University School of Law. But what many in Maine remember about Bill Cohen is his famous walk across Maine, when he visited ordinary citizens and their places of work. Maine back then was known as the shoe capital of America, and indeed he visited a lot of shoe factories, where he was often gifted with a new pair of boots. He still recalls putting on one of those new boots and barely being able to walk, his feet were so tired and blistered. There were a few times he had to seek medical attention for his feet. And then there was the time he and his team went to a drive in movie, and just went around, knocking on car windows to talk to people. People thought he was crazy and told him so!
Bars may be a place to meet voters, but Cohen did not find bars to be a good place to talk to voters. “People, who are drinking,” he said, “are usually either happy or very angry. They’re almost never happy to see a politician.” He remembers this one night at a bar, when he was shaking hands with people, and one man refused to shake his hand. “Do you know me?” Cohen asked. “Yea,” the man answered. “You’re the son of a bitch who put me in jail!” Cohen decided to leave and had no interest in returning to bars, looking for votes.
There’s a book about the walk: Bill Cohen’s 1972 Campaign for Congress. An Oral History of the Walk that Changed Maine Politics. People say you could not do this today. “Too much money washing around these days,” preventing the kind of simple honesty Bill Cohen’s walk led to. He really did walk, usually 20 miles a day, and there were times, when he was far out into rural Maine, he did not see a person or a car for hours. But people saw him, a trucker or two, who would later tell other truckers that they saw “this crazy guy, walking and walking, slapping flies off his neck and face. “I guess he really wants the job.”
I would not try to compare Bill Cohen to Jesus, but Jesus did spend a lot of time on the road, just walking, meeting people and listening to what they had to say as well as telling a story now and then. I do think Jesus had a lot of a skilled politician in him. He knew how to listen and he knew how to tell a good story.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Right after the recent election, I came across an interesting article about a walk across Maine, made in 1972 by a then 31 year old trial lawyer and mayor of Bangor. William Cohen was a Republican, interested in serving in Congress and so in 1972 he undertook a six week walk across Maine. The man who engineered the walk, now a retired professor of government from Bowdoin College, Christian Potholm, said that today such a walk would be impossible. Media is far too interfering and leaves no privacy at all. The conversations Cohen had occurred on sidewalks or on front porches and lawns, sometimes in factories and also in peoples’ living and dining rooms. There was no knocking on doors. Signs were posted along the path that Bob Cohen would be coming along around such and such a time, and anyone wanting to speak with him, was encouraged to be “there.” And people were “there”. They wanted to see this young guy, who was walking 20 miles a day for a job none of them could ever imagine wanting. Cohen did not have a lot of plans and no money to pay for hotels and food. But people always offered him a place to spend the night as well as plenty of food. Despite walking 20 miles a day, he gained 20 pounds over the six week period.
Cohen had a small group of campaign volunteers, four or five. They hardly had any budget, maybe enough to pay for one motel room for all of them, but money for food was their own responsibility. There was this one time when the one phone booth in this small town was vandalized, and the town was just in an outrage. Well, the volunteers let Bob know about the concern, and when he arrived at the town, he talked to them about crime and how it can make people feel assaulted, even if it does not directly happen to them. And that is exactly how people felt. That phone booth was a part of their little town, a part of them, and they could not imagine why anyone would want to vandalize their phone booth. And though it may to us sound trivial, to these townspeople it mattered!
Most of the people Cohen stayed with were on the lower economic scale, and since Cohen was from a working class family, he could easily relate. He would ask them what they were looking for and what he could do for them, if he ever got to Washington, DC, but he often had the feeling they were just looking for someone to hear them, to listen to them. Think back to 1972, if you can. Things were tightening up: inflation was on the rise and the energy crisis was beginning to make its harshness felt. It would not be long before people were waiting in line to buy gas for their cars and trucks. And in Maine there were and still are a great many trucks!
Cohen won that election and the next two as well. In the House he served on the Judiciary Committee, building an impeachment case against Richard Nixon, whom he would have voted to impeach, if it had come to a formal vote. In 1976 he won a Senate Seat, and served there until 1996, when he said he would not run for re-election, because of partisan gridlock. But President Bill Clinton had other plans for Cohen, and offered him the position of Secretary of Defense, which Cohen took, the first time a President of a different Party offered a position on his Cabinet to an elected official from another Party.
The Christian Science Monitor named William Cohen “a Renaissance Man,” educated at Bowdoin College in Latin and Greek classics, a writer of poetry and non-fiction and later trained in law at Boston University School of Law. But what many in Maine remember about Bill Cohen is his famous walk across Maine, when he visited ordinary citizens and their places of work. Maine back then was known as the shoe capital of America, and indeed he visited a lot of shoe factories, where he was often gifted with a new pair of boots. He still recalls putting on one of those new boots and barely being able to walk, his feet were so tired and blistered. There were a few times he had to seek medical attention for his feet. And then there was the time he and his team went to a drive in movie, and just went around, knocking on car windows to talk to people. People thought he was crazy and told him so!
Bars may be a place to meet voters, but Cohen did not find bars to be a good place to talk to voters. “People, who are drinking,” he said, “are usually either happy or very angry. They’re almost never happy to see a politician.” He remembers this one night at a bar, when he was shaking hands with people, and one man refused to shake his hand. “Do you know me?” Cohen asked. “Yea,” the man answered. “You’re the son of a bitch who put me in jail!” Cohen decided to leave and had no interest in returning to bars, looking for votes.
There’s a book about the walk: Bill Cohen’s 1972 Campaign for Congress. An Oral History of the Walk that Changed Maine Politics. People say you could not do this today. “Too much money washing around these days,” preventing the kind of simple honesty Bill Cohen’s walk led to. He really did walk, usually 20 miles a day, and there were times, when he was far out into rural Maine, he did not see a person or a car for hours. But people saw him, a trucker or two, who would later tell other truckers that they saw “this crazy guy, walking and walking, slapping flies off his neck and face. “I guess he really wants the job.”
I would not try to compare Bill Cohen to Jesus, but Jesus did spend a lot of time on the road, just walking, meeting people and listening to what they had to say as well as telling a story now and then. I do think Jesus had a lot of a skilled politician in him. He knew how to listen and he knew how to tell a good story.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
THE STORIES WE TELL AND REMEMBER
Preached by Sandra Olsen
FIRST CHURCH OF CHRIST IN UNIONVILLE, CT
November 13, 2022
Isaiah 65: 17-25
Luke 21: 5-19
Just last month I was having a conversation with my oldest grandchild, Siena, who turned 17 last summer. I reminded her how at the age of 3 she was fascinated with her memory. She wanted to know why it is she could remember all these things in her head. I guess I was a very advanced child, she said, but now I realize that I don’t remember things in the same way. When I was five, I thought it was terrible when at my birthday party my cake fell on the floor, but now I think it’s funny. And I wonder, as I apply to colleges and if I don’t get into Georgetown or Yale or some other prestigious school, I will probably be very upset. But 10 or 20 years from now, I will most likely think, “How silly of me! All that prestige does not matter in the least! But that is not how I think and feel now! So, she said, I guess looking back can change everything---even our memories.
Siena’s comment reminded me of something my father said. He landed on one of the Normandy beaches, but over a month after D-Day. And all these local French people were on the beach sunbathing or swimming in the mid July ocean. My father certainly knew what happened on June 6, and so he told me he carried in his mind two images---one of the brutal landing, but the other of people swimming, and because he had personally witnessed the latter, it changed his viewpoint. I found myself thinking at the time of my landing, he told me, that life goes on, and even the horror has an end, but I am not sure I would have felt that way, had I landed on June 6. I spent the war behind a desk at the Headquarters of the 101st Army, and though I read the communications that described the battles and the losses, still I did not see it face to face, and so my memories of war are quite different from those who actually did the fighting.”
Indeed, how we remember and what we remember are often a function of the position we find ourselves in---and our position sometimes changes as my granddaughter already realizes. I visited one of my brothers a few weeks ago in New Jersey, and he and I both remembered how our parents used to say that life was getting worse and worse. School shootings, lack of civility, diminishing church attendance---all these things would elicit comments about how things are going to hell. I would argue, reminding them that they lived through a war that saw 3% of the world’s population perish. 55 million civilians died alone, 20 million from disease and starvation and another 25 million military dead. And we had genocide on a grand scale, practiced by the same nation, which gave us Bach and Beethoven, Goethe, and Kant. Your day was a lot worse than now, I would insist. But I made no headway with them, because when they remembered their past, they remembered a time when the nation was united and agreed on what the goals were. Oh, the agreements were probably not as strong as they recalled, but they had made their memories of the past, and there was no way I was going to change them. And sometimes memories are more important than the reality. Our two readings from the Bible today are really about memories---about looking back on the past, but also forward to a future.
Consider the very difficult position in which Isaiah and his people had found themselves. The unthinkable had happened in 587 B.C. Jerusalem had fallen to the Babylonian Empire, and the leaders were taken away to Babylon. First Isaiah had talked about the coming catastrophe because the people had failed to honor the Covenant with God; Second Isaiah had tried to comfort them in their time as captives, but now Third Isaiah faced a new situation. The Jews were now no longer captives in Babylon, and those who wanted to return to Jerusalem were allowed to do so.
Cyrus of Persia had destroyed the Babylonian empire, and he was the one who offered the Jews the option of returning. Yet not all the Jews wanted to return. A little more than 50 years had passed. Many of the original exiles had died; people had been born, who had no memory of Jerusalem, and though there were those who remembered the story, the glory of Jerusalem and the beautiful Temple and the Law God had given them---not all enthusiastically embraced that story. Some had a new story to tell themselves about their new life in Babylon. But there was a remnant, who returned, and what they found was devastation. It looked as if nothing had been done in 50 years, and it probably had not, since skilled labor was carried off to Babylon along with other forms of leadership and competence. Rebuilding was so much harder than they had imagined, and so bitterness and resentment set in. While they remembered the past they had lost, they had no new memory to sustain them. And this is exactly what Isaiah tried to give them, a new story to live for and by. The promise was that God would create a new Jerusalem, where pain and sorrow and distress would be no more. The wolf shall lie down with the lamb, and the lion shall eat straw like the ox, and no one shall hurt or destroy on God’s holy mountain. This is the new creation, the promised future, something for which the returned Jews could hope as they tried to rebuild their lives.
And the new creation had not yet arrived for the people, hearing Luke’s gospel, written 40 or 50 years after Jesus lived. They were living in tough times. The Temple had been destroyed by the Romans in the year 70, and the followers of Jesus were being brought before the authorities, both Jewish and Roman. They too had their memories. Some probably remembered Jesus in the flesh, others remembered him through the stories that were told. They had seen so much change, and they were trying to make sense of it all, just as the Jews, who returned from Babylon tried to make sense of it. And in the midst of all that turmoil and change, they remembered a story of a new beginning, the promise that if they would endure, God would make the new creation.
We all struggle to make sense of our lives and our world. We all have memories, our personal stories. But our personal stories are also part of a wider story, the story of history, the story of God in history. Both Isaiah and Luke were trying to help people see their lives in a larger context, as part of God’s story, God’s history. This is why religious traditions have texts. These stories become part of the collective memory; they tell us who we are, where we come from and where we might go. They remind us that we are not the center of the story, but we are part of the story.
When my husband and I went to Poland five years ago, we visited the concentration camps, Auschwitz and Birkenau. I have spoken of my experience before and some of the people I met there. One was the daughter of a man, who had survived the camp. He had lost his first wife and two children, but after the war, he moved to Israel and remarried and had another family, two daughters and a son. The daughter I met told me the most amazing thing about her father was his lack of bitterness. I never could figure out why he was not angry or bitter, she told me. He went on with his life, and though he remembered the past, he was not stuck there. I always wondered how was it possible to get over something that traumatic. When I turned 40, I finally got up the nerve to ask him. And he told me he saw himself as part of a remnant, the survivors, who went home, which is what Israel is for him, and made a new life for themselves and their children.
I left Israel in my 20’s, moving to the United States to make a new life for myself, eventually becoming a history professor. And my father was never angry or upset with me for leaving Israel, though some of his friends thought I was terrible for doing so. But he told me, “You have your own life to live, your own story to make, so live it and make it, but remember that your story should be part of something larger than yourself.” And that is good advice for us all.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
FIRST CHURCH OF CHRIST IN UNIONVILLE, CT
November 13, 2022
Isaiah 65: 17-25
Luke 21: 5-19
Just last month I was having a conversation with my oldest grandchild, Siena, who turned 17 last summer. I reminded her how at the age of 3 she was fascinated with her memory. She wanted to know why it is she could remember all these things in her head. I guess I was a very advanced child, she said, but now I realize that I don’t remember things in the same way. When I was five, I thought it was terrible when at my birthday party my cake fell on the floor, but now I think it’s funny. And I wonder, as I apply to colleges and if I don’t get into Georgetown or Yale or some other prestigious school, I will probably be very upset. But 10 or 20 years from now, I will most likely think, “How silly of me! All that prestige does not matter in the least! But that is not how I think and feel now! So, she said, I guess looking back can change everything---even our memories.
Siena’s comment reminded me of something my father said. He landed on one of the Normandy beaches, but over a month after D-Day. And all these local French people were on the beach sunbathing or swimming in the mid July ocean. My father certainly knew what happened on June 6, and so he told me he carried in his mind two images---one of the brutal landing, but the other of people swimming, and because he had personally witnessed the latter, it changed his viewpoint. I found myself thinking at the time of my landing, he told me, that life goes on, and even the horror has an end, but I am not sure I would have felt that way, had I landed on June 6. I spent the war behind a desk at the Headquarters of the 101st Army, and though I read the communications that described the battles and the losses, still I did not see it face to face, and so my memories of war are quite different from those who actually did the fighting.”
Indeed, how we remember and what we remember are often a function of the position we find ourselves in---and our position sometimes changes as my granddaughter already realizes. I visited one of my brothers a few weeks ago in New Jersey, and he and I both remembered how our parents used to say that life was getting worse and worse. School shootings, lack of civility, diminishing church attendance---all these things would elicit comments about how things are going to hell. I would argue, reminding them that they lived through a war that saw 3% of the world’s population perish. 55 million civilians died alone, 20 million from disease and starvation and another 25 million military dead. And we had genocide on a grand scale, practiced by the same nation, which gave us Bach and Beethoven, Goethe, and Kant. Your day was a lot worse than now, I would insist. But I made no headway with them, because when they remembered their past, they remembered a time when the nation was united and agreed on what the goals were. Oh, the agreements were probably not as strong as they recalled, but they had made their memories of the past, and there was no way I was going to change them. And sometimes memories are more important than the reality. Our two readings from the Bible today are really about memories---about looking back on the past, but also forward to a future.
Consider the very difficult position in which Isaiah and his people had found themselves. The unthinkable had happened in 587 B.C. Jerusalem had fallen to the Babylonian Empire, and the leaders were taken away to Babylon. First Isaiah had talked about the coming catastrophe because the people had failed to honor the Covenant with God; Second Isaiah had tried to comfort them in their time as captives, but now Third Isaiah faced a new situation. The Jews were now no longer captives in Babylon, and those who wanted to return to Jerusalem were allowed to do so.
Cyrus of Persia had destroyed the Babylonian empire, and he was the one who offered the Jews the option of returning. Yet not all the Jews wanted to return. A little more than 50 years had passed. Many of the original exiles had died; people had been born, who had no memory of Jerusalem, and though there were those who remembered the story, the glory of Jerusalem and the beautiful Temple and the Law God had given them---not all enthusiastically embraced that story. Some had a new story to tell themselves about their new life in Babylon. But there was a remnant, who returned, and what they found was devastation. It looked as if nothing had been done in 50 years, and it probably had not, since skilled labor was carried off to Babylon along with other forms of leadership and competence. Rebuilding was so much harder than they had imagined, and so bitterness and resentment set in. While they remembered the past they had lost, they had no new memory to sustain them. And this is exactly what Isaiah tried to give them, a new story to live for and by. The promise was that God would create a new Jerusalem, where pain and sorrow and distress would be no more. The wolf shall lie down with the lamb, and the lion shall eat straw like the ox, and no one shall hurt or destroy on God’s holy mountain. This is the new creation, the promised future, something for which the returned Jews could hope as they tried to rebuild their lives.
And the new creation had not yet arrived for the people, hearing Luke’s gospel, written 40 or 50 years after Jesus lived. They were living in tough times. The Temple had been destroyed by the Romans in the year 70, and the followers of Jesus were being brought before the authorities, both Jewish and Roman. They too had their memories. Some probably remembered Jesus in the flesh, others remembered him through the stories that were told. They had seen so much change, and they were trying to make sense of it all, just as the Jews, who returned from Babylon tried to make sense of it. And in the midst of all that turmoil and change, they remembered a story of a new beginning, the promise that if they would endure, God would make the new creation.
We all struggle to make sense of our lives and our world. We all have memories, our personal stories. But our personal stories are also part of a wider story, the story of history, the story of God in history. Both Isaiah and Luke were trying to help people see their lives in a larger context, as part of God’s story, God’s history. This is why religious traditions have texts. These stories become part of the collective memory; they tell us who we are, where we come from and where we might go. They remind us that we are not the center of the story, but we are part of the story.
When my husband and I went to Poland five years ago, we visited the concentration camps, Auschwitz and Birkenau. I have spoken of my experience before and some of the people I met there. One was the daughter of a man, who had survived the camp. He had lost his first wife and two children, but after the war, he moved to Israel and remarried and had another family, two daughters and a son. The daughter I met told me the most amazing thing about her father was his lack of bitterness. I never could figure out why he was not angry or bitter, she told me. He went on with his life, and though he remembered the past, he was not stuck there. I always wondered how was it possible to get over something that traumatic. When I turned 40, I finally got up the nerve to ask him. And he told me he saw himself as part of a remnant, the survivors, who went home, which is what Israel is for him, and made a new life for themselves and their children.
I left Israel in my 20’s, moving to the United States to make a new life for myself, eventually becoming a history professor. And my father was never angry or upset with me for leaving Israel, though some of his friends thought I was terrible for doing so. But he told me, “You have your own life to live, your own story to make, so live it and make it, but remember that your story should be part of something larger than yourself.” And that is good advice for us all.
THE RIGHTEOUSNESS OF GOD: MARTIN LUTHER SPEAKS
PREACHED BY SANDRA OLSEN
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 23, 2022
Romans 1: 16-17
The black preaching robe: Do you have any idea what the significance of this is, what a long journey it was to arrive at the point where many ministers (not priests) choose to wear the black preaching robe in place of the white Alb? You see the preaching robe was the dress of academics, and to wear it in the pulpit was to acknowledge that the preaching of the Word required study, disciplined prayerful study. I, Martin Luther, was a teacher, a professor at Wittenberg University, and it was in the preparation of my lectures on scripture that I understood what Paul in his Letter to the Romans meant: we are justified not by our goods works but by faith. Faith alone. And so, until very recently your clergy always wore the black robe as a symbol of their commitment to study. It is only in the last 50 years, in an effort to be ecumenical that they now also wear the Alb and stoles. Such dress in the Reformed tradition (though not in the Lutheran tradition) would have been considered papist rot, the stinking excrement of Rome.
Strong language, yes, very strong language. But the 16th century was a time when strength was required. The issues meant life or death. Civility meant nothing; you could be civil and yet be burned at the stake. I continuously asked Rome and its representatives to show me where my ideas were wrong. Show me, I said, where Jesus said you can buy your salvation through the purchase of indulgences. Show me that you are saved by your works. But all they did was speak of authority, the authority of the Church, which meant the authority of the Pope. And what of scripture? I asked. The Pope decides such matters, I was told. And so, on April 18, 1521 at the Diet of Worms I stood before those gathered and said: “Unless I am shown by the testimony of scripture that I am wrong, for I do not believe in councils or Popes, I cannot and will not recant. My conscience is captive to the Word of God, and to act against conscience is neither right nor safe. Here I stand; I can do no other, so help me God.” Some say this was a turning point in western civilization when the individual conscience stood against the power of a mighty institution.
But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me begin at the beginning---when I determined to become a monk. I was supposed to be a lawyer in deference to my father, who worked hard as a miner. He wanted a better life for his children; even in the 16th century there was what you call today upward mobility. And so, I began to study law. But late one afternoon, walking home, I suddenly found myself caught in a storm, a violent storm with thunder crashing and pounding, and lightening, flashing, sending shafts of terror through the sky and into my heart. Falling to the ground, I prayed, “St. Anne, save me, and I will become a monk.” Well, as you can see, I was saved and so I had to keep my promise. I did become a monk, much to the anger and disappointment of my father. Do not you know the third commandment? he asked me. Honor thy father and mother! Yes, of course, I knew it, but sometimes obedience takes a different path. I reminded him that even Jesus Christ disappointed his parents. Jesus came as it says in Matthew’s Gospel to place enmity between a mother and her daughter and a father and his son. No, it was not easy between my father and me, and I do not think he ever really forgave me for becoming a monk rather than a lawyer.
And I was a good monk, striving to be the perfect monk. Fastidious with every little vow, every little rule, every little mistake and sin: If I spilled a glass of milk, I confessed my carelessness; if I forgot to have a candle ready for Mass, I confessed my sloth. I was trying to be perfect, and yet the other monks laughed at me. Oh, there goes Martin with his overzealous conscience. He thinks he can buy God’s love and approval with his perfectionism. But I could not, and so my fear of hell led me to hate the God who would put me in hell. “Martin,” my spiritual adviser said, “It is not God who is angry with you, but you are angry with God.” And he was right. But what was I to do?
In the midst of my spiritual agony, something else was happening. The Pope wanted to build a great cathedral in Rome, a place in honor of St. Peter, a sacred home for all the relics---the teeth of this saint or that one, the robe which Mary wore, splattered with the blood of her dead son, two hairs of Jesus Christ. Oh, the list went on and on, and though Jesus only called 12 disciples my calculations showed that with all the different cathedrals claiming to have this or that part of a disciple’s body, there must have been at least 18. When I pointed this out to one of the bishops, he told me to keep my opinions to myself. But your Lordship, I insisted, this is not an opinion. Why look at this: Saint Peter himself must have had four ears, since there are 8 different churches claiming to have one of his ears. Surely, this is an error. “The Church,” he sternly reminded me, “does not make errors.”
Well, as bad as that was, it was nothing compared to what that papist vermin, John Tetzel, said and did when he arrived at the marketplace in Jutterborg in 1517. That ecclesiastical worm had the gall to say that he saved more souls than St. Peter himself---all because of the indulgences he was authorized to sell. Carrying sealed envelopes with pieces of paper neatly tucked inside, Tetzel held them up for all to see. This is God’s great gift to you, he said. For every one of these you buy, a sin will be remitted. And do you know what else I have been empowered to do? These indulgences are not only for the sins you have already committed, but they will also work for the sins you have not yet committed. “When a coin into the coffer rings, a soul from purgatory springs!”
So full of wrath was I that I wanted to beat his face in, but restraining myself I challenged him, “You are not worth more than the rotting excrement in the Pope’s bowels.” Yes, that is exactly what I said, and do you know what that swine Tetzel responded, “And from whose bowels do you think these indulgences come?” Yes, they came from The Holy Father, Pope Leo X. While I had no right to expect perfection from the Pope; after all, he was human, but certainly I had a right not to expect such utter and complete corruption. Willfully misleading people: the Pope knew that indulgences were impotent against sin. But he was not about truth or salvation, but about money and power and fame, for Leo wanted to be remembered as the Pope who built St. Peter’s in Rome. He needed money for that endeavor and the sale of indulgences would bring in the needed income.
That day in the marketplace was a turning point, and the revolution that came to be called the Reformation exploded. In response to Tetzel, I tacked my 95 Theses to the door of the Palace Church in Wittenberg. These were points to be debated. This is what professors commonly did. They posted their ideas to be considered and then debated. And so, the debate began. I debated men far more subtle in intellect than Tetzel; Cajetan, for example, a cardinal and general of the Dominican Order, Rome’s highest representative in Germany. He was a formidable opponent, a man of great intellect, and it gave him immense pleasure as a Dominican to go against me, an Augustinian monk. There was a competitive spirit sometimes between the two orders, and he would have liked to have proven me wrong. “All you have to do, Martin,” he said, “is confess your errors, retract your words, and do not return like a dog to its vomit.” And what about your vomit?” I asked. “Will you always return to it?” “I give you six months, Martin”, he said, “to roast yourself.” It will take more time than that, I countered.
Well, two years later in Wittenberg the bull of excommunication from Pope Leo X finally arrived. I stood before a great roaring fire, whose flames devoured the books of canon law, and I burned the bull of excommunication before the cheers of a great crowd. So long ago it was, a long and hard journey for me as well as for the Church. History moves on, and there have been changes in the Church I never would or could have foreseen. I translated the Bible from Latin into German in 11 weeks, while hiding in the Wartburg Castle. I wanted people to read and understand God’s Word, because I thought everything was at stake---especially our eternal souls.
How quaint that must sound today when so many look to nothing more than this world for their ultimate satisfaction. Perhaps that is why so many churches are empty. People are too busy in the world to want anything beyond the world, and so they will settle for a small bucket of happiness. It isn’t too much they want; it is far too little. I wanted everything---especially a gracious God who in Jesus Christ would save. Save from what, for what. For me it was salvation from hell for eternal life in heaven. But times do change, and what I was looking for then is probably not the same for you now. So, I will leave you with two short questions: What, if anything, are you looking to be saved from and what are you looking to be saved for? The questions are before you. And only you can answer them for yourself.
PREACHED BY SANDRA OLSEN
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 23, 2022
Romans 1: 16-17
The black preaching robe: Do you have any idea what the significance of this is, what a long journey it was to arrive at the point where many ministers (not priests) choose to wear the black preaching robe in place of the white Alb? You see the preaching robe was the dress of academics, and to wear it in the pulpit was to acknowledge that the preaching of the Word required study, disciplined prayerful study. I, Martin Luther, was a teacher, a professor at Wittenberg University, and it was in the preparation of my lectures on scripture that I understood what Paul in his Letter to the Romans meant: we are justified not by our goods works but by faith. Faith alone. And so, until very recently your clergy always wore the black robe as a symbol of their commitment to study. It is only in the last 50 years, in an effort to be ecumenical that they now also wear the Alb and stoles. Such dress in the Reformed tradition (though not in the Lutheran tradition) would have been considered papist rot, the stinking excrement of Rome.
Strong language, yes, very strong language. But the 16th century was a time when strength was required. The issues meant life or death. Civility meant nothing; you could be civil and yet be burned at the stake. I continuously asked Rome and its representatives to show me where my ideas were wrong. Show me, I said, where Jesus said you can buy your salvation through the purchase of indulgences. Show me that you are saved by your works. But all they did was speak of authority, the authority of the Church, which meant the authority of the Pope. And what of scripture? I asked. The Pope decides such matters, I was told. And so, on April 18, 1521 at the Diet of Worms I stood before those gathered and said: “Unless I am shown by the testimony of scripture that I am wrong, for I do not believe in councils or Popes, I cannot and will not recant. My conscience is captive to the Word of God, and to act against conscience is neither right nor safe. Here I stand; I can do no other, so help me God.” Some say this was a turning point in western civilization when the individual conscience stood against the power of a mighty institution.
But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me begin at the beginning---when I determined to become a monk. I was supposed to be a lawyer in deference to my father, who worked hard as a miner. He wanted a better life for his children; even in the 16th century there was what you call today upward mobility. And so, I began to study law. But late one afternoon, walking home, I suddenly found myself caught in a storm, a violent storm with thunder crashing and pounding, and lightening, flashing, sending shafts of terror through the sky and into my heart. Falling to the ground, I prayed, “St. Anne, save me, and I will become a monk.” Well, as you can see, I was saved and so I had to keep my promise. I did become a monk, much to the anger and disappointment of my father. Do not you know the third commandment? he asked me. Honor thy father and mother! Yes, of course, I knew it, but sometimes obedience takes a different path. I reminded him that even Jesus Christ disappointed his parents. Jesus came as it says in Matthew’s Gospel to place enmity between a mother and her daughter and a father and his son. No, it was not easy between my father and me, and I do not think he ever really forgave me for becoming a monk rather than a lawyer.
And I was a good monk, striving to be the perfect monk. Fastidious with every little vow, every little rule, every little mistake and sin: If I spilled a glass of milk, I confessed my carelessness; if I forgot to have a candle ready for Mass, I confessed my sloth. I was trying to be perfect, and yet the other monks laughed at me. Oh, there goes Martin with his overzealous conscience. He thinks he can buy God’s love and approval with his perfectionism. But I could not, and so my fear of hell led me to hate the God who would put me in hell. “Martin,” my spiritual adviser said, “It is not God who is angry with you, but you are angry with God.” And he was right. But what was I to do?
In the midst of my spiritual agony, something else was happening. The Pope wanted to build a great cathedral in Rome, a place in honor of St. Peter, a sacred home for all the relics---the teeth of this saint or that one, the robe which Mary wore, splattered with the blood of her dead son, two hairs of Jesus Christ. Oh, the list went on and on, and though Jesus only called 12 disciples my calculations showed that with all the different cathedrals claiming to have this or that part of a disciple’s body, there must have been at least 18. When I pointed this out to one of the bishops, he told me to keep my opinions to myself. But your Lordship, I insisted, this is not an opinion. Why look at this: Saint Peter himself must have had four ears, since there are 8 different churches claiming to have one of his ears. Surely, this is an error. “The Church,” he sternly reminded me, “does not make errors.”
Well, as bad as that was, it was nothing compared to what that papist vermin, John Tetzel, said and did when he arrived at the marketplace in Jutterborg in 1517. That ecclesiastical worm had the gall to say that he saved more souls than St. Peter himself---all because of the indulgences he was authorized to sell. Carrying sealed envelopes with pieces of paper neatly tucked inside, Tetzel held them up for all to see. This is God’s great gift to you, he said. For every one of these you buy, a sin will be remitted. And do you know what else I have been empowered to do? These indulgences are not only for the sins you have already committed, but they will also work for the sins you have not yet committed. “When a coin into the coffer rings, a soul from purgatory springs!”
So full of wrath was I that I wanted to beat his face in, but restraining myself I challenged him, “You are not worth more than the rotting excrement in the Pope’s bowels.” Yes, that is exactly what I said, and do you know what that swine Tetzel responded, “And from whose bowels do you think these indulgences come?” Yes, they came from The Holy Father, Pope Leo X. While I had no right to expect perfection from the Pope; after all, he was human, but certainly I had a right not to expect such utter and complete corruption. Willfully misleading people: the Pope knew that indulgences were impotent against sin. But he was not about truth or salvation, but about money and power and fame, for Leo wanted to be remembered as the Pope who built St. Peter’s in Rome. He needed money for that endeavor and the sale of indulgences would bring in the needed income.
That day in the marketplace was a turning point, and the revolution that came to be called the Reformation exploded. In response to Tetzel, I tacked my 95 Theses to the door of the Palace Church in Wittenberg. These were points to be debated. This is what professors commonly did. They posted their ideas to be considered and then debated. And so, the debate began. I debated men far more subtle in intellect than Tetzel; Cajetan, for example, a cardinal and general of the Dominican Order, Rome’s highest representative in Germany. He was a formidable opponent, a man of great intellect, and it gave him immense pleasure as a Dominican to go against me, an Augustinian monk. There was a competitive spirit sometimes between the two orders, and he would have liked to have proven me wrong. “All you have to do, Martin,” he said, “is confess your errors, retract your words, and do not return like a dog to its vomit.” And what about your vomit?” I asked. “Will you always return to it?” “I give you six months, Martin”, he said, “to roast yourself.” It will take more time than that, I countered.
Well, two years later in Wittenberg the bull of excommunication from Pope Leo X finally arrived. I stood before a great roaring fire, whose flames devoured the books of canon law, and I burned the bull of excommunication before the cheers of a great crowd. So long ago it was, a long and hard journey for me as well as for the Church. History moves on, and there have been changes in the Church I never would or could have foreseen. I translated the Bible from Latin into German in 11 weeks, while hiding in the Wartburg Castle. I wanted people to read and understand God’s Word, because I thought everything was at stake---especially our eternal souls.
How quaint that must sound today when so many look to nothing more than this world for their ultimate satisfaction. Perhaps that is why so many churches are empty. People are too busy in the world to want anything beyond the world, and so they will settle for a small bucket of happiness. It isn’t too much they want; it is far too little. I wanted everything---especially a gracious God who in Jesus Christ would save. Save from what, for what. For me it was salvation from hell for eternal life in heaven. But times do change, and what I was looking for then is probably not the same for you now. So, I will leave you with two short questions: What, if anything, are you looking to be saved from and what are you looking to be saved for? The questions are before you. And only you can answer them for yourself.
October 19, 2022
Dear Friends,
Courage is one of the four cardinal virtues, the others being justice, prudence, and temperance. Cardinal comes from a Greek word meaning hinge, so these four virtues, it was taught by Plato, Aristotle and later the Church Fathers, are the ones upon which all the other virtues hinge. The Christian virtues are faith, hope, and love, and I have always thought it was a bit of an oversight on the part of Jesus that he did not refer more to the virtue of courage. After all, his followers would face great stress and tribulation, and certainly courage was needed. Perhaps Jesus thought that if you had faith, hope and love, you did not need any other virtue, but I remain doubtful of that opinion. Courage is certainly different from faith, and I imagine that courage and faith can feed each other. You can be faithful and yet require courage to stand up for your faith.
A few weeks ago, courage came into the news when the President of the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe granted a Russian columnist, Vladimir Kara-Murza, the Vaclav Havel Prize for the defense of human rights in his own nation of Russia. Kara-Murza did not do this at a safe distance from Russia. He was not writing and speaking from the safe soil of Europe or the United States. No, he spoke and wrote from within Russia, which is why his wife, Evgenia, accepted the prestigious prize for him in Strasbourg, France on October 12 while he was sitting in a Russian prison awaiting trial on charges of distributing fake news. He could receive 20 years in prison.
The prize is named after the former President of Czechoslovakia, Vaclav Havel, who became President after being imprisoned for this support of the liberalization of Czechoslovakia, when it was part of the Warsaw Pact, under the thumb of the former Soviet Union. Some of you may recall that in the summer of 1968 Soviet tanks arrived in Prague to crush the prospect of democracy in this Soviet satellite. Havel was one of those imprisoned, and he said, “If the main pillar of the system in living a life, then the fundamental threat to it is living the truth.” So, just as Havel sat in prison, so too does Kara-Murza. Since February all of Russia’s independent news outlets have been silenced. There is also a near total ban on the internet and social media. Thousands of people---perhaps as many as 20,000--- have been jailed for speaking against the war in Ukraine.
Kara-Murza is using the monetary part of his prize to help the families of Russians, who are imprisoned because of their willingness to stand against the lies, people, he said, “who could not remain silent in the face of the atrocity, even at the cost of personal freedom.”
The Washington Post published Kara-Murza’s acceptance speech, words he could not deliver in person. “I am sorry that I am not able to join you in person today, but I look forward to being back here in Strasbourg when a peaceful, democratic and Putin-free Russia returns to this Assembly and to this Council; and when we can finally start building that whole, free, and peaceful Europe we all want to see. Even today, in the darkest of hours, I firmly believe that time will come.
This is a man of courage and wisdom, and we should all be thankful that in a time, when so many people are willing to embrace lies, there are those who speak truth to power and are willing to pay with the loss of their freedom.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Courage is one of the four cardinal virtues, the others being justice, prudence, and temperance. Cardinal comes from a Greek word meaning hinge, so these four virtues, it was taught by Plato, Aristotle and later the Church Fathers, are the ones upon which all the other virtues hinge. The Christian virtues are faith, hope, and love, and I have always thought it was a bit of an oversight on the part of Jesus that he did not refer more to the virtue of courage. After all, his followers would face great stress and tribulation, and certainly courage was needed. Perhaps Jesus thought that if you had faith, hope and love, you did not need any other virtue, but I remain doubtful of that opinion. Courage is certainly different from faith, and I imagine that courage and faith can feed each other. You can be faithful and yet require courage to stand up for your faith.
A few weeks ago, courage came into the news when the President of the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe granted a Russian columnist, Vladimir Kara-Murza, the Vaclav Havel Prize for the defense of human rights in his own nation of Russia. Kara-Murza did not do this at a safe distance from Russia. He was not writing and speaking from the safe soil of Europe or the United States. No, he spoke and wrote from within Russia, which is why his wife, Evgenia, accepted the prestigious prize for him in Strasbourg, France on October 12 while he was sitting in a Russian prison awaiting trial on charges of distributing fake news. He could receive 20 years in prison.
The prize is named after the former President of Czechoslovakia, Vaclav Havel, who became President after being imprisoned for this support of the liberalization of Czechoslovakia, when it was part of the Warsaw Pact, under the thumb of the former Soviet Union. Some of you may recall that in the summer of 1968 Soviet tanks arrived in Prague to crush the prospect of democracy in this Soviet satellite. Havel was one of those imprisoned, and he said, “If the main pillar of the system in living a life, then the fundamental threat to it is living the truth.” So, just as Havel sat in prison, so too does Kara-Murza. Since February all of Russia’s independent news outlets have been silenced. There is also a near total ban on the internet and social media. Thousands of people---perhaps as many as 20,000--- have been jailed for speaking against the war in Ukraine.
Kara-Murza is using the monetary part of his prize to help the families of Russians, who are imprisoned because of their willingness to stand against the lies, people, he said, “who could not remain silent in the face of the atrocity, even at the cost of personal freedom.”
The Washington Post published Kara-Murza’s acceptance speech, words he could not deliver in person. “I am sorry that I am not able to join you in person today, but I look forward to being back here in Strasbourg when a peaceful, democratic and Putin-free Russia returns to this Assembly and to this Council; and when we can finally start building that whole, free, and peaceful Europe we all want to see. Even today, in the darkest of hours, I firmly believe that time will come.
This is a man of courage and wisdom, and we should all be thankful that in a time, when so many people are willing to embrace lies, there are those who speak truth to power and are willing to pay with the loss of their freedom.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Hanging on for a Blessing
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 16, 2022
Genesis 32: 22-31
One of my dearest friends, Julie, died a few weeks ago of a cancer that took her down more quickly than anyone had predicted. Though there is much in our text from Genesis that does not fit Julie’s personality, she was someone who managed to use her wounds as a blessing. Julie suffered from a genetic condition called neurofibromatosis. One of five children, she and an older brother shared the condition, which left them legally blind. Around the age of five or six, brown discolorations began to appear on Julie’s skin, and then around 13 these non cancerous fibrous growths began to pop out all over her body. We all know how cruel adolescents can be, and she was mocked and bullied. She could have withdrawn into herself, pulling away to remain unnoticed. But this is not what she did. She was out there in the world, caring, compassionate without any display of self-pity or bitterness. When I say she was one of the finest people I have ever known I am not exaggerating.
Wounds and blessings: they come in such different forms, and sometimes it is that the wounds we carry become the occasion for later blessings. Consider Jacob, someone many of us might not like, though we probably must begrudgingly admit, there is much to admire about him. He was incredibly smart and very clever. He had stolen with his mother’s help the blessing that by right belonged to his older brother, Esau, and in today’s story we see him locked in a deadly struggle as he hangs on for dear life: “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” Jacob not only received his blessing, but it came with a wound and a name change, Israel, which means one who has striven or strives with God.
So, Jacob was a very clever cheat and liar. Not only had he stolen the blessing that should have gone to his older brother, but also earlier in the story, he had managed to manipulate his brother out of his birthright. Esau was a man of the moment, and he was so hungry that when he saw the delicious meal that Jacob was cooking, he gave away his birthright for a delicious meal. As the story progresses, Jacob would learn what it feels like to be tricked, when his uncle and later father-in-law, Laban, tricked Jacob into first marrying his older daughter, Leah, rather than the younger one, Rachel, whom Jacob loved. Eventually, after another seven years of hard work, he would marry Rachel, and then he would return home, though he would not or could not remain there. Maybe it is true that none of us can really go home again as Thomas Wolfe wrote in his famous novel, You Can’t Go Home Again.
Jacob’s story is filled with struggle, and if you prefer to think that faith in God should be an easy or pleasant experience, think again, because this story shows us that sometimes the blessing comes through incredible strain and tenacity, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” Now, it is important to remember that Jacob is returning after 14 long years of working for Laban, his uncle and his father in law. He is, I think, very fearful, because he is about to meet his brother, who is still rumored to be full of furious rage. And is it not possible that Jacob’s conscience is bothering him? I mean he is older and hopefully wiser now, and he probably understands that his behavior was less than impeccable. And so, one of the common interpretations of the text is that Jacob is here wrestling with his conscience, trying to come to terms with his guilt.
But the story is about more than guilt; it is also about God, about who this God is and what this God promises and demands. The promise has been reiterated a number of times, beginning with his grandfather, Abraham, continuing with his father, Isaac, and now once again, it is promised to him---that this people will be blessed and will be a great nation, though there will later be stipulations---faithfulness to the covenant, which demands justice, mercy and loving kindness. Jacob becomes the symbol for this people, Israel, who will indeed struggle with God, this God who makes god-self known, even as God is also hidden and elusive. For this stranger, this man or angel, who struggles with Jacob, is elusive. Notice that Jacob does not know with whom he wrestles. He asks for the man’s name, but he never receives an answer. What he receives is a wounding in the hip, which has him limping away. He is changed, blessed, by the encounter, but he is also wounded by it. And that is often how it is in life. Blessings come, but they often come with wounds, because sometimes it happens that we only can see the blessing, because we have been wounded, which brings me back to my dear friend, Julie.
Julie was a friend in the deepest meaning of the word, someone who helps you to love and serve the good. Years ago, when I worked at First Church in Middletown, I would periodically give this man a voucher for gas—until I learned that he was driving to and from Hartford as a drug runner, so I next time he asked me, which happened to be in the month of January, I refused. He shocked me by admitting that he sometimes did run drugs. “I need money,” he said. “I’m not like you. I don’t live in a comfortable house, and I don’t have a good job, but whatever I do, I need gas for my car, because that is where I live. “Please,” he begged, ‘it’s winter, and I need gas to keep me warm,” but I turned him down. He swore at me and left. I was bothered by the encounter, and so I told Julie, who was a member of the church, about it. And she said in so many words, “While I understand why you did what you did, I think I would have given him the voucher. We stand before someone, who asks for help, and we can never see around the corner. We don’t really know where the full truth lies. We don’t know what will happen, so for me the question is always immediate need. Can I help? If you were uncomfortable with using the church’s money, you could have used your own. Two weeks later the man was found dead, frozen to death, in his car. And I have never forgotten what Julie said: “We can never see around the corner. The question is always immediate need. Can I help?”
When I went to Center Church in New Haven, where I had a very generous clergy allowance to help the poor, I would give out cash for the shoes, or the transportation, or the winter coat and gloves they said they needed to buy. I would give them the money with these words. I am going to believe what you are telling me. You deserve the dignity of being believed, but if you are lying, that’s on you, not on me.”
We all have wounds; we all have failures, and the question is: can we use those wounds and failures to grow beautiful souls as my beautiful friend Julie did? Jacob does not strike me as a beautiful soul, but it should not be lost on us that God used Jacob, a cheat and a liar, to make and bless a whole people, Israel, whose name means, one who strives and struggles with God.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 16, 2022
Genesis 32: 22-31
One of my dearest friends, Julie, died a few weeks ago of a cancer that took her down more quickly than anyone had predicted. Though there is much in our text from Genesis that does not fit Julie’s personality, she was someone who managed to use her wounds as a blessing. Julie suffered from a genetic condition called neurofibromatosis. One of five children, she and an older brother shared the condition, which left them legally blind. Around the age of five or six, brown discolorations began to appear on Julie’s skin, and then around 13 these non cancerous fibrous growths began to pop out all over her body. We all know how cruel adolescents can be, and she was mocked and bullied. She could have withdrawn into herself, pulling away to remain unnoticed. But this is not what she did. She was out there in the world, caring, compassionate without any display of self-pity or bitterness. When I say she was one of the finest people I have ever known I am not exaggerating.
Wounds and blessings: they come in such different forms, and sometimes it is that the wounds we carry become the occasion for later blessings. Consider Jacob, someone many of us might not like, though we probably must begrudgingly admit, there is much to admire about him. He was incredibly smart and very clever. He had stolen with his mother’s help the blessing that by right belonged to his older brother, Esau, and in today’s story we see him locked in a deadly struggle as he hangs on for dear life: “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” Jacob not only received his blessing, but it came with a wound and a name change, Israel, which means one who has striven or strives with God.
So, Jacob was a very clever cheat and liar. Not only had he stolen the blessing that should have gone to his older brother, but also earlier in the story, he had managed to manipulate his brother out of his birthright. Esau was a man of the moment, and he was so hungry that when he saw the delicious meal that Jacob was cooking, he gave away his birthright for a delicious meal. As the story progresses, Jacob would learn what it feels like to be tricked, when his uncle and later father-in-law, Laban, tricked Jacob into first marrying his older daughter, Leah, rather than the younger one, Rachel, whom Jacob loved. Eventually, after another seven years of hard work, he would marry Rachel, and then he would return home, though he would not or could not remain there. Maybe it is true that none of us can really go home again as Thomas Wolfe wrote in his famous novel, You Can’t Go Home Again.
Jacob’s story is filled with struggle, and if you prefer to think that faith in God should be an easy or pleasant experience, think again, because this story shows us that sometimes the blessing comes through incredible strain and tenacity, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” Now, it is important to remember that Jacob is returning after 14 long years of working for Laban, his uncle and his father in law. He is, I think, very fearful, because he is about to meet his brother, who is still rumored to be full of furious rage. And is it not possible that Jacob’s conscience is bothering him? I mean he is older and hopefully wiser now, and he probably understands that his behavior was less than impeccable. And so, one of the common interpretations of the text is that Jacob is here wrestling with his conscience, trying to come to terms with his guilt.
But the story is about more than guilt; it is also about God, about who this God is and what this God promises and demands. The promise has been reiterated a number of times, beginning with his grandfather, Abraham, continuing with his father, Isaac, and now once again, it is promised to him---that this people will be blessed and will be a great nation, though there will later be stipulations---faithfulness to the covenant, which demands justice, mercy and loving kindness. Jacob becomes the symbol for this people, Israel, who will indeed struggle with God, this God who makes god-self known, even as God is also hidden and elusive. For this stranger, this man or angel, who struggles with Jacob, is elusive. Notice that Jacob does not know with whom he wrestles. He asks for the man’s name, but he never receives an answer. What he receives is a wounding in the hip, which has him limping away. He is changed, blessed, by the encounter, but he is also wounded by it. And that is often how it is in life. Blessings come, but they often come with wounds, because sometimes it happens that we only can see the blessing, because we have been wounded, which brings me back to my dear friend, Julie.
Julie was a friend in the deepest meaning of the word, someone who helps you to love and serve the good. Years ago, when I worked at First Church in Middletown, I would periodically give this man a voucher for gas—until I learned that he was driving to and from Hartford as a drug runner, so I next time he asked me, which happened to be in the month of January, I refused. He shocked me by admitting that he sometimes did run drugs. “I need money,” he said. “I’m not like you. I don’t live in a comfortable house, and I don’t have a good job, but whatever I do, I need gas for my car, because that is where I live. “Please,” he begged, ‘it’s winter, and I need gas to keep me warm,” but I turned him down. He swore at me and left. I was bothered by the encounter, and so I told Julie, who was a member of the church, about it. And she said in so many words, “While I understand why you did what you did, I think I would have given him the voucher. We stand before someone, who asks for help, and we can never see around the corner. We don’t really know where the full truth lies. We don’t know what will happen, so for me the question is always immediate need. Can I help? If you were uncomfortable with using the church’s money, you could have used your own. Two weeks later the man was found dead, frozen to death, in his car. And I have never forgotten what Julie said: “We can never see around the corner. The question is always immediate need. Can I help?”
When I went to Center Church in New Haven, where I had a very generous clergy allowance to help the poor, I would give out cash for the shoes, or the transportation, or the winter coat and gloves they said they needed to buy. I would give them the money with these words. I am going to believe what you are telling me. You deserve the dignity of being believed, but if you are lying, that’s on you, not on me.”
We all have wounds; we all have failures, and the question is: can we use those wounds and failures to grow beautiful souls as my beautiful friend Julie did? Jacob does not strike me as a beautiful soul, but it should not be lost on us that God used Jacob, a cheat and a liar, to make and bless a whole people, Israel, whose name means, one who strives and struggles with God.
October 13, 2022
Dear Friends,
Just last week I visited one of my brothers, who lives in New Jersey. Richie lived with my mother the last five years of her life, which made it possible for her to remain at home. She was three months shy of 103 when she died, and was quite physically capable and only began to use a walker a year before her death. And mentally she was pretty with it, though her short term memory had decreased significantly the last two years of her life. Anyway, my visit with my brother was delightful. We spent one day in Ocean City, where my father loved to ride his bike along the boardwalk. My mother rarely went with him, since she did not bike, and she hated the sun beating down on her, so my father would go to spend the day there by himself. That was one thing I learned from my parents about marriage: a couple does not have to do everything together. Indeed, my husband and I are quite independent, and each of us pursues activities without the other tagging along.
Beside our visit to Ocean City, Richie and I spent a lot of time talking and remembering. We talked about our respective childhoods. Richie reminded me how much my father and I argued. “You were always taking him on,” my brother said, “while the rest of us would just be quiet. He could be a bully, and not easy to argue with, but that never stopped you. And the funny thing is,” he continued, “you two would even argue when you agreed with each other!” That was true. Both of us loved to argue, and the arguments could be pretty fierce!
Richie recalled his train set, one of the most impressive I have ever seen. It had multiple levels with all kinds of engines and villages, scattered across this huge table in our basement. My father would often go down in the late evening after we were all in bed and play with the trains. Sometimes in our beds we could hear him make the whistle sound, which amused us greatly. And then there was the boat. My parents owned an outboard motorboat, 17 feet long with a 65 horsepower engine. While everyone else in the family loved the boat, I did not, and I was so relieved when I was old enough to stay home by myself to read or do whatever I liked. My brother asked me why I did not like to go boating with the family, and the only explanation I could give was that I liked being alone, something that did not happen very often in a family with four children and two parents.
We also talked about Christmas. My father in particular made a big deal about Christmas, and both my brother and I have wonderful memories of Christmas—including the time my father tried to repair the bare spots on our tree and drilled too many holes in the trunk so the whole tree collapsed. Though now that memory brings laughter, at the time it was not funny, since my father had a terrible temper of which we were all afraid! We did get a new tree, though no one would go with him to pick it out. He was too angry for any of us kids to want to go along.
As I was thinking about my conversations with my brother about growing up, the word nostalgia came to mind. I suppose you could say that some of the conversations we had were nostalgic in character. Now nostalgia to me is not a negative word or experience, but I had recently read an article about nostalgia, which taught me a few things. First of all, the word is composed of two Greek words, meaning “homecoming” and “pain.” It was a Swiss physician who first used the term in 1688, and he considered it a very serious disease of the mind, which could weaken the body. His case studies included the story of a young girl, who took a bad fall, and was sent away to a hospital for healing. Shortly after arriving she began to refuse food and would only say, “I want to go home.” For patients suffering from nostalgia, he recommended distraction and then induced vomiting and finally opening up a vein for bleeding. “If all that failed, then send the patient home,” he advised. “That usually took care of it!” he insisted!
For hundreds of years nostalgia continued to be understood as a serious mental illness or neurological disorder. While anyone could suffer from nostalgia, it was noted that it was particularly keen in displaced persons and even as late as 1938 it was referred to as “an immigrant psychosis.” Today psychologists and psychiatrists no longer consider nostalgia a mental disorder, but rather a psychological strategy for dealing with an uncertain present and future. When feelings of emptiness or loneliness threaten to overtake someone, such feelings can be dispelled by memories from a past that are remembered as full and meaningful.
It strikes me that some of the feelings that are aroused today, when people feel unnerved or perhaps threatened by the rapidity of change are an effort to self-soothe. They look back to what they remember as better times. It drove me crazy when my father would wax eloquently on “the good old days,” which really were not as good as he remembered. “Yes,” I would say, “like the days when Black people in the South could not vote and were sometimes lynched, a time when women could not get a mortgage on their own and were often forced to leave their jobs when they became noticeably pregnant.” Those were the so called good old days my father remembered. He would become angry with me for pointing this out, but sometimes the truth does make us angry. And perhaps nostalgia is one of the coping mechanisms that allows us to live in a world that is forever changing, reminding us that there is no clinging to the past--- except in memory. Jesus, it should be noted, almost never spoke of the past. He was always looking forward---to the coming of God’s realm.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Just last week I visited one of my brothers, who lives in New Jersey. Richie lived with my mother the last five years of her life, which made it possible for her to remain at home. She was three months shy of 103 when she died, and was quite physically capable and only began to use a walker a year before her death. And mentally she was pretty with it, though her short term memory had decreased significantly the last two years of her life. Anyway, my visit with my brother was delightful. We spent one day in Ocean City, where my father loved to ride his bike along the boardwalk. My mother rarely went with him, since she did not bike, and she hated the sun beating down on her, so my father would go to spend the day there by himself. That was one thing I learned from my parents about marriage: a couple does not have to do everything together. Indeed, my husband and I are quite independent, and each of us pursues activities without the other tagging along.
Beside our visit to Ocean City, Richie and I spent a lot of time talking and remembering. We talked about our respective childhoods. Richie reminded me how much my father and I argued. “You were always taking him on,” my brother said, “while the rest of us would just be quiet. He could be a bully, and not easy to argue with, but that never stopped you. And the funny thing is,” he continued, “you two would even argue when you agreed with each other!” That was true. Both of us loved to argue, and the arguments could be pretty fierce!
Richie recalled his train set, one of the most impressive I have ever seen. It had multiple levels with all kinds of engines and villages, scattered across this huge table in our basement. My father would often go down in the late evening after we were all in bed and play with the trains. Sometimes in our beds we could hear him make the whistle sound, which amused us greatly. And then there was the boat. My parents owned an outboard motorboat, 17 feet long with a 65 horsepower engine. While everyone else in the family loved the boat, I did not, and I was so relieved when I was old enough to stay home by myself to read or do whatever I liked. My brother asked me why I did not like to go boating with the family, and the only explanation I could give was that I liked being alone, something that did not happen very often in a family with four children and two parents.
We also talked about Christmas. My father in particular made a big deal about Christmas, and both my brother and I have wonderful memories of Christmas—including the time my father tried to repair the bare spots on our tree and drilled too many holes in the trunk so the whole tree collapsed. Though now that memory brings laughter, at the time it was not funny, since my father had a terrible temper of which we were all afraid! We did get a new tree, though no one would go with him to pick it out. He was too angry for any of us kids to want to go along.
As I was thinking about my conversations with my brother about growing up, the word nostalgia came to mind. I suppose you could say that some of the conversations we had were nostalgic in character. Now nostalgia to me is not a negative word or experience, but I had recently read an article about nostalgia, which taught me a few things. First of all, the word is composed of two Greek words, meaning “homecoming” and “pain.” It was a Swiss physician who first used the term in 1688, and he considered it a very serious disease of the mind, which could weaken the body. His case studies included the story of a young girl, who took a bad fall, and was sent away to a hospital for healing. Shortly after arriving she began to refuse food and would only say, “I want to go home.” For patients suffering from nostalgia, he recommended distraction and then induced vomiting and finally opening up a vein for bleeding. “If all that failed, then send the patient home,” he advised. “That usually took care of it!” he insisted!
For hundreds of years nostalgia continued to be understood as a serious mental illness or neurological disorder. While anyone could suffer from nostalgia, it was noted that it was particularly keen in displaced persons and even as late as 1938 it was referred to as “an immigrant psychosis.” Today psychologists and psychiatrists no longer consider nostalgia a mental disorder, but rather a psychological strategy for dealing with an uncertain present and future. When feelings of emptiness or loneliness threaten to overtake someone, such feelings can be dispelled by memories from a past that are remembered as full and meaningful.
It strikes me that some of the feelings that are aroused today, when people feel unnerved or perhaps threatened by the rapidity of change are an effort to self-soothe. They look back to what they remember as better times. It drove me crazy when my father would wax eloquently on “the good old days,” which really were not as good as he remembered. “Yes,” I would say, “like the days when Black people in the South could not vote and were sometimes lynched, a time when women could not get a mortgage on their own and were often forced to leave their jobs when they became noticeably pregnant.” Those were the so called good old days my father remembered. He would become angry with me for pointing this out, but sometimes the truth does make us angry. And perhaps nostalgia is one of the coping mechanisms that allows us to live in a world that is forever changing, reminding us that there is no clinging to the past--- except in memory. Jesus, it should be noted, almost never spoke of the past. He was always looking forward---to the coming of God’s realm.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Suffer For the Gospel
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 9, 2022
2 Timothy 1: 1-14
Can you imagine what it would be like if when people showed interest in joining the church, we said to them, “How wonderful; join us in suffering for the Gospel.” The conventional wisdom is that such an approach would lead people to run in the opposite direction, because no one wants to suffer or make huge sacrifices. And yet, when Winston Churchill became Prime Minister of England at the start of World War Ii, he told the English people: “I have only blood, sweat and tears to offer you.” And when Paul (or more likely someone using his name) was giving instruction to the young convert, Timothy, Paul told him, “Join with me in suffering for the Gospel.” And Timothy did.
That invitation flies in the face of what we think we know and understand about people and institutions. Make it easy, we say, so people will join us. And yet research indicates that churches and denominations which demand something substantial of their members---regular attendance at worship, stewardship of money and time, including bible study and mission----these churches are showing growth in a way that most main line churches only dream of. In an effort to be welcoming and inclusive, we unwittingly send the message: come and give what you want, when you want, and of course, believe and think what you want.
Now on one level there is something appropriate with such an approach, because we recognize how murky and ambiguous is the spiritual quest. We confess the partial nature of our knowledge about God and Christ, and so in some instances (at least theologically) we are understandably reticent about telling people what to think or what to do. But surely there must be a way to be inclusive of difference and partial knowing without sacrificing some measure of truth and commitment. If so many mainline churches (like ours) ask nothing, perhaps that is why they get nothing.
It is one of the ironies of the church that in periods of intense persecution the church often flourished, such as in the early centuries, following Jesus’ death, when being a Christian could get you thrown to the lions, or during the Reformation, when being a Protestant could land you tied to a stake and burned. Consider a modern example: Martin Niemoller, a Lutheran minister in the days of Hitler, was a strong nationalist, yet an anti-Nazi. He was arrested--- even before the war began, and when the news spread like wildfire through his church, on Sunday morning the church was packed---all these Christians gathering to pray for their minister. And each Wednesday night there was a special prayer gathering. Well, the Gestapo got word of it, and they started sending soldiers to stand at the back of the church while holding their rifles in an intimidating way. Surely, this will put a crimp in their style was their feeling. But no, each Wednesday the crowds in the church grew and grew and the more soldiers they sent, the more people showed up. Niemoller was imprisoned for nearly seven years, and during his imprisonment every Wednesday evening the church gathered to pray. That congregation knew what they were about, and they understood they faced the possibility of arrest. But they were willing to take the risk for the sake of the gospel and their pastor.
We all realize that to be human is to suffer. We have accidents, illness, and we age, which brings its own set of challenges. And then we suffer the consequences of poor choices about money, possessions, drugs, alcohol, or relationships. This is the price of our humanity; our bodies are mortal, our knowledge and self understanding are limited and imperfect, and so we suffer. But in this Letter to Timothy the writer is referring to a distinctive kind of suffering---suffering for the gospel and on account of the gospel. When this letter was written, being a Christian was a capital offense, and the Apostle Paul was beheaded in Rome for his faith. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, another Lutheran minister and theologian I ha ve mentioned many times, paid with this life for his resistance to the Nazis, and Martin Niemoller suffered seven years in prison and concentration camps.
When I was in clinical training at a state mental hospital on Long Island, I became friendly with Father Ralph, a Roman Catholic priest. Charming as well as erudite, he loved English Renaissance poetry, quoting John Donne from memory. He ended up working on the backwards in a state mental hospital, because he had angered his superiors years before by performing weddings for divorced Catholicsand celebrating the sacrament of Holy Communion with his Methodist and Episcopal colleagues. Father Ralph was told he was full of pride and had to learn humble obedience. So, for more than 20 years he was learning as a chaplain at the state mental hospital. But I don’t think he learned as much as he was supposed to, because he would not only invite me to celebrate the sacrament with him, but also he would openly participate in the Protestant services, accepting the bread and cup as the gifts of God for the whole people of God. Most of the time the hierarchy simply ignored him, but every once in a while someone would pay him a stern visit, which would leave him sad, but not more obedient.
Well, one afternoon in early December, I was three weeks away from giving birth to Caitlin, so Father Ralph asked me to help him with Mass. “It’s Advent,” he said, when we are waiting for a birth, and you are about to give birth, so how appropriate for you to take the lead in celebrating communion.” And so there we were in a circle, and since I was leading, I had bread, rather than those flat, tasteless communion wafers. “This is my body, broken for you,” I said as I tore the bread apart. All these poor emotionally afflicted people were standing around in a circle, waiting to receive, and Lily, who would never take communion because she thought she was unworthy, took a piece of the bread. Father Ralph and I both concluded that the breaking apart of the bread symbolized her own broken life, and so she took and ate. After that Lily would only take communion from a loaf of bread. When the service was over, I noticed a man, standing over in the corner. I did not know him, but it was obvious Father Ralph did. In two weeks Father Ralph was gone, removed from the hospital for allowing me to assist him at Mass.
We live in a culture, where we rarely see people suffer for their religious convictions, and when we do, it does leave a deep impression. Now the willingness to suffer for a belief does not make the belief right or true. Terrorists are willing to suffer for their convictions, and even Lilly suffered for a belief most people would have said was mistaken. We do not have to be whole to take the sacrament. Nonetheless, the text from Timothy does ask us to ponder how great a price are we willing to pay for our religious convictions? If there is nothing at all demanded, perhaps that is one of the reasons we see such a steep decline in mainline religion’s numbers and influence. People can shrug their shoulders and say, “It doesn’t really make any difference.”
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 9, 2022
2 Timothy 1: 1-14
Can you imagine what it would be like if when people showed interest in joining the church, we said to them, “How wonderful; join us in suffering for the Gospel.” The conventional wisdom is that such an approach would lead people to run in the opposite direction, because no one wants to suffer or make huge sacrifices. And yet, when Winston Churchill became Prime Minister of England at the start of World War Ii, he told the English people: “I have only blood, sweat and tears to offer you.” And when Paul (or more likely someone using his name) was giving instruction to the young convert, Timothy, Paul told him, “Join with me in suffering for the Gospel.” And Timothy did.
That invitation flies in the face of what we think we know and understand about people and institutions. Make it easy, we say, so people will join us. And yet research indicates that churches and denominations which demand something substantial of their members---regular attendance at worship, stewardship of money and time, including bible study and mission----these churches are showing growth in a way that most main line churches only dream of. In an effort to be welcoming and inclusive, we unwittingly send the message: come and give what you want, when you want, and of course, believe and think what you want.
Now on one level there is something appropriate with such an approach, because we recognize how murky and ambiguous is the spiritual quest. We confess the partial nature of our knowledge about God and Christ, and so in some instances (at least theologically) we are understandably reticent about telling people what to think or what to do. But surely there must be a way to be inclusive of difference and partial knowing without sacrificing some measure of truth and commitment. If so many mainline churches (like ours) ask nothing, perhaps that is why they get nothing.
It is one of the ironies of the church that in periods of intense persecution the church often flourished, such as in the early centuries, following Jesus’ death, when being a Christian could get you thrown to the lions, or during the Reformation, when being a Protestant could land you tied to a stake and burned. Consider a modern example: Martin Niemoller, a Lutheran minister in the days of Hitler, was a strong nationalist, yet an anti-Nazi. He was arrested--- even before the war began, and when the news spread like wildfire through his church, on Sunday morning the church was packed---all these Christians gathering to pray for their minister. And each Wednesday night there was a special prayer gathering. Well, the Gestapo got word of it, and they started sending soldiers to stand at the back of the church while holding their rifles in an intimidating way. Surely, this will put a crimp in their style was their feeling. But no, each Wednesday the crowds in the church grew and grew and the more soldiers they sent, the more people showed up. Niemoller was imprisoned for nearly seven years, and during his imprisonment every Wednesday evening the church gathered to pray. That congregation knew what they were about, and they understood they faced the possibility of arrest. But they were willing to take the risk for the sake of the gospel and their pastor.
We all realize that to be human is to suffer. We have accidents, illness, and we age, which brings its own set of challenges. And then we suffer the consequences of poor choices about money, possessions, drugs, alcohol, or relationships. This is the price of our humanity; our bodies are mortal, our knowledge and self understanding are limited and imperfect, and so we suffer. But in this Letter to Timothy the writer is referring to a distinctive kind of suffering---suffering for the gospel and on account of the gospel. When this letter was written, being a Christian was a capital offense, and the Apostle Paul was beheaded in Rome for his faith. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, another Lutheran minister and theologian I ha ve mentioned many times, paid with this life for his resistance to the Nazis, and Martin Niemoller suffered seven years in prison and concentration camps.
When I was in clinical training at a state mental hospital on Long Island, I became friendly with Father Ralph, a Roman Catholic priest. Charming as well as erudite, he loved English Renaissance poetry, quoting John Donne from memory. He ended up working on the backwards in a state mental hospital, because he had angered his superiors years before by performing weddings for divorced Catholicsand celebrating the sacrament of Holy Communion with his Methodist and Episcopal colleagues. Father Ralph was told he was full of pride and had to learn humble obedience. So, for more than 20 years he was learning as a chaplain at the state mental hospital. But I don’t think he learned as much as he was supposed to, because he would not only invite me to celebrate the sacrament with him, but also he would openly participate in the Protestant services, accepting the bread and cup as the gifts of God for the whole people of God. Most of the time the hierarchy simply ignored him, but every once in a while someone would pay him a stern visit, which would leave him sad, but not more obedient.
Well, one afternoon in early December, I was three weeks away from giving birth to Caitlin, so Father Ralph asked me to help him with Mass. “It’s Advent,” he said, when we are waiting for a birth, and you are about to give birth, so how appropriate for you to take the lead in celebrating communion.” And so there we were in a circle, and since I was leading, I had bread, rather than those flat, tasteless communion wafers. “This is my body, broken for you,” I said as I tore the bread apart. All these poor emotionally afflicted people were standing around in a circle, waiting to receive, and Lily, who would never take communion because she thought she was unworthy, took a piece of the bread. Father Ralph and I both concluded that the breaking apart of the bread symbolized her own broken life, and so she took and ate. After that Lily would only take communion from a loaf of bread. When the service was over, I noticed a man, standing over in the corner. I did not know him, but it was obvious Father Ralph did. In two weeks Father Ralph was gone, removed from the hospital for allowing me to assist him at Mass.
We live in a culture, where we rarely see people suffer for their religious convictions, and when we do, it does leave a deep impression. Now the willingness to suffer for a belief does not make the belief right or true. Terrorists are willing to suffer for their convictions, and even Lilly suffered for a belief most people would have said was mistaken. We do not have to be whole to take the sacrament. Nonetheless, the text from Timothy does ask us to ponder how great a price are we willing to pay for our religious convictions? If there is nothing at all demanded, perhaps that is one of the reasons we see such a steep decline in mainline religion’s numbers and influence. People can shrug their shoulders and say, “It doesn’t really make any difference.”
DO YOUR DUTY
Preached by The Rev. Dr. Sandra L. Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 2, 2022
Luke 17: 5-10
When the Covid pandemic was raging---before any vaccines were available---I had a conversation with a college friend about duty. Alex is a corporate lawyer in Chicago, and his one child, a daughter, is a doctor, an internist. Well, his daughter was complaining to him about how hard her work was, especially dealing with the anxiety about becoming sick. These were, after all, the days when not so much was known about the disease, and it was unclear to everyone how long it would take to get vaccines on the market and how effective they would be. Alex was trying to be sympathetic, but he told me her whining went on way too long, so he finally blurted out “Oh, stop your whining. You signed up for this. You’re a doctor. It is your duty to treat your patients. You don’t deserve a medal for doing your duty.”
I told Alex, “I think you’re right.” And we both agreed that part of the problem in our society today is that we hardly ever hear the word duty. People are wedded to the idea that it is all about what they want to do, not what is commanded or even expected. Duty has in so many ways become an obsolete word. Over the years Alex and I have continued our conversations about duty. While he is not a Christian, he was a classics major in college, and he knows all about the Greek and Roman view of duty. While we both agree we deserve no great credit for doing our duty, nonetheless there is something beyond duty that is heroic. So, I asked him, “Do you think the firefighters who ascended the stairs of the World Trade Center were simply doing their duty, or were they heroic?” Remember, how people were cheering them as they climbed the stairs, while the workers in the Towers were descending. “Well,” he said, “though it was their duty to fight fires and try to save people, The World Trade Center was particularly harrowing, so he gave them a heroes’ award. They had a duty, and they faced it with great courage, which makes them heroes.
Duty: while that word is not a common one in our social lexicon, it is precisely what our lesson from Luke is about. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem---in the very next chapter he will throw the money changers out of the temple, and he has been trying to teach his disciples what is required of them, commanded of them as his followers. They seem to believe that it is all a matter of faith. If only they had more faith, they would be able to do what is expected. But Jesus told them, even a little faith is enough, and he implies that they already have enough, because they have been following him. It isn’t more faith they need; it is action that is required, the response to faith that is faithfulness. And then he tells this story about a slave, who comes in from his work and is expected to prepare a meal for his master. And Jesus insists that the slave is doing his duty and that is exactly what is expected of him. And his disciples should do the same---they should see themselves as worthless slaves, fulfilling their duty.
Now there were many times Jesus functioned as a social critic of his society, rendering all kinds of severe judgments particularly about the way the economy was organized. But he never took on slavery; he never once hinted that the institution of slavery was wrong, and in today’s reading, he uses slavery as the metaphor for what is expected of his disciples. They are to fulfill their duty, do what they are commanded to do as the slaves to God they are.
Twice in my ministry, I can recall conversations where the word duty intruded. One conversation was with a 93 year old woman, Ruth, to whom I became very close. After I had been in the church for 10 years, she told me, “You have been here long enough so I can trust you. And now I will tell you the truth.” And what she told me was how unhappy her marriage of 70 years had been. When her husband stood up and announced their wedding anniversary, and the entire congregation stood up and clapped, she told me it was the saddest day of her life.
What a sham my marriage is, she lamented. All those years, he verbally abused me and put me down, but I came from the right kind of people, so I was good for his business. And though I was unhappy, I felt it was my duty to preserve and preserve the home and marriage. We had a lovely home, two lovely children, and we were both active members in the community, on all the right boards and volunteer associations. I did my duty, and it is only now in my very old age that I realize I surrendered my personal happiness for the fulfillment of duty. I was raised in an era that did not teach me about duty to myself. If I had walked out on my marriage, no one would have understood---not my parents, not even my friends. And who knows if I ever would have found my footing. My husband would have fought me to the bitter end. How would I have kept my kids and even supported them? So, on my tombstone I want you to see that it is written: She did her duty. Indeed, she did, though it did not bring her the personal happiness she longed for.
Let’s be honest. It is not always easy to figure out what our duty is and where it lies and how much is owed to others and how much to self and how much to God. I knew another woman in another church, who was born in 1916. Martha was a doctor, and when she was in medical school at Johns Hopkins, she was one of three females. Her father, a lawyer, told her when she was 12 that she had the gifts of head and heart, and since they were God given gifts, she had a duty to use them. She became a very well known pediatrician, and she used both her head and her heart. Toward the end of her life, she told me that although she felt she had found her path and fulfilled her duty, which brought her great joy and a depth of meaning, she also experienced the absence of marriage and children. I never had much time to pursue relationships, and the male doctors I met were always so competitive with me, so it never worked out. I am grateful for my life and my work, but it did come at a price. And that is how I think it had to be.
The fulfillment of duty does not automatically mean that all ambiguity is overcome, all tensions resolved, and all desires fulfilled. In choosing some duties, other possibilities are closed off. We cannot fulfill everything that needs doing---even Jesus had his limits---but as Christians we live with the hope that in doing what we understand to be our duty, we fulfill something of what God would have us do.
Preached by The Rev. Dr. Sandra L. Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
October 2, 2022
Luke 17: 5-10
When the Covid pandemic was raging---before any vaccines were available---I had a conversation with a college friend about duty. Alex is a corporate lawyer in Chicago, and his one child, a daughter, is a doctor, an internist. Well, his daughter was complaining to him about how hard her work was, especially dealing with the anxiety about becoming sick. These were, after all, the days when not so much was known about the disease, and it was unclear to everyone how long it would take to get vaccines on the market and how effective they would be. Alex was trying to be sympathetic, but he told me her whining went on way too long, so he finally blurted out “Oh, stop your whining. You signed up for this. You’re a doctor. It is your duty to treat your patients. You don’t deserve a medal for doing your duty.”
I told Alex, “I think you’re right.” And we both agreed that part of the problem in our society today is that we hardly ever hear the word duty. People are wedded to the idea that it is all about what they want to do, not what is commanded or even expected. Duty has in so many ways become an obsolete word. Over the years Alex and I have continued our conversations about duty. While he is not a Christian, he was a classics major in college, and he knows all about the Greek and Roman view of duty. While we both agree we deserve no great credit for doing our duty, nonetheless there is something beyond duty that is heroic. So, I asked him, “Do you think the firefighters who ascended the stairs of the World Trade Center were simply doing their duty, or were they heroic?” Remember, how people were cheering them as they climbed the stairs, while the workers in the Towers were descending. “Well,” he said, “though it was their duty to fight fires and try to save people, The World Trade Center was particularly harrowing, so he gave them a heroes’ award. They had a duty, and they faced it with great courage, which makes them heroes.
Duty: while that word is not a common one in our social lexicon, it is precisely what our lesson from Luke is about. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem---in the very next chapter he will throw the money changers out of the temple, and he has been trying to teach his disciples what is required of them, commanded of them as his followers. They seem to believe that it is all a matter of faith. If only they had more faith, they would be able to do what is expected. But Jesus told them, even a little faith is enough, and he implies that they already have enough, because they have been following him. It isn’t more faith they need; it is action that is required, the response to faith that is faithfulness. And then he tells this story about a slave, who comes in from his work and is expected to prepare a meal for his master. And Jesus insists that the slave is doing his duty and that is exactly what is expected of him. And his disciples should do the same---they should see themselves as worthless slaves, fulfilling their duty.
Now there were many times Jesus functioned as a social critic of his society, rendering all kinds of severe judgments particularly about the way the economy was organized. But he never took on slavery; he never once hinted that the institution of slavery was wrong, and in today’s reading, he uses slavery as the metaphor for what is expected of his disciples. They are to fulfill their duty, do what they are commanded to do as the slaves to God they are.
Twice in my ministry, I can recall conversations where the word duty intruded. One conversation was with a 93 year old woman, Ruth, to whom I became very close. After I had been in the church for 10 years, she told me, “You have been here long enough so I can trust you. And now I will tell you the truth.” And what she told me was how unhappy her marriage of 70 years had been. When her husband stood up and announced their wedding anniversary, and the entire congregation stood up and clapped, she told me it was the saddest day of her life.
What a sham my marriage is, she lamented. All those years, he verbally abused me and put me down, but I came from the right kind of people, so I was good for his business. And though I was unhappy, I felt it was my duty to preserve and preserve the home and marriage. We had a lovely home, two lovely children, and we were both active members in the community, on all the right boards and volunteer associations. I did my duty, and it is only now in my very old age that I realize I surrendered my personal happiness for the fulfillment of duty. I was raised in an era that did not teach me about duty to myself. If I had walked out on my marriage, no one would have understood---not my parents, not even my friends. And who knows if I ever would have found my footing. My husband would have fought me to the bitter end. How would I have kept my kids and even supported them? So, on my tombstone I want you to see that it is written: She did her duty. Indeed, she did, though it did not bring her the personal happiness she longed for.
Let’s be honest. It is not always easy to figure out what our duty is and where it lies and how much is owed to others and how much to self and how much to God. I knew another woman in another church, who was born in 1916. Martha was a doctor, and when she was in medical school at Johns Hopkins, she was one of three females. Her father, a lawyer, told her when she was 12 that she had the gifts of head and heart, and since they were God given gifts, she had a duty to use them. She became a very well known pediatrician, and she used both her head and her heart. Toward the end of her life, she told me that although she felt she had found her path and fulfilled her duty, which brought her great joy and a depth of meaning, she also experienced the absence of marriage and children. I never had much time to pursue relationships, and the male doctors I met were always so competitive with me, so it never worked out. I am grateful for my life and my work, but it did come at a price. And that is how I think it had to be.
The fulfillment of duty does not automatically mean that all ambiguity is overcome, all tensions resolved, and all desires fulfilled. In choosing some duties, other possibilities are closed off. We cannot fulfill everything that needs doing---even Jesus had his limits---but as Christians we live with the hope that in doing what we understand to be our duty, we fulfill something of what God would have us do.
October 4, 2022
Dear Friends,
I read somewhere in the last month or so that Putin hated the city of Odesa. Oh, for him it is the jewel in the crown because of its important location as a port city, but he hates its multiculturalism, its openness to a variety of lifestyles and its acceptance of different ideas and its willingness to discuss them. All that is exactly the opposite of what Putin considers desirable in a city or a culture.
Odesa was founded by Catherine the Great in 1794, built over a Greek settlement. Her desire was for Odesa to become Russia’s gateway city to Mediterranean Europe as well as to Asia, the same way that St. Petersburg had become a gateway to northern Europe. Catherine declared Odesa an “open city,” a unique designation which permitted a free exchange of foreign goods, free trade with the Middle East as well as Europe, a blossoming of the arts, a welcoming of foreigners and the exciting exchange of ideas. As you can imagine such an image is NOT what Putin would have in mind for a Russian city made in his own image of a closed society. But now there is another reason for Odesa to be hated by Putin: It has become a city of laughter. Stand-up comedians have made their mark, making fun of the Russians, who are trying to invade and make Odesa their own. “I really feel sorry for them,” one comedian intoned. “Can you imagine what it would be like for the Russian soldiers to encounter our unruly urbanization and questionable political environment? They are simply not used to such things!” And the crowd roared in agreement.
Odesa has apparently always had its humor. After the Ottomans were defeated, Odessa was heavily influenced by Jewish humor and even the oppressive days of Soviet control issued in a kind of dark humor. “Humor helps people to pull together in difficult situations,” one comedian said, and “laughter simply lifts the human spirit as nothing else can.” Comedians, however, are not simply stuck on Russia and war. They make fun of dating during the pandemic, social media’s omnipresence in their lives and people’s inability to live without their phones. The humor works because it is the stuff of life that people recognize as their actual lives. It’s not farfetched and outside the ordinary realm of everyday experience.
There is a quote my father used to love. I heard him repeat it all throughout my growing up: “Life is a tragedy to those who feel but a comedy to those who think.” Tragedy in this sense means downward movement, while comedy moves upward, which is why Christianity is finally comedy. The Christian story ends with the victory of the risen Christ; the movement is upward. Comedy then does not have to be side splitting laughter, but there is no doubt that laughter does help and heal. People can and do laugh alone, but there is something community building in laughing together. And when wars are fought, the enemy always tries to break apart community, the bonds of trust and hope and even humor that hold people together.
One of the comedians in Odesa has an office filled with all sorts of paraphernalia: clowns, circus posters, hats, and other costumes and finally a foot high metal statue of Charlie Chaplin. Chaplin’s brilliant 1940 film, “The Great Dictator,” is a classic example of cutting the dictator down to size with humor. Situations may change, but still there are some universal experiences that endure, and humor is one of them. Helping people laugh in dark times is what motivates the comedians of Odesa to do their work, even as war is on their doorstep. Humor is a form of power, and the people of Odesa plan to use it to its fullest.
I have never found Jesus to be particularly humorous. While he was clever and unafraid to show up those in power and authority, I cannot remember a time, when something Jesus did or said something that made me laugh. And yet I cannot help but think that he would have no objections to laughter. Introvert that he apparently was, he still enjoyed social gatherings with food and drink. And we might use our imagination here: at those same gatherings can we not also imagine laughter? Laughter, by the way, is what Dante heard as he ascended the final steps on his climb to heaven. And if heaven has laughter, then we on earth should also laugh as the angels do.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
I read somewhere in the last month or so that Putin hated the city of Odesa. Oh, for him it is the jewel in the crown because of its important location as a port city, but he hates its multiculturalism, its openness to a variety of lifestyles and its acceptance of different ideas and its willingness to discuss them. All that is exactly the opposite of what Putin considers desirable in a city or a culture.
Odesa was founded by Catherine the Great in 1794, built over a Greek settlement. Her desire was for Odesa to become Russia’s gateway city to Mediterranean Europe as well as to Asia, the same way that St. Petersburg had become a gateway to northern Europe. Catherine declared Odesa an “open city,” a unique designation which permitted a free exchange of foreign goods, free trade with the Middle East as well as Europe, a blossoming of the arts, a welcoming of foreigners and the exciting exchange of ideas. As you can imagine such an image is NOT what Putin would have in mind for a Russian city made in his own image of a closed society. But now there is another reason for Odesa to be hated by Putin: It has become a city of laughter. Stand-up comedians have made their mark, making fun of the Russians, who are trying to invade and make Odesa their own. “I really feel sorry for them,” one comedian intoned. “Can you imagine what it would be like for the Russian soldiers to encounter our unruly urbanization and questionable political environment? They are simply not used to such things!” And the crowd roared in agreement.
Odesa has apparently always had its humor. After the Ottomans were defeated, Odessa was heavily influenced by Jewish humor and even the oppressive days of Soviet control issued in a kind of dark humor. “Humor helps people to pull together in difficult situations,” one comedian said, and “laughter simply lifts the human spirit as nothing else can.” Comedians, however, are not simply stuck on Russia and war. They make fun of dating during the pandemic, social media’s omnipresence in their lives and people’s inability to live without their phones. The humor works because it is the stuff of life that people recognize as their actual lives. It’s not farfetched and outside the ordinary realm of everyday experience.
There is a quote my father used to love. I heard him repeat it all throughout my growing up: “Life is a tragedy to those who feel but a comedy to those who think.” Tragedy in this sense means downward movement, while comedy moves upward, which is why Christianity is finally comedy. The Christian story ends with the victory of the risen Christ; the movement is upward. Comedy then does not have to be side splitting laughter, but there is no doubt that laughter does help and heal. People can and do laugh alone, but there is something community building in laughing together. And when wars are fought, the enemy always tries to break apart community, the bonds of trust and hope and even humor that hold people together.
One of the comedians in Odesa has an office filled with all sorts of paraphernalia: clowns, circus posters, hats, and other costumes and finally a foot high metal statue of Charlie Chaplin. Chaplin’s brilliant 1940 film, “The Great Dictator,” is a classic example of cutting the dictator down to size with humor. Situations may change, but still there are some universal experiences that endure, and humor is one of them. Helping people laugh in dark times is what motivates the comedians of Odesa to do their work, even as war is on their doorstep. Humor is a form of power, and the people of Odesa plan to use it to its fullest.
I have never found Jesus to be particularly humorous. While he was clever and unafraid to show up those in power and authority, I cannot remember a time, when something Jesus did or said something that made me laugh. And yet I cannot help but think that he would have no objections to laughter. Introvert that he apparently was, he still enjoyed social gatherings with food and drink. And we might use our imagination here: at those same gatherings can we not also imagine laughter? Laughter, by the way, is what Dante heard as he ascended the final steps on his climb to heaven. And if heaven has laughter, then we on earth should also laugh as the angels do.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
September 29, 2022
Dear Friends,
You know how we all complain that the news media loves to concentrate on bad news? We find ourselves more than a little annoyed because every time we pick up a newspaper or turn on the television to hear the latest news, there is always some catastrophe greeting our eyes and ears. But the Christian Science Monitor, which is a weekly magazine, always has a section called, Points of Progress, and it is filled with good news. And the Washington Post has a section called Inspired Life, which does just that---It inspires!
Last week in the Post I read about five year old Alex Hurdakis, afflicted with a fatal brain tumor, which was diagnosed when he was one. Recently, his parents were told there was nothing more medicine could do. All treatment had run out, and Alex would soon die. The news, of course, was beyond devastating, but little Alex still had some things he wanted to do and see. He loved Halloween and he wanted to see monsters. And so, a friend of the family came up with the idea of bringing Halloween to Alex. Through social media she made it known that Alex would most likely not live to see Halloween, and so she wanted the community to give Alex the gift of Halloween. And so, they did. They erected a haunted house in his yard and on September 14, 1000 people showed up in a parade of monsters, ghosts, goblins, and witches. Someone offered her services as a face painter, so people could have their face painted to look like a witch or a goblin or some other monster. All kinds of people showed up that day, including parents who had lost their own children to cancer and then there were those who were themselves going through chemotherapy and radiation.
It was far more than the family ever expected. Little Alex was thrilled and so was his two year year old sister and eight year old brother. His parents could not believe what this community in Hamilton, Ontario did for them and their family. “It was beyond beautiful,” said Nick, Alex’s father. “Though we don’t feel better about the situation, we know we are not alone.”
There are so many times in life we see or hear about a situation, and we feel powerless to do much about it. The war in Ukraine drags on, and we cannot stop it---though one of our own members, Joanne Hatch, is doing something by collecting clothes, household items and books to bring to Savers for money, which will be donated to the Ukrainian fund as well as The Farmington Community Chest. And in Alex’s case, though no one can keep the disease from progressing the community was able to bring this little boy and his family some joy. It may not sound like much, but it is something, and there are times something can make a big impact and a big difference. Jesus certainly did not heal all diseases and he did not stop war and eradicate poverty. But he did do something, and he wants us to something as well---even when the something we can do is only little. But sometimes little can be much bigger than it initially appears.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
You know how we all complain that the news media loves to concentrate on bad news? We find ourselves more than a little annoyed because every time we pick up a newspaper or turn on the television to hear the latest news, there is always some catastrophe greeting our eyes and ears. But the Christian Science Monitor, which is a weekly magazine, always has a section called, Points of Progress, and it is filled with good news. And the Washington Post has a section called Inspired Life, which does just that---It inspires!
Last week in the Post I read about five year old Alex Hurdakis, afflicted with a fatal brain tumor, which was diagnosed when he was one. Recently, his parents were told there was nothing more medicine could do. All treatment had run out, and Alex would soon die. The news, of course, was beyond devastating, but little Alex still had some things he wanted to do and see. He loved Halloween and he wanted to see monsters. And so, a friend of the family came up with the idea of bringing Halloween to Alex. Through social media she made it known that Alex would most likely not live to see Halloween, and so she wanted the community to give Alex the gift of Halloween. And so, they did. They erected a haunted house in his yard and on September 14, 1000 people showed up in a parade of monsters, ghosts, goblins, and witches. Someone offered her services as a face painter, so people could have their face painted to look like a witch or a goblin or some other monster. All kinds of people showed up that day, including parents who had lost their own children to cancer and then there were those who were themselves going through chemotherapy and radiation.
It was far more than the family ever expected. Little Alex was thrilled and so was his two year year old sister and eight year old brother. His parents could not believe what this community in Hamilton, Ontario did for them and their family. “It was beyond beautiful,” said Nick, Alex’s father. “Though we don’t feel better about the situation, we know we are not alone.”
There are so many times in life we see or hear about a situation, and we feel powerless to do much about it. The war in Ukraine drags on, and we cannot stop it---though one of our own members, Joanne Hatch, is doing something by collecting clothes, household items and books to bring to Savers for money, which will be donated to the Ukrainian fund as well as The Farmington Community Chest. And in Alex’s case, though no one can keep the disease from progressing the community was able to bring this little boy and his family some joy. It may not sound like much, but it is something, and there are times something can make a big impact and a big difference. Jesus certainly did not heal all diseases and he did not stop war and eradicate poverty. But he did do something, and he wants us to something as well---even when the something we can do is only little. But sometimes little can be much bigger than it initially appears.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Chasms
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ, Congregational
Unionville, CT
September 25, 2022
Amos 6: 1a, 4-7
Luke 16: 19-21
Chasms: they are very difficult to get across, sometimes impossible. We can stand there, looking across this huge divide, and we simply cannot figure out how to get across. Perhaps that is the way it has always been. People are often divided, and in today’s reading from Luke we have one of humanity’s most visible, enduring and yes, ugly chasms ---the chasm between the rich and the poor. I can remember the very first time poverty entered my consciousness. I was 7 years old, on a trip with my parents over Christmas vacation to visit my grandparents in Florida. We were driving from Buffalo, New York in my parents’ brand new Oldsmobile Deluxe 88---the most luxurious car my parents ever owned. It was early on Sunday morning in South Carolina; we had just eaten breakfast, and my father, trying to get back on the major highway, took a wrong turn, which landed us on a road, winding its way through a field of shacks. I saw these little kids, running around with no shoes on and no sweater. It was December, and though South Carolina is not Buffalo, New York, it was not warm enough to be barefooted. I simply did not understand, and when I asked for an explanation, my father talked about how these people worked on farms and were very, very poor. You know, my father said, it was only 100 years ago that their ancestors were slaves. I had never seen anything like this before, and I did not understand why I lived in a nice, comfortable home and my parents drove a new, shiny car, while these children and their parents had nothing. After a few minutes the tears began to roll down my cheeks and sniffles soon followed. My mother turned around to comfort me, but my father, who was always very hard on my tears, calling them golf balls said, “Let her cry. At least for once she has something real to cry about.” And then he said something he repeated many times in his life. The saddest words in the Bible are when Jesus said, “The poor you will always have with you.” There it was--- this huge chasm between my middle class life and those poor black children in South Carolina, and the only thing I knew how to do was to cry in empathy.
Empathy, however, is not what we get from this story in Luke. We have a poor man, named Lazarus, which means in Hebrew, “God is my help.” Notice that the rich man is the one who does all the speaking. Not surprising, because rich people have more voice and power than the poor. Yet though the poor man has no voice, he does have a name, Lazarus, while the rich man is never named in the text, though tradition has assigned him the name of Dives, which means rich man in Latin. The story paints a very powerful image of Lazarus, covered with sores, which the dogs licked, as he lay at the gate of a rich man. His one hope was to eat the crumbs that fell from the rich man’s table. Now consider for a moment that gate. Gates open and close; they can shut others out, or let others in. And so, the rich man could have opened the gate to let Lazarus in, or he could have gone through the gate himself to offer food to Lazarus. But he did nothing. He did not even notice Lazarus. And then Dives and Lazarus find themselves on the other side of life, and this time the conditions are completely reversed. Lazarus is in the bosom of Abraham, while Dives is in Hades, suffering the torment of thirst.
Now the text neither tells us that the rich man is being punished for his treatment of the poor, nor does it say that Lazarus is being rewarded for a life well lived. It only tells us that the conditions are reversed. Lazarus suffered in life while the rich man lived very well and now the opposite conditions prevail.
Notice what Dives does. He calls out to Abraham, first asking for mercy, and then he asks Abraham to command Lazarus to relieve his thirst. Apparently, he is still living in the old system, where Lazarus is a nobody, someone who should be ordered about---told to dip his finger in the cool water to satisfy Dives’ thirst. The gate, which in life, Dives did not bother to open, has now become the chasm, which neither he nor Lazarus can cross. And indeed, this seems a very powerful metaphor for what often happens in life. Gates can be so thoroughly shut against others that in time it is not gates we have, but chasms no one knows how to cross. This happens in families and human relationships; it happens in the life of the church; it happens within nations and between nations, when differences, sometimes radical differences become bitter, ugly conflicts, leaving a chasm no one knows how to cross, let alone wants to cross.
Sometimes chasms develop between different disciplines, like science and religion. There really is no conflict, but if you insist on reading religious texts literally, you will certainly find conflicts. There is also a chasm between theology and economics. Churches in the main line Protestant tradition (like ours) have a hard time talking about money. Oh, we talk about charity and the importance of helping those in need, but the truth is that the Bible is far more concerned with economy than it is with charity. The Greek word from which we derive the word economy is a compound of two words, meaning household and law or management. So, economy literally means the management or law of the household. The word household as it is biblically used does not mean individual family units, but rather the site of human livelihood, the public household. And this theme is exactly what the Old Testament prophets like Amos were passionate about, castigating Israel for its failure to produce a just economy, embracing all people, in particular the poor and oppressed, the uneducated and unskilled as well as widows and children.
Jesus too spoke prophetically about the household economy, upsetting many people, but not because he told rich people to give more to charity. That is how we Americans tend to hear his words, because we inhabit a culture of individualism, so we tend to hear the story of Lazarus and Dives solely as a critique of a selfish rich man, who did not bother to notice the poor man at his gate. But Jesus’ message was far more than individual critique. It was social critique, aimed at actual structures of the economy that worked to the exclusion of the poor. Since there was no welfare state in Jesus’ time, the Temple was the institution that had some responsibility for the poor, and Jesus was not always happy with its methods for meeting those needs. He called for something named the Jubilee, a radical re-distribution of property and wealth that was to happen every 50 years. This did not make him popular with either the wealthy or the Temple.
All economies, no matter the type, have the challenge of dealing with poverty. In our country we embrace the free market system, and though there is much deserved criticism of an unregulated market, it is also true that one of the markets greatest achievements has been the creation of a strong middle class, though these days it appears that middle class is now shrinking. Yet historically the American main line Protestant churches, have been staunch defenders of the free market system. In 1907 there was an economic crisis in the country, and JP Morgan, New York’s leading banker, called the city’s Protestant clergy together for a meeting. “It is time for reaffirming faith,” he told the clergy. “Tell your parishioners on Sunday morning to leave their money in the banks.” And many did just that, because they believed that faith was more than what you do with your private life; it is also what you do with your public life---and the economy is public.
Poverty is certainly a statistic, but it is also more than that. It has a real face and tells a real story---just as it told me when I was 7 and just as we heard it told in Luke. And the stories keep coming. We can notice the people who have a face and a name and a story. We can try to help in a charitable way. And acting charitably is a good thing. But that in no way exhausts who Jesus was and what he taught and did. He wanted far more than charity. He was out to change the system and that made him an enemy of the Temple and the Roman Empire. And there are times when he is even an enemy of our system as well, a system that allows the top 1% of households to own 32.3% of the nation’s wealth, while the bottom 50% owns a mere 2.6%. And do you really think that Jesus would have nothing to say about such a state of affairs? If you do, I would caution you to think again.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ, Congregational
Unionville, CT
September 25, 2022
Amos 6: 1a, 4-7
Luke 16: 19-21
Chasms: they are very difficult to get across, sometimes impossible. We can stand there, looking across this huge divide, and we simply cannot figure out how to get across. Perhaps that is the way it has always been. People are often divided, and in today’s reading from Luke we have one of humanity’s most visible, enduring and yes, ugly chasms ---the chasm between the rich and the poor. I can remember the very first time poverty entered my consciousness. I was 7 years old, on a trip with my parents over Christmas vacation to visit my grandparents in Florida. We were driving from Buffalo, New York in my parents’ brand new Oldsmobile Deluxe 88---the most luxurious car my parents ever owned. It was early on Sunday morning in South Carolina; we had just eaten breakfast, and my father, trying to get back on the major highway, took a wrong turn, which landed us on a road, winding its way through a field of shacks. I saw these little kids, running around with no shoes on and no sweater. It was December, and though South Carolina is not Buffalo, New York, it was not warm enough to be barefooted. I simply did not understand, and when I asked for an explanation, my father talked about how these people worked on farms and were very, very poor. You know, my father said, it was only 100 years ago that their ancestors were slaves. I had never seen anything like this before, and I did not understand why I lived in a nice, comfortable home and my parents drove a new, shiny car, while these children and their parents had nothing. After a few minutes the tears began to roll down my cheeks and sniffles soon followed. My mother turned around to comfort me, but my father, who was always very hard on my tears, calling them golf balls said, “Let her cry. At least for once she has something real to cry about.” And then he said something he repeated many times in his life. The saddest words in the Bible are when Jesus said, “The poor you will always have with you.” There it was--- this huge chasm between my middle class life and those poor black children in South Carolina, and the only thing I knew how to do was to cry in empathy.
Empathy, however, is not what we get from this story in Luke. We have a poor man, named Lazarus, which means in Hebrew, “God is my help.” Notice that the rich man is the one who does all the speaking. Not surprising, because rich people have more voice and power than the poor. Yet though the poor man has no voice, he does have a name, Lazarus, while the rich man is never named in the text, though tradition has assigned him the name of Dives, which means rich man in Latin. The story paints a very powerful image of Lazarus, covered with sores, which the dogs licked, as he lay at the gate of a rich man. His one hope was to eat the crumbs that fell from the rich man’s table. Now consider for a moment that gate. Gates open and close; they can shut others out, or let others in. And so, the rich man could have opened the gate to let Lazarus in, or he could have gone through the gate himself to offer food to Lazarus. But he did nothing. He did not even notice Lazarus. And then Dives and Lazarus find themselves on the other side of life, and this time the conditions are completely reversed. Lazarus is in the bosom of Abraham, while Dives is in Hades, suffering the torment of thirst.
Now the text neither tells us that the rich man is being punished for his treatment of the poor, nor does it say that Lazarus is being rewarded for a life well lived. It only tells us that the conditions are reversed. Lazarus suffered in life while the rich man lived very well and now the opposite conditions prevail.
Notice what Dives does. He calls out to Abraham, first asking for mercy, and then he asks Abraham to command Lazarus to relieve his thirst. Apparently, he is still living in the old system, where Lazarus is a nobody, someone who should be ordered about---told to dip his finger in the cool water to satisfy Dives’ thirst. The gate, which in life, Dives did not bother to open, has now become the chasm, which neither he nor Lazarus can cross. And indeed, this seems a very powerful metaphor for what often happens in life. Gates can be so thoroughly shut against others that in time it is not gates we have, but chasms no one knows how to cross. This happens in families and human relationships; it happens in the life of the church; it happens within nations and between nations, when differences, sometimes radical differences become bitter, ugly conflicts, leaving a chasm no one knows how to cross, let alone wants to cross.
Sometimes chasms develop between different disciplines, like science and religion. There really is no conflict, but if you insist on reading religious texts literally, you will certainly find conflicts. There is also a chasm between theology and economics. Churches in the main line Protestant tradition (like ours) have a hard time talking about money. Oh, we talk about charity and the importance of helping those in need, but the truth is that the Bible is far more concerned with economy than it is with charity. The Greek word from which we derive the word economy is a compound of two words, meaning household and law or management. So, economy literally means the management or law of the household. The word household as it is biblically used does not mean individual family units, but rather the site of human livelihood, the public household. And this theme is exactly what the Old Testament prophets like Amos were passionate about, castigating Israel for its failure to produce a just economy, embracing all people, in particular the poor and oppressed, the uneducated and unskilled as well as widows and children.
Jesus too spoke prophetically about the household economy, upsetting many people, but not because he told rich people to give more to charity. That is how we Americans tend to hear his words, because we inhabit a culture of individualism, so we tend to hear the story of Lazarus and Dives solely as a critique of a selfish rich man, who did not bother to notice the poor man at his gate. But Jesus’ message was far more than individual critique. It was social critique, aimed at actual structures of the economy that worked to the exclusion of the poor. Since there was no welfare state in Jesus’ time, the Temple was the institution that had some responsibility for the poor, and Jesus was not always happy with its methods for meeting those needs. He called for something named the Jubilee, a radical re-distribution of property and wealth that was to happen every 50 years. This did not make him popular with either the wealthy or the Temple.
All economies, no matter the type, have the challenge of dealing with poverty. In our country we embrace the free market system, and though there is much deserved criticism of an unregulated market, it is also true that one of the markets greatest achievements has been the creation of a strong middle class, though these days it appears that middle class is now shrinking. Yet historically the American main line Protestant churches, have been staunch defenders of the free market system. In 1907 there was an economic crisis in the country, and JP Morgan, New York’s leading banker, called the city’s Protestant clergy together for a meeting. “It is time for reaffirming faith,” he told the clergy. “Tell your parishioners on Sunday morning to leave their money in the banks.” And many did just that, because they believed that faith was more than what you do with your private life; it is also what you do with your public life---and the economy is public.
Poverty is certainly a statistic, but it is also more than that. It has a real face and tells a real story---just as it told me when I was 7 and just as we heard it told in Luke. And the stories keep coming. We can notice the people who have a face and a name and a story. We can try to help in a charitable way. And acting charitably is a good thing. But that in no way exhausts who Jesus was and what he taught and did. He wanted far more than charity. He was out to change the system and that made him an enemy of the Temple and the Roman Empire. And there are times when he is even an enemy of our system as well, a system that allows the top 1% of households to own 32.3% of the nation’s wealth, while the bottom 50% owns a mere 2.6%. And do you really think that Jesus would have nothing to say about such a state of affairs? If you do, I would caution you to think again.
September 22, 2022
Dear Friends,
Lately I have been very impressed by the vastness of creation. The first pages of the Bible are concerned with the creation God has made and declared good. And indeed, the James Webb Telescope, showing us incredible images of exoplanets and unnamed galaxies, is beyond awesome. And now I have been awestruck once again---this time by what I recently read about ants.
Can you guess how many ants there are in the world? In all honesty, I could not even begin to guess, but I was shocked to learn from an article recently published in The Proceedings of the National Academy of Science, that the number of ants stands at 20 quadrillion! That is 20,000 trillion, or 20,000,000,000,000,000! And the total mass of ants on earth weighs 12 megatons of carbon, which is the way scientists measure biomass. If all the ants in the world were put on a scale and weighed, they would outweigh all the wild birds and mammals put together. And for every human being living on this earth there are 2.5 million ants!
Ants inhabit every corner of the world, except perhaps some of the coldest places in the Arctic or Antarctica. They aerate soil and drag seeds underground that they might grow, and they are important sources of food for birds and other mammals. A myrmecologist (someone who studies ants) claims that if there were no ants the forests would be piled high with dead wood, since ants are critical for their ability to destroy and devour wood.
There are some troubling signs, however. Just as animal species go extinct, so too do insects. Someone estimated that up to 40% of the current insect population could be extinct. When? That is hard to say, but we do know that butterflies and beetles are facing grave threats now along with honeybees. Scientists do not know if the ant population is declining. Perhaps with so many ants on earth it is hard to judge.
The biodiversity of our planet is certainly awe inspiring. And when we consider that we human creatures are only aware of a small fraction of what lives on our earth, we should be brought to our knees in humility. But it seems that we human beings have a very hard time learning humility. We consider ourselves Number 1 on the planet and seem to be believe that having dominion over the earth means that we can do exactly what we want, no matter the impact on the rest of creation, including the planet.
The world is an incredible place, far more wonderful and diverse than we can even imagine. And if learning just a few facts about ants can help us to be more humble and more grateful for life on this earth we call home, then that is an added blessing. The Bible begins with the story of creation, and though its details might not count as accurate science, the story is told that we might be gratefully humble for the gift of life on this planet---and not only human life, but also other life as well, including ants!
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Lately I have been very impressed by the vastness of creation. The first pages of the Bible are concerned with the creation God has made and declared good. And indeed, the James Webb Telescope, showing us incredible images of exoplanets and unnamed galaxies, is beyond awesome. And now I have been awestruck once again---this time by what I recently read about ants.
Can you guess how many ants there are in the world? In all honesty, I could not even begin to guess, but I was shocked to learn from an article recently published in The Proceedings of the National Academy of Science, that the number of ants stands at 20 quadrillion! That is 20,000 trillion, or 20,000,000,000,000,000! And the total mass of ants on earth weighs 12 megatons of carbon, which is the way scientists measure biomass. If all the ants in the world were put on a scale and weighed, they would outweigh all the wild birds and mammals put together. And for every human being living on this earth there are 2.5 million ants!
Ants inhabit every corner of the world, except perhaps some of the coldest places in the Arctic or Antarctica. They aerate soil and drag seeds underground that they might grow, and they are important sources of food for birds and other mammals. A myrmecologist (someone who studies ants) claims that if there were no ants the forests would be piled high with dead wood, since ants are critical for their ability to destroy and devour wood.
There are some troubling signs, however. Just as animal species go extinct, so too do insects. Someone estimated that up to 40% of the current insect population could be extinct. When? That is hard to say, but we do know that butterflies and beetles are facing grave threats now along with honeybees. Scientists do not know if the ant population is declining. Perhaps with so many ants on earth it is hard to judge.
The biodiversity of our planet is certainly awe inspiring. And when we consider that we human creatures are only aware of a small fraction of what lives on our earth, we should be brought to our knees in humility. But it seems that we human beings have a very hard time learning humility. We consider ourselves Number 1 on the planet and seem to be believe that having dominion over the earth means that we can do exactly what we want, no matter the impact on the rest of creation, including the planet.
The world is an incredible place, far more wonderful and diverse than we can even imagine. And if learning just a few facts about ants can help us to be more humble and more grateful for life on this earth we call home, then that is an added blessing. The Bible begins with the story of creation, and though its details might not count as accurate science, the story is told that we might be gratefully humble for the gift of life on this planet---and not only human life, but also other life as well, including ants!
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Giving to an Imperfect Church
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
September 18, 2022
Mark 12: 38-44
To be perfectly honest, most ministers do not relish stewardship sermons. And the reason is quite simple when you look at many church budgets, especially small churches like ours, most of the money is going for the minister’s salary and benefits. So, there is no denying that it can sound very self-serving to preach on church giving. “Give to the church, so I can have a job and be paid.” Furthermore, any minister with even a whit of theological insight realizes how dangerous it can be to equate giving to the church with giving to God. God and Church are not synonyms, and though the church has a divine mission---helping people to live in right relationship with God by loving God with the fullness of heart, soul, and mind--- we also realize that the church is a human institution, and as is anything human, it is deeply flawed. It can and does fail and disappoint, and though both clergy and parishioner do often try hard to preach, understand and live God’s Word, who among us would deny that our efforts and outcomes are very imperfect. And so, is it any wonder that there is often unease among clergy and parishioners when it comes to speaking about money and giving to the church?
Jesus, however, felt no such unease. He spoke about money and possessions more than any other single topic: 62% of his parables refer to money and possessions, and one out of every ten verses in the four gospels deals with wealth. The Bible includes 500 verses on prayer, a bit less than that on faith, but more than 2000 on money and what it can and cannot buy. Furthermore, Jesus certainly understood the flawed nature of religious institutions. He was hardly shy about criticizing scribes, priests, and Pharisees, sometimes because they were more concerned about rules and regulations than they are about the needs of real people. And he was very critical of the Temple and its practices. He threw the money changers out of the Temple courtyard, accusing them of making God’s house into a den of robbers. Money changers, by the way, did have an important role, because Jews came to the Temple from all over the empire with foreign money in their hands, which had to be changed into Jewish coinage. But some money changers were dishonest, which brought down Jesus’ ire on them. And now we see him sitting outside the Temple, carefully observing the scene--- rich people putting in their offering and a poor widow, giving two copper coins, all she had. She gave out of her poverty, not out of her abundance, and that is an act of great generosity.
She trusted the Temple to do God’s work, and if the Temple failed, the blame was on the Temple, not on the widow. I suppose some might call the widow naïve or even foolish for placing her trust in the Temple, but there are times when trust, like faith, is naïve. And perhaps at times it needs to be, because if we cannot believe in the goodness and worthiness of what we are doing and supporting, we would be overcome by cynicism. And cynicism is dangerous, rarely issuing in acts of generosity and compassion.
And isn’t that a reason to give to the church? We want and we need to see acts of generosity and compassion in the world, and we want and need to be part of that. We know the church is not a perfect institution, but when we risk the hope and faith that the church can be a place where God’s Word is preached, embraced, and lived, our hearts and our lives grow bigger, and our gratitude expands. Gratitude is always a good reason to give. For all we know the widow who gave her last coins to the Temple was giving because she was grateful to God. The Temple was supposed to help widows and orphans, so perhaps she was grateful for what help she did receive---though Jesus thought it should do more. While she was poor in things and money, she was rich in gratitude and faith. No wonder Jesus commended her.
A few years ago, I was at a seminar at Princeton Theological Seminary, where met this elderly man, in his 90’s. I thought he was a retired clergyman, but he told me, no, he just enjoyed theology and the stimulation that came from learning and thinking. Someone else told me he was very wealthy, a successful Wall Street investor, who had given a lot of money not only to the seminary, but also to some churches so they could expand their outreach, supporting a soup kitchen and a homeless shelter. One evening he told me about being a prisoner in a Japanese camp during World War II. “It was beyond horrible,” he said, beyond anything you could imagine. The Japanese did not abide by any of the Genevan Convention rules concerning prisoners. A prisoner, in their minds, was a failed warrior, who deserved no respect. We were starved. I was sure I would not survive. And so, I hated my enemy.
One afternoon a group of Japanese soldiers, who themselves had been held prisoners, had managed to escape during an air raid attack. They were practically thrown off the vehicles that brought them to our camp. Many of them were badly injured, barely able to walk. Others were crawling on the ground, crying out and begging for water. And our captors simply ignored them. These were their own soldiers, and yet they treated them as they treated us; we were all failed warriors in their eyes. Since they had allowed themselves to be captured, they were deemed worthless, not even worthy of water. Then this English soldier went over to the bucket of water and began to give these soldiers a drink. My captors looked on as if the man were crazy, but they didn’t stop him. However, the English commander tried, screaming at the top of his lungs to stop giving aid to the enemy. But he would not stop, and then some other men began to give water too. I stood there, wanting to help, but I didn’t. The English commander continued to scream out his orders and our Japanese captors looked on in disbelief, but no one dared intervene.
Later I would learn the soldier who gave aid was a devout Christian, and I would come to realize how important it is to be part of something bigger than I, something that could push me to do good. You could call it a conversion experience. And so, I have tried to do good with what I have been given. And the church has been a big part of my life, surrounding me with people, who have pushed me to do some good while challenging me to realize what and where my treasure truly is. I have been a part of different churches, and I’ve learned that as often as churches and clergy fail, yet something of God does manage to get through.
I think Jesus would agree. Picture him sitting outside that Temple, knowing its flaws while watching all kinds of people make their offerings, and then seeing a widow, vulnerable and poor, who trusted that God could and would use the gift of her two copper coins for something that truly mattered. The question for us is: Do we hope and trust that God can do the same with our gifts to this church? And this is a question only you can answer for yourself.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
September 18, 2022
Mark 12: 38-44
To be perfectly honest, most ministers do not relish stewardship sermons. And the reason is quite simple when you look at many church budgets, especially small churches like ours, most of the money is going for the minister’s salary and benefits. So, there is no denying that it can sound very self-serving to preach on church giving. “Give to the church, so I can have a job and be paid.” Furthermore, any minister with even a whit of theological insight realizes how dangerous it can be to equate giving to the church with giving to God. God and Church are not synonyms, and though the church has a divine mission---helping people to live in right relationship with God by loving God with the fullness of heart, soul, and mind--- we also realize that the church is a human institution, and as is anything human, it is deeply flawed. It can and does fail and disappoint, and though both clergy and parishioner do often try hard to preach, understand and live God’s Word, who among us would deny that our efforts and outcomes are very imperfect. And so, is it any wonder that there is often unease among clergy and parishioners when it comes to speaking about money and giving to the church?
Jesus, however, felt no such unease. He spoke about money and possessions more than any other single topic: 62% of his parables refer to money and possessions, and one out of every ten verses in the four gospels deals with wealth. The Bible includes 500 verses on prayer, a bit less than that on faith, but more than 2000 on money and what it can and cannot buy. Furthermore, Jesus certainly understood the flawed nature of religious institutions. He was hardly shy about criticizing scribes, priests, and Pharisees, sometimes because they were more concerned about rules and regulations than they are about the needs of real people. And he was very critical of the Temple and its practices. He threw the money changers out of the Temple courtyard, accusing them of making God’s house into a den of robbers. Money changers, by the way, did have an important role, because Jews came to the Temple from all over the empire with foreign money in their hands, which had to be changed into Jewish coinage. But some money changers were dishonest, which brought down Jesus’ ire on them. And now we see him sitting outside the Temple, carefully observing the scene--- rich people putting in their offering and a poor widow, giving two copper coins, all she had. She gave out of her poverty, not out of her abundance, and that is an act of great generosity.
She trusted the Temple to do God’s work, and if the Temple failed, the blame was on the Temple, not on the widow. I suppose some might call the widow naïve or even foolish for placing her trust in the Temple, but there are times when trust, like faith, is naïve. And perhaps at times it needs to be, because if we cannot believe in the goodness and worthiness of what we are doing and supporting, we would be overcome by cynicism. And cynicism is dangerous, rarely issuing in acts of generosity and compassion.
And isn’t that a reason to give to the church? We want and we need to see acts of generosity and compassion in the world, and we want and need to be part of that. We know the church is not a perfect institution, but when we risk the hope and faith that the church can be a place where God’s Word is preached, embraced, and lived, our hearts and our lives grow bigger, and our gratitude expands. Gratitude is always a good reason to give. For all we know the widow who gave her last coins to the Temple was giving because she was grateful to God. The Temple was supposed to help widows and orphans, so perhaps she was grateful for what help she did receive---though Jesus thought it should do more. While she was poor in things and money, she was rich in gratitude and faith. No wonder Jesus commended her.
A few years ago, I was at a seminar at Princeton Theological Seminary, where met this elderly man, in his 90’s. I thought he was a retired clergyman, but he told me, no, he just enjoyed theology and the stimulation that came from learning and thinking. Someone else told me he was very wealthy, a successful Wall Street investor, who had given a lot of money not only to the seminary, but also to some churches so they could expand their outreach, supporting a soup kitchen and a homeless shelter. One evening he told me about being a prisoner in a Japanese camp during World War II. “It was beyond horrible,” he said, beyond anything you could imagine. The Japanese did not abide by any of the Genevan Convention rules concerning prisoners. A prisoner, in their minds, was a failed warrior, who deserved no respect. We were starved. I was sure I would not survive. And so, I hated my enemy.
One afternoon a group of Japanese soldiers, who themselves had been held prisoners, had managed to escape during an air raid attack. They were practically thrown off the vehicles that brought them to our camp. Many of them were badly injured, barely able to walk. Others were crawling on the ground, crying out and begging for water. And our captors simply ignored them. These were their own soldiers, and yet they treated them as they treated us; we were all failed warriors in their eyes. Since they had allowed themselves to be captured, they were deemed worthless, not even worthy of water. Then this English soldier went over to the bucket of water and began to give these soldiers a drink. My captors looked on as if the man were crazy, but they didn’t stop him. However, the English commander tried, screaming at the top of his lungs to stop giving aid to the enemy. But he would not stop, and then some other men began to give water too. I stood there, wanting to help, but I didn’t. The English commander continued to scream out his orders and our Japanese captors looked on in disbelief, but no one dared intervene.
Later I would learn the soldier who gave aid was a devout Christian, and I would come to realize how important it is to be part of something bigger than I, something that could push me to do good. You could call it a conversion experience. And so, I have tried to do good with what I have been given. And the church has been a big part of my life, surrounding me with people, who have pushed me to do some good while challenging me to realize what and where my treasure truly is. I have been a part of different churches, and I’ve learned that as often as churches and clergy fail, yet something of God does manage to get through.
I think Jesus would agree. Picture him sitting outside that Temple, knowing its flaws while watching all kinds of people make their offerings, and then seeing a widow, vulnerable and poor, who trusted that God could and would use the gift of her two copper coins for something that truly mattered. The question for us is: Do we hope and trust that God can do the same with our gifts to this church? And this is a question only you can answer for yourself.
SEEKING AND FINDING THE LOST
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
September 11, 2022
Luke 15: 1-10
I don’t know how many of you have a favorite gospel, but for me it is Luke. I think many people feel this way, not only because of the wonderful Christmas story and some of our favorite parables, such as The Good Samaritan and The Prodigal Son, but also because Jesus is so strongly portrayed as the compassionate and caring one. He certainly does have his demanding side. Right before our passage for today he speaks of the high cost of discipleship, but we also have so many examples of Jesus bucking the conventions of religion to help those who are hurting. He heals on the Sabbath, which brings condemnation from the authorities, and he shares table fellowship with those who are considered low lifers and sinners. In fact, that is how our lesson begins today. Tax collectors, who were hated for their collaboration with Rome and other sinners were coming to hear Jesus preach, and immediately the Pharisees and scribes begin to grumble about the company Jesus keeps.
And then Jesus immediately tells two parables about a lost sheep and a lost coin. Now there are a few things to note about these parables. Jesus is obviously making a connection between the lostness of sinners and a relentless God who searches for the lost until they are found. But there is no way we can morally assign blame to a sheep and a coin that are lost. They are simply lost, and it is someone else’s responsibility to find them. Of course, the problem the religious leadership had with sinners is that they considered them blameworthy for their sins. The sinners, in other words, were the responsible ones and not anyone else. And yet here we have Jesus talking about a shepherd, who leaves the 99 in order to find the one lost sheep. But no shepherd would do that. He would not leave his flock vulnerable unless he had someone else to watch over them while he was searching for his lost sheep. But Jesus doesn’t mention that possibility. The story is told in such a way that we imagine the 99 being left alone in the wilderness, and the word wilderness always suggests a place of danger and vulnerability. But still the shepherd risks the safety of the 99 to find the one lost sheep.
Now the Pharisees and scribes were not stupid people. They knew what shepherds did and how shepherds behaved, and they realized that Jesus is pushing here for a different moral and spiritual code. A shepherd who left his flock unattended in this way, would be deemed irresponsible. And yet Jesus is here suggesting that it is worth the risk to find the one who is lost. There is no denying that the risk is REAL. More sheep might be lost, and the shepherd might never find the lost sheep, and he too, all alone in the wilderness, could meet up with a wild beast which could end his life. So, both the shepherd and the sheep could have something significant to lose. But Jesus is saying that sometimes in life danger must be risked that something else can happen---that the lost can be found.
Now in the story of the lost coin, there does not seem to be much risk at all--- just the time the woman spent in looking for the lost coin. And when she finds it, she calls her neighbors together so they can rejoice with her. That simply is not something most people would do. And the scribes and Pharisees know that this is not usual behavior, and so for them the lesson is to think about lostness in a different way. Rather than putting the blame on that which is lost, the emphasis is shifted to the one who is determined to search until the lost one is found. That puts a moral obligation on those hearing the parable and it also suggests that this is how God is. God searches until the lost are found and the suggestion from Jesus is that human beings, made in God’s image, should do the same.
Some years ago, I met this woman at the Y, and we would talk now and then. I learned from her how her husband had been working on a special project at the Twin Towers in New York, and though he was not there every day, he was there on September 11, 2001. He managed to escape the first building that was hit, and he called one of his three sons, telling him, “I’m safe, but I am going back in to help others.” “Dad, don’t do that. It’s too dangerous.” I’ll be o.k., he insisted. There are people in there, who need my help.” And that was the last time anyone heard from him. He perished.
His wife told me she had been furious, and though over the years, her fury had abated, she still could not forgive him for what she considered his blatant disregard for her and their three sons. “Strangers meant more to him than we did,” she fumed. He took a risk he should not have taken.” “Well,” I said, “if he had come out alive after helping others, you would call him a hero. And we really do not know how many others he did manage to help get out of the building. People are not heroes ONLY when they survive. They are heroes because they do brave things, putting their own lives at risk. Easy for you to say, she accused. You did not lose a husband to heroism. Your life and the life of your children were not put at risk. I did not say much after that, and we would still talk now and then about other topics.
But some years later, an accused terrorist was on trial, and a woman from Yale Divinity School, who actually began Divinity School after she lost her husband in 9/11 guest preached at my Church. She too had three teenagers, and she traveled to Cuba or Florida to offer testimony on behalf of mercy. And that is what she preached about---why she was for mercy. To her the accused man was both lost and sick. Well, some time after this, the woman at the Y, let’s call her Cheryl, was listening to the television about the man involved in the Boston Marathon bombing. I hope he gets the death penalty, she said. In response, I countered with I don’t want anyone getting the death penalty. That because you have never lost anyone to violence. And then I told her about the woman who had preached mercy at my church some years before. She never spoke to me after that.
When bad things happen, particularly when people do bad things, it is so easy to be focused on their guilt and responsibility. Moral responsibility is no small matter, and ignoring or overlooking it, has its own risks, which is why Jesus told these parables where culpability is not the issue, since coins and sheep cannot be held responsible for being lost. Jesus does this, I think, to change the direction of attention---away from the guilt of the lost and toward the moral responsibility of searching for and finding the lost. And in the very next verse after today’s lesson, Jesus will begin the story of the Prodigal Son, one of the most beloved of all Jesus’ parables, where there is both guilt and responsibility, and also a father who runs to meet his wayward son as he returns home and celebrates that the lost is now found while the older son stews in his resentment. The story of lostness continues not only in the Bible but also in our own lives.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
September 11, 2022
Luke 15: 1-10
I don’t know how many of you have a favorite gospel, but for me it is Luke. I think many people feel this way, not only because of the wonderful Christmas story and some of our favorite parables, such as The Good Samaritan and The Prodigal Son, but also because Jesus is so strongly portrayed as the compassionate and caring one. He certainly does have his demanding side. Right before our passage for today he speaks of the high cost of discipleship, but we also have so many examples of Jesus bucking the conventions of religion to help those who are hurting. He heals on the Sabbath, which brings condemnation from the authorities, and he shares table fellowship with those who are considered low lifers and sinners. In fact, that is how our lesson begins today. Tax collectors, who were hated for their collaboration with Rome and other sinners were coming to hear Jesus preach, and immediately the Pharisees and scribes begin to grumble about the company Jesus keeps.
And then Jesus immediately tells two parables about a lost sheep and a lost coin. Now there are a few things to note about these parables. Jesus is obviously making a connection between the lostness of sinners and a relentless God who searches for the lost until they are found. But there is no way we can morally assign blame to a sheep and a coin that are lost. They are simply lost, and it is someone else’s responsibility to find them. Of course, the problem the religious leadership had with sinners is that they considered them blameworthy for their sins. The sinners, in other words, were the responsible ones and not anyone else. And yet here we have Jesus talking about a shepherd, who leaves the 99 in order to find the one lost sheep. But no shepherd would do that. He would not leave his flock vulnerable unless he had someone else to watch over them while he was searching for his lost sheep. But Jesus doesn’t mention that possibility. The story is told in such a way that we imagine the 99 being left alone in the wilderness, and the word wilderness always suggests a place of danger and vulnerability. But still the shepherd risks the safety of the 99 to find the one lost sheep.
Now the Pharisees and scribes were not stupid people. They knew what shepherds did and how shepherds behaved, and they realized that Jesus is pushing here for a different moral and spiritual code. A shepherd who left his flock unattended in this way, would be deemed irresponsible. And yet Jesus is here suggesting that it is worth the risk to find the one who is lost. There is no denying that the risk is REAL. More sheep might be lost, and the shepherd might never find the lost sheep, and he too, all alone in the wilderness, could meet up with a wild beast which could end his life. So, both the shepherd and the sheep could have something significant to lose. But Jesus is saying that sometimes in life danger must be risked that something else can happen---that the lost can be found.
Now in the story of the lost coin, there does not seem to be much risk at all--- just the time the woman spent in looking for the lost coin. And when she finds it, she calls her neighbors together so they can rejoice with her. That simply is not something most people would do. And the scribes and Pharisees know that this is not usual behavior, and so for them the lesson is to think about lostness in a different way. Rather than putting the blame on that which is lost, the emphasis is shifted to the one who is determined to search until the lost one is found. That puts a moral obligation on those hearing the parable and it also suggests that this is how God is. God searches until the lost are found and the suggestion from Jesus is that human beings, made in God’s image, should do the same.
Some years ago, I met this woman at the Y, and we would talk now and then. I learned from her how her husband had been working on a special project at the Twin Towers in New York, and though he was not there every day, he was there on September 11, 2001. He managed to escape the first building that was hit, and he called one of his three sons, telling him, “I’m safe, but I am going back in to help others.” “Dad, don’t do that. It’s too dangerous.” I’ll be o.k., he insisted. There are people in there, who need my help.” And that was the last time anyone heard from him. He perished.
His wife told me she had been furious, and though over the years, her fury had abated, she still could not forgive him for what she considered his blatant disregard for her and their three sons. “Strangers meant more to him than we did,” she fumed. He took a risk he should not have taken.” “Well,” I said, “if he had come out alive after helping others, you would call him a hero. And we really do not know how many others he did manage to help get out of the building. People are not heroes ONLY when they survive. They are heroes because they do brave things, putting their own lives at risk. Easy for you to say, she accused. You did not lose a husband to heroism. Your life and the life of your children were not put at risk. I did not say much after that, and we would still talk now and then about other topics.
But some years later, an accused terrorist was on trial, and a woman from Yale Divinity School, who actually began Divinity School after she lost her husband in 9/11 guest preached at my Church. She too had three teenagers, and she traveled to Cuba or Florida to offer testimony on behalf of mercy. And that is what she preached about---why she was for mercy. To her the accused man was both lost and sick. Well, some time after this, the woman at the Y, let’s call her Cheryl, was listening to the television about the man involved in the Boston Marathon bombing. I hope he gets the death penalty, she said. In response, I countered with I don’t want anyone getting the death penalty. That because you have never lost anyone to violence. And then I told her about the woman who had preached mercy at my church some years before. She never spoke to me after that.
When bad things happen, particularly when people do bad things, it is so easy to be focused on their guilt and responsibility. Moral responsibility is no small matter, and ignoring or overlooking it, has its own risks, which is why Jesus told these parables where culpability is not the issue, since coins and sheep cannot be held responsible for being lost. Jesus does this, I think, to change the direction of attention---away from the guilt of the lost and toward the moral responsibility of searching for and finding the lost. And in the very next verse after today’s lesson, Jesus will begin the story of the Prodigal Son, one of the most beloved of all Jesus’ parables, where there is both guilt and responsibility, and also a father who runs to meet his wayward son as he returns home and celebrates that the lost is now found while the older son stews in his resentment. The story of lostness continues not only in the Bible but also in our own lives.
Dear Friends,
When ministers in our denomination are ordained, there is often a question posed about the prophetic call to speak truth to power, phrased sometimes like this: Do you promise to serve and love the truth as best as you are able to discern it, and speak, if and when necessary, truth to power, always relying on God’s grace? You may recall that the Hebrew prophets were often in the uncomfortable position of telling various leaders, including kings and priests, truths they did not particularly want to hear. It was hardly a comfortable or easy call to be a prophet, and it should come as no surprise that sometimes prophets would try to run away from the call. Jeremiah was so upset with his call to be a prophet that he accused God of abusing him!
Fast forward to our time. Chances are you never heard the name David Kay. I never had either until I read a short article about him by a man named Bob Drogin. Kay was a hero, a man who spoke truth to power, and he dearly paid for this virtue. On January 28, 2004 Kay sat at a desk in a Senate Armed Service Committee hearing room and publicly acknowledged that the intelligence upon which the Iraq War was based was completely wrong. No one else from the White House or the intelligence community had ever admitted the errors, and his admission came as a shock---not because it was wrong, but because it was public.
After the 1991 Gulf War, Kay led one of the United Nations teams hunting for biological and chemical weapons in Iraq. There is a story that he once was in a four day stand off with Iraqi troops when he refused to return evidence he had of illicit nuclear activities. His reputation as a man with guts and intelligence placed him in a Washington job working on the issue of weapons proliferation. American Intelligence would sometimes rely on him to give them the latest scoop on countries considered hostile to American interests.
After the March 2003 invasion of Iraq found no weapons of mass destruction, President Bush put the CIA in charge of the search. George Tenant, head of the CIA, put Kay in charge of the Iraq Survey Group, charged with finding the missing weapons. The Group was composed of scientists, soldiers and even spies, but no weapons of mass destruction were ever found, only the hard truth that the intelligence claiming such weapons existed was based on supposition and lies---no facts whatsoever. At the end of March Kay returned to Washington to confront people with the hard truth. After 9/11 the CIA and other intelligence agencies had failed to connect the dots, but when it came to Iraq, Kay said, “they made up the dots.”
For telling the truth, for speaking truth to power, Kay became an outcast. Hardly anyone would speak with him and some even called him a traitor—behind his back, of course, simply because his words had humiliated the CIA. He was demoted to an office without a secure computer and phone, but after a month he quit. At one point he earned his living by taking wedding photographs. He died this past August 13, and it took the media more than a week to note his death from cancer at the age of 82.
Its “interesting” how other figures in the Iraq War fared. George Tenant, who led the CIA during and after the 9/11 attacks—despite the Agency’s failed intelligence--- was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom. And Paul Wolfowitz, who had been deputy defense secretary and a strong advocate of the Iraq War, became head of the World Bank. But the man who diligently did his homework and discovered the uncomfortable and hard truth became an outcast.
This is the way it often is. Speaking truth to power rarely makes one popular. It can cost heavily, and sometimes one pays with one’s life. Yet when truth is spoken, whether the cost is great or small, the power of its assertion, though it can take years to be heard and accepted, can give birth to hope and change.
I was deeply touched reading some of the comments made by Russians, going to pay their final respects to Gorbachev. They remembered him as a man who spoke the truth. He opened Soviet society in a way that was radically new. People could speak truthfully about government and history---at least as they understood it--- without fearing prison. Of course, now under Putin, speaking truthfully, for example, about the war in Ukraine, can land you a 15 year prison sentence.
While facts always participate in the truth, the truth can never be reduced to facts. Interpretation and imagination always enter into the picture, and even our best endeavor at understanding the truth is often partial and ambiguous. And yet we can and should celebrate those who speak the truth, especially when they are speaking to the powerful, who sometimes have very little interest in knowing what the truth is and how it can impact real lives. Remember what Jesus said, “Know the truth and the truth will set you free.” The Southern writer and faithful Roman Catholic, Flannery O’Connor had her own take on what Jesus said: “Know the truth and the truth will make you odd.” And indeed, truth can make you both odd and free.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
When ministers in our denomination are ordained, there is often a question posed about the prophetic call to speak truth to power, phrased sometimes like this: Do you promise to serve and love the truth as best as you are able to discern it, and speak, if and when necessary, truth to power, always relying on God’s grace? You may recall that the Hebrew prophets were often in the uncomfortable position of telling various leaders, including kings and priests, truths they did not particularly want to hear. It was hardly a comfortable or easy call to be a prophet, and it should come as no surprise that sometimes prophets would try to run away from the call. Jeremiah was so upset with his call to be a prophet that he accused God of abusing him!
Fast forward to our time. Chances are you never heard the name David Kay. I never had either until I read a short article about him by a man named Bob Drogin. Kay was a hero, a man who spoke truth to power, and he dearly paid for this virtue. On January 28, 2004 Kay sat at a desk in a Senate Armed Service Committee hearing room and publicly acknowledged that the intelligence upon which the Iraq War was based was completely wrong. No one else from the White House or the intelligence community had ever admitted the errors, and his admission came as a shock---not because it was wrong, but because it was public.
After the 1991 Gulf War, Kay led one of the United Nations teams hunting for biological and chemical weapons in Iraq. There is a story that he once was in a four day stand off with Iraqi troops when he refused to return evidence he had of illicit nuclear activities. His reputation as a man with guts and intelligence placed him in a Washington job working on the issue of weapons proliferation. American Intelligence would sometimes rely on him to give them the latest scoop on countries considered hostile to American interests.
After the March 2003 invasion of Iraq found no weapons of mass destruction, President Bush put the CIA in charge of the search. George Tenant, head of the CIA, put Kay in charge of the Iraq Survey Group, charged with finding the missing weapons. The Group was composed of scientists, soldiers and even spies, but no weapons of mass destruction were ever found, only the hard truth that the intelligence claiming such weapons existed was based on supposition and lies---no facts whatsoever. At the end of March Kay returned to Washington to confront people with the hard truth. After 9/11 the CIA and other intelligence agencies had failed to connect the dots, but when it came to Iraq, Kay said, “they made up the dots.”
For telling the truth, for speaking truth to power, Kay became an outcast. Hardly anyone would speak with him and some even called him a traitor—behind his back, of course, simply because his words had humiliated the CIA. He was demoted to an office without a secure computer and phone, but after a month he quit. At one point he earned his living by taking wedding photographs. He died this past August 13, and it took the media more than a week to note his death from cancer at the age of 82.
Its “interesting” how other figures in the Iraq War fared. George Tenant, who led the CIA during and after the 9/11 attacks—despite the Agency’s failed intelligence--- was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom. And Paul Wolfowitz, who had been deputy defense secretary and a strong advocate of the Iraq War, became head of the World Bank. But the man who diligently did his homework and discovered the uncomfortable and hard truth became an outcast.
This is the way it often is. Speaking truth to power rarely makes one popular. It can cost heavily, and sometimes one pays with one’s life. Yet when truth is spoken, whether the cost is great or small, the power of its assertion, though it can take years to be heard and accepted, can give birth to hope and change.
I was deeply touched reading some of the comments made by Russians, going to pay their final respects to Gorbachev. They remembered him as a man who spoke the truth. He opened Soviet society in a way that was radically new. People could speak truthfully about government and history---at least as they understood it--- without fearing prison. Of course, now under Putin, speaking truthfully, for example, about the war in Ukraine, can land you a 15 year prison sentence.
While facts always participate in the truth, the truth can never be reduced to facts. Interpretation and imagination always enter into the picture, and even our best endeavor at understanding the truth is often partial and ambiguous. And yet we can and should celebrate those who speak the truth, especially when they are speaking to the powerful, who sometimes have very little interest in knowing what the truth is and how it can impact real lives. Remember what Jesus said, “Know the truth and the truth will set you free.” The Southern writer and faithful Roman Catholic, Flannery O’Connor had her own take on what Jesus said: “Know the truth and the truth will make you odd.” And indeed, truth can make you both odd and free.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
“Have Leisure and Know I Am God”
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
September 4, 2022
Psalm 46
Mark 2: 23-28
My youngest daughter, Caitlin, was a French major in college, and she wrote her senior thesis on Antoine de Saint Exupery, a French writer and an aviator, who died in July, 1945, when his plane crashed In the dessert for unknown reasons. He wrote poetry and a number of novels, but is perhaps best known for his wonderful novella, The Little Prince. Caitlin read the book when she was about 10 and it has never lost its power to inspire her.
The Little Prince complains a great deal about grown ups, who don’t seem to understand what is truly important. “We must be patient with them,” he says, “because they do not know how to ask the right questions. When you make a new friend, the adults ask, How old is your friend, and what do his parents do for a living---which is really a question about how much money they make. They never ask what your friend’s voice sounds like, or what games he likes to play or books she likes to read. Work and money are what grown ups care about.
Well, there is a great deal of truth in what the Little Prince says. The adult world does care about work and money, and for good reason, since work is the way most of us support ourselves and since we spend so much time working, it does make sense to find work we enjoy. But something has happened in western culture that is unique: Work has become the single most important way of defining oneself and finding meaning. The question who you are has been reduced to what it is you do for a living. And indeed, as colleges and universities open this week, they are filled with students obsessing about what kind of work they will do, which is supposed to tell them who they are as people and what their worth is or will be.
This is completely in contrast to the biblical world. Status and wealth are not new inventions; they existed in biblical times, but work was not the means of defining status. Almost all wealth was inherited, and Israelite society offered limited opportunities to create new wealth, so people pretty much did what their parents had done. That was what life was like for not only Israel, but also for most people across the globe--- until the modern age. People worked, and they worked hard, but they did not constantly work. There was a tremendous amount of down time, when there was not much work to do. In fact, until industrialization, most people were not usually enslaved to their work.
Nowhere in the Old or New Testament is work understood to be the means of finding or creating meaning, self-definition and worth. In fact, when someone was defined by their work it was because they were pursuing immoral activities, such as prostitution or tax collecting, which were considered both socially and spiritually destructive. But even good and honest work was not considered to be the gateway to deeper meaning in life; God was the gateway, and the nurturing of a relationship with God was believed to require leisure, not the busyness of work. Psalm 46 verse 10, reads in both the New Revised Standard Version as well as the King James, “Be still and know I am God.” But another possible translation, which some scholars prefer is, “Have leisure and know I am God.”
Jesus certainly was at leisure a great deal of the time, withdrawing from his disciples to be alone with God. And by leisure I do not mean idleness. Leisure is understood as a kind of deep, inner silence, when God is listened to and for. It is a time when the distractions of the world are not banging down on our minds for attention. But increasingly we are losing that leisure, because we are hooked on the busyness of activities. And technology hardly helps us to unwind and relax. Even on vacation Americans are working as they text, email and zoom.
Some like to blame our Puritan forebears for an American obsession with work. There is this popular image of the Puritan as a humorless workaholic, disdaining pleasure and leisure. While it is true that Puritans disapproved of idleness, they made a very sharp distinction between leisure and idleness. Idleness was understood as an activity with no purpose beyond the activity---work for the sake of work, or work for the sake of amassing wealth, and the reason it was considered dangerous was because its aim was too low---far, far below the goodness God desires for God’s people, who are made in the image and likeness of God. The Puritans worked hard, and while they were suspicious of idleness, they did believe that leisure was necessary for human beings to flourish.
In today’s lesson we hear Jesus insist that the Sabbath was made for people not people for the Sabbath. In other words, people need sabbath to be fully human, fully alive to God and to others. Christianity begins its week with Sabbath, so even before you do a lick of work, you are given the gift of Sabbath. This is not so much for renewal or refreshment, but rather for being, for worship, for silence, for knowing. The psalmist sang, Be still and know that I am God! And if we are too busy to be still, too obsessed with work or accomplishments, we will not know or recognize God.
Sabbath is leisure, but not the kind of leisure, filled up with fun activities. In leisure we are called to quiet and contemplate, allowing the thought process to take us somewhere beyond the world of everyday problems and tasks. In the book of Job, the Old Testament story of a man, who struggles mightily with the questions Why must I suffer?, there is a line, so easy to overlook spoken by one of Job’s friends, “God gives songs in the middle of the night.” Effortlessly, peacefully the solutions, the words, the ideas, the songs sometimes come not in the bright light of the day, but in the darkness of the night.
No wonder the psalmist sang: “Have leisure and know I am God.” When we attend to the Bible, and the stories of people like Moses, Jacob, and Elijah and of course Jesus, we see that God has this habit of showing up not in the midst of obsessive busyness, but in stillness and quiet. And as the school year begins for many in the coming week, we should know that the Greek word for leisure is skole, in Latin scola, in English school. In other words, the proper understanding of school, the place that is supposed to be where the mind and spirit deeply learn has at its root meaning leisure.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
September 4, 2022
Psalm 46
Mark 2: 23-28
My youngest daughter, Caitlin, was a French major in college, and she wrote her senior thesis on Antoine de Saint Exupery, a French writer and an aviator, who died in July, 1945, when his plane crashed In the dessert for unknown reasons. He wrote poetry and a number of novels, but is perhaps best known for his wonderful novella, The Little Prince. Caitlin read the book when she was about 10 and it has never lost its power to inspire her.
The Little Prince complains a great deal about grown ups, who don’t seem to understand what is truly important. “We must be patient with them,” he says, “because they do not know how to ask the right questions. When you make a new friend, the adults ask, How old is your friend, and what do his parents do for a living---which is really a question about how much money they make. They never ask what your friend’s voice sounds like, or what games he likes to play or books she likes to read. Work and money are what grown ups care about.
Well, there is a great deal of truth in what the Little Prince says. The adult world does care about work and money, and for good reason, since work is the way most of us support ourselves and since we spend so much time working, it does make sense to find work we enjoy. But something has happened in western culture that is unique: Work has become the single most important way of defining oneself and finding meaning. The question who you are has been reduced to what it is you do for a living. And indeed, as colleges and universities open this week, they are filled with students obsessing about what kind of work they will do, which is supposed to tell them who they are as people and what their worth is or will be.
This is completely in contrast to the biblical world. Status and wealth are not new inventions; they existed in biblical times, but work was not the means of defining status. Almost all wealth was inherited, and Israelite society offered limited opportunities to create new wealth, so people pretty much did what their parents had done. That was what life was like for not only Israel, but also for most people across the globe--- until the modern age. People worked, and they worked hard, but they did not constantly work. There was a tremendous amount of down time, when there was not much work to do. In fact, until industrialization, most people were not usually enslaved to their work.
Nowhere in the Old or New Testament is work understood to be the means of finding or creating meaning, self-definition and worth. In fact, when someone was defined by their work it was because they were pursuing immoral activities, such as prostitution or tax collecting, which were considered both socially and spiritually destructive. But even good and honest work was not considered to be the gateway to deeper meaning in life; God was the gateway, and the nurturing of a relationship with God was believed to require leisure, not the busyness of work. Psalm 46 verse 10, reads in both the New Revised Standard Version as well as the King James, “Be still and know I am God.” But another possible translation, which some scholars prefer is, “Have leisure and know I am God.”
Jesus certainly was at leisure a great deal of the time, withdrawing from his disciples to be alone with God. And by leisure I do not mean idleness. Leisure is understood as a kind of deep, inner silence, when God is listened to and for. It is a time when the distractions of the world are not banging down on our minds for attention. But increasingly we are losing that leisure, because we are hooked on the busyness of activities. And technology hardly helps us to unwind and relax. Even on vacation Americans are working as they text, email and zoom.
Some like to blame our Puritan forebears for an American obsession with work. There is this popular image of the Puritan as a humorless workaholic, disdaining pleasure and leisure. While it is true that Puritans disapproved of idleness, they made a very sharp distinction between leisure and idleness. Idleness was understood as an activity with no purpose beyond the activity---work for the sake of work, or work for the sake of amassing wealth, and the reason it was considered dangerous was because its aim was too low---far, far below the goodness God desires for God’s people, who are made in the image and likeness of God. The Puritans worked hard, and while they were suspicious of idleness, they did believe that leisure was necessary for human beings to flourish.
In today’s lesson we hear Jesus insist that the Sabbath was made for people not people for the Sabbath. In other words, people need sabbath to be fully human, fully alive to God and to others. Christianity begins its week with Sabbath, so even before you do a lick of work, you are given the gift of Sabbath. This is not so much for renewal or refreshment, but rather for being, for worship, for silence, for knowing. The psalmist sang, Be still and know that I am God! And if we are too busy to be still, too obsessed with work or accomplishments, we will not know or recognize God.
Sabbath is leisure, but not the kind of leisure, filled up with fun activities. In leisure we are called to quiet and contemplate, allowing the thought process to take us somewhere beyond the world of everyday problems and tasks. In the book of Job, the Old Testament story of a man, who struggles mightily with the questions Why must I suffer?, there is a line, so easy to overlook spoken by one of Job’s friends, “God gives songs in the middle of the night.” Effortlessly, peacefully the solutions, the words, the ideas, the songs sometimes come not in the bright light of the day, but in the darkness of the night.
No wonder the psalmist sang: “Have leisure and know I am God.” When we attend to the Bible, and the stories of people like Moses, Jacob, and Elijah and of course Jesus, we see that God has this habit of showing up not in the midst of obsessive busyness, but in stillness and quiet. And as the school year begins for many in the coming week, we should know that the Greek word for leisure is skole, in Latin scola, in English school. In other words, the proper understanding of school, the place that is supposed to be where the mind and spirit deeply learn has at its root meaning leisure.
September 1, 2022
Dear Friends,
When I was growing up, Labor Day was a big deal, just as Memorial Day was. Most people did not work on those days, and stores were always closed. But in these past decades, I have noticed how little attention is actually paid to both holidays. For years now, for example, Wesleyan University begins its first day of classes on Labor Day. I always thought this was outrageous, given the very liberal leaning of the students and faculty. “Why isn’t Wesleyan standing in solidarity with workers?” I asked my husband. Apparently, it is not convenient; it throws off the academic calendar. Never mind that staff and professors object, since schools and day care centers are closed, so finding alternative child care arrangements is a major challenge. But that does not seem to matter. The Registrar controls the academic calendar, and so on campus Labor Day is ignored.
The Industrial Revolution hit its stride in the late 1800’s, and the average worker in the mills, mines and factories worked 12 hour days, seven days a week. Children as young as 5 or 6 also worked long hours at a fraction of adult pay. As manufacturing began to overtake agriculture as the backbone of employment, labor unions began to form and assert their power by marching and striking for better working conditions. On September 5, 1882, there was a famous labor march of 10,000 people from City Hall to Union Square in New York City. It was a quiet march, unlike some labor strikes, which turned violent, one of the most notorious being The Haymarket Riot of 1886 in Chicago when several workers and policemen were killed.
By the late 1800’s there was a push for recognition of a workman’s holiday and some states did institute such recognition. But the federal government would not recognize it until a watershed moment occurred with the Pullman Railway Strike in Chicago. On May 11, 1894, workers at Pullman went on strike to protest the low wages and the termination of union representatives. Over a month later, on June 26 The American Railway Union, led by the socialist, Eugene Debs, called for a boycott of ALL Pullman Railway cars, which crippled the nation. To break the strike, the federal government sent troops into Chicago, resulting in more violence and death. Congress immediately recognized the need for action to quell the violence and send the message to American workers that they were valued, and so it passed a law, designating Labor Day a legal holiday, the first Monday in September. President Grover Cleveland signed it on June 28, 1894.
Today we are a long way from the original spirit of Labor Day, which was about temperate, just and safe working conditions. There are now no rituals to celebrate the day, just cook outs with family and friends. For most people Labor Day is the unofficial end of the summer, just as Memorial Day inaugurates it. Some people feel we could use a reinvigoration of Labor Day, since technology means people are constantly connected to their work. Even on vacation people are reading emails, texting colleagues, and attending meetings via Zoom. Compared to 20 or 30 years ago, people are working more hours not less.
The world of work in the biblical world was nothing like this. People sometimes have the mistaken notion that without technology people worked all the time. But this was definitely NOT the case. There was a great deal of downtime, when not much had to be done, especially for men. This is what allowed Jesus’ disciples to leave home and follow him. They were not absent from their homes all the time, and scholars point out that when crops needed to be planted or harvested and fishing needed doing, they would return to home and do what was required. Consider the scenes of Jesus’ teaching, when crowds would gather around him and attend to what he had to say. People had the time to sit on a grassy knoll and listen to his words. They were not working all the time---though women probably had less free time, because they were the ones who had to fetch water, bake bread and care for the children every day.
I have no idea what Jesus would think of the labor movement, but I do have an idea that the labor movement would not have approved of some of Jesus labor practices---like the story of the workers in the vineyard, who were hired last and worked but a few hours and then received the same wages as the ones who worked all day. (Matthew 20: 1-16) But then the story is really not so much about labor as it is about a God, who is happy to receive even those who show up late. I just hope God has a good plan for those who do not show up at all.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
When I was growing up, Labor Day was a big deal, just as Memorial Day was. Most people did not work on those days, and stores were always closed. But in these past decades, I have noticed how little attention is actually paid to both holidays. For years now, for example, Wesleyan University begins its first day of classes on Labor Day. I always thought this was outrageous, given the very liberal leaning of the students and faculty. “Why isn’t Wesleyan standing in solidarity with workers?” I asked my husband. Apparently, it is not convenient; it throws off the academic calendar. Never mind that staff and professors object, since schools and day care centers are closed, so finding alternative child care arrangements is a major challenge. But that does not seem to matter. The Registrar controls the academic calendar, and so on campus Labor Day is ignored.
The Industrial Revolution hit its stride in the late 1800’s, and the average worker in the mills, mines and factories worked 12 hour days, seven days a week. Children as young as 5 or 6 also worked long hours at a fraction of adult pay. As manufacturing began to overtake agriculture as the backbone of employment, labor unions began to form and assert their power by marching and striking for better working conditions. On September 5, 1882, there was a famous labor march of 10,000 people from City Hall to Union Square in New York City. It was a quiet march, unlike some labor strikes, which turned violent, one of the most notorious being The Haymarket Riot of 1886 in Chicago when several workers and policemen were killed.
By the late 1800’s there was a push for recognition of a workman’s holiday and some states did institute such recognition. But the federal government would not recognize it until a watershed moment occurred with the Pullman Railway Strike in Chicago. On May 11, 1894, workers at Pullman went on strike to protest the low wages and the termination of union representatives. Over a month later, on June 26 The American Railway Union, led by the socialist, Eugene Debs, called for a boycott of ALL Pullman Railway cars, which crippled the nation. To break the strike, the federal government sent troops into Chicago, resulting in more violence and death. Congress immediately recognized the need for action to quell the violence and send the message to American workers that they were valued, and so it passed a law, designating Labor Day a legal holiday, the first Monday in September. President Grover Cleveland signed it on June 28, 1894.
Today we are a long way from the original spirit of Labor Day, which was about temperate, just and safe working conditions. There are now no rituals to celebrate the day, just cook outs with family and friends. For most people Labor Day is the unofficial end of the summer, just as Memorial Day inaugurates it. Some people feel we could use a reinvigoration of Labor Day, since technology means people are constantly connected to their work. Even on vacation people are reading emails, texting colleagues, and attending meetings via Zoom. Compared to 20 or 30 years ago, people are working more hours not less.
The world of work in the biblical world was nothing like this. People sometimes have the mistaken notion that without technology people worked all the time. But this was definitely NOT the case. There was a great deal of downtime, when not much had to be done, especially for men. This is what allowed Jesus’ disciples to leave home and follow him. They were not absent from their homes all the time, and scholars point out that when crops needed to be planted or harvested and fishing needed doing, they would return to home and do what was required. Consider the scenes of Jesus’ teaching, when crowds would gather around him and attend to what he had to say. People had the time to sit on a grassy knoll and listen to his words. They were not working all the time---though women probably had less free time, because they were the ones who had to fetch water, bake bread and care for the children every day.
I have no idea what Jesus would think of the labor movement, but I do have an idea that the labor movement would not have approved of some of Jesus labor practices---like the story of the workers in the vineyard, who were hired last and worked but a few hours and then received the same wages as the ones who worked all day. (Matthew 20: 1-16) But then the story is really not so much about labor as it is about a God, who is happy to receive even those who show up late. I just hope God has a good plan for those who do not show up at all.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Humiliation and Humility
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville
August 28, 2022
Luke 14: 1-14
There is a famous painting by Mary Cassatt, a French Impressionist painter, who although born in the United States, did much of her work in Paris, because as a female artist she was better accepted in France than in the United States. Her painting of 1878, The Opera, shows a woman in a black dress, holding some binoculars, directly positioned toward the stage, while a man across the theatre, leaning out of his opera box, is obviously gazing at this woman. While she is focused on the opera, he is focused on her. So, we have here two observers, gazing for different purposes, not unlike what we have in this story from Luke. Jesus was being closely watched by the Pharisees, but so too was Jesus closely watching as Pharisees, lawyers, and other guests took their seats at the table.
So, why were the Pharisees observing Jesus? Most likely to catch him doing something wrong--- like ignoring the law. And Jesus was watching them to see what kind of lesson he could teach. You might recall from last week’s gospel that Jesus had healed a woman on the Sabbath, who had been bent over for many years, and he was criticized for working on the Sabbath. Now once again on the Sabbath, he will heal another person, but this time no one will dare say anything to him. And then Jesus proceeds to teach them a lesson. But the lesson is not a very polite one. Remember, Jesus had been invited to the home of this Pharisee for dinner, and what did he do? He proceeded to remind them of dinner etiquette, when the most important guest would come late or at least last, and that person would be given a seat at the head of the table. Everyone knew where the honored place was and who should sit there, and people would try to get as close to that guest as possible. Status was the name of the game, and the closer one sits to status, the higher one’s own status will be---or so people like to believe.
But Jesus reminded his listeners that the status game is not what it is all about. Not only did he remind them of the rules, he then proceeded to criticize the guest list, telling his host that he should reach beyond status and invite the least of these--- the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind. You see, physical infirmities in Jesus’ day were often viewed as a sign of divine disfavor or punishment, and poverty was often understood in the same way. So, here Jesus is, an invited guest, and he dared to publicly call out his host for inviting the wrong kind of people. Quite frankly, it bordered on a public humiliation. But humiliation was not his intent. Jesus was after humility.
Humility is a virtue, but humiliation is something else. Consider times in your life you have been humiliated, perhaps even publicly humiliated. Were those situations really good teachers? Let me give you an example from my ministry when I was publicly humiliated. I had been ordained for three years or so, and I was conducting a wedding service for a couple at a very posh country club on Long Island. The bride came from a Roman Catholic background and the groom from a Jewish one, but neither were religious, yet they felt it was important that the ceremony evoke the seriousness of the commitment they were making, and so they wanted an ordained person. Well, at the time of the wedding I was about 6 months pregnant with my fourth child, and as the ceremony was just beginning, the great grandmother of the bride, an old world Italian Catholic, stood up and said as loudly as she could, “Bad enough she is a woman and a Protestant, but a pregnant one, that is disgusting,” and she then marched out along with about 10 others, who felt they could not defy the family’s matriarch. The bride burst into tears and the groom stood there, looking as if he were about to vomit.
I felt completely humiliated, though I rationally knew that the humiliation belonged to the great grandmother and not to me. So, I took a deep breath and in a very shaky voice said, “We are about to perform a ceremony that celebrates love, and love, when it truly is love, expands, and deepens us. It neither diminishes nor humiliates, so let us proceed by celebrating love. We did proceed, but I can tell you that for most people, including the bride, the ceremony was ruined. And I just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. I did not want to hear anyone’s apologies or explanations. That is how humiliation works its awful power, even when we know we have done NOTHING to deserve the humiliation.
Now let’s consider an experience of humility that did not involve me at all. It is something I recently read about, which happened 20 years ago, when three young men, then in their mid twenties, were on a wilderness trip to Alaska. They had just been dropped off on this relatively deserted island, and as the boat that brought them to their destination chugged away, one of the men remembers this sinking feeling in the pit of his gut as he suddenly deeply felt their aloneness. As the darkness of the night descended, with no warning at all, a tree fell on one of the men, pinning him to the ground in a cold puddle of water. Now the danger was not only Internal bleeding but also hypothermia. Cell phones were useless, so they radioed for help and sent up flaccid flares.
One of the young men had been an English major in college, and he had two different professors, who required the class to memorize poems. “You never know,” his professors said, “when these words might save your life.” And so, very calmly he began to repeat poem after poem from the English language’s greatest writers: Blake, Frost, Dickinson, Shakespeare, Tennyson, Auden, the latter’s words suddenly becoming more than real as he gazed at the night sky:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
And there was another poem he could not remember, only one line that clung to his mind: Why are we not better than we are?
On and on he went, sometimes repeating the poems. The ending of the story was a good one; the young man was rescued, and he did not lose any body parts. Years later, when the three would have their reunions, the saved man said, “You were so calm with your voice repeating the words from some of the most beautiful poems in the English language that my own fears were calmed, and I could allow myself to believe that help would come.”
And the man who repeated the poems said something like this. “We could do nothing to remove the tree. We were imprisoned by our inaction, seeminlgy completely helpless, but I did what I could do. And while reciting those poems, the one feeling that overwhelmed my heart, head and spirit was humility. Not being able to do much, I drew out the one thing I could do, and I think it helped all three of us. We were all humbled by the circumstances in which we found ourselves---the vastness of nature’s power to bring someone to the ground and the dependence we would have on others to save us. It truly was a religious experience, and humility was both the teacher and the lesson.” I don’t think Jesus could have put it any better.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville
August 28, 2022
Luke 14: 1-14
There is a famous painting by Mary Cassatt, a French Impressionist painter, who although born in the United States, did much of her work in Paris, because as a female artist she was better accepted in France than in the United States. Her painting of 1878, The Opera, shows a woman in a black dress, holding some binoculars, directly positioned toward the stage, while a man across the theatre, leaning out of his opera box, is obviously gazing at this woman. While she is focused on the opera, he is focused on her. So, we have here two observers, gazing for different purposes, not unlike what we have in this story from Luke. Jesus was being closely watched by the Pharisees, but so too was Jesus closely watching as Pharisees, lawyers, and other guests took their seats at the table.
So, why were the Pharisees observing Jesus? Most likely to catch him doing something wrong--- like ignoring the law. And Jesus was watching them to see what kind of lesson he could teach. You might recall from last week’s gospel that Jesus had healed a woman on the Sabbath, who had been bent over for many years, and he was criticized for working on the Sabbath. Now once again on the Sabbath, he will heal another person, but this time no one will dare say anything to him. And then Jesus proceeds to teach them a lesson. But the lesson is not a very polite one. Remember, Jesus had been invited to the home of this Pharisee for dinner, and what did he do? He proceeded to remind them of dinner etiquette, when the most important guest would come late or at least last, and that person would be given a seat at the head of the table. Everyone knew where the honored place was and who should sit there, and people would try to get as close to that guest as possible. Status was the name of the game, and the closer one sits to status, the higher one’s own status will be---or so people like to believe.
But Jesus reminded his listeners that the status game is not what it is all about. Not only did he remind them of the rules, he then proceeded to criticize the guest list, telling his host that he should reach beyond status and invite the least of these--- the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind. You see, physical infirmities in Jesus’ day were often viewed as a sign of divine disfavor or punishment, and poverty was often understood in the same way. So, here Jesus is, an invited guest, and he dared to publicly call out his host for inviting the wrong kind of people. Quite frankly, it bordered on a public humiliation. But humiliation was not his intent. Jesus was after humility.
Humility is a virtue, but humiliation is something else. Consider times in your life you have been humiliated, perhaps even publicly humiliated. Were those situations really good teachers? Let me give you an example from my ministry when I was publicly humiliated. I had been ordained for three years or so, and I was conducting a wedding service for a couple at a very posh country club on Long Island. The bride came from a Roman Catholic background and the groom from a Jewish one, but neither were religious, yet they felt it was important that the ceremony evoke the seriousness of the commitment they were making, and so they wanted an ordained person. Well, at the time of the wedding I was about 6 months pregnant with my fourth child, and as the ceremony was just beginning, the great grandmother of the bride, an old world Italian Catholic, stood up and said as loudly as she could, “Bad enough she is a woman and a Protestant, but a pregnant one, that is disgusting,” and she then marched out along with about 10 others, who felt they could not defy the family’s matriarch. The bride burst into tears and the groom stood there, looking as if he were about to vomit.
I felt completely humiliated, though I rationally knew that the humiliation belonged to the great grandmother and not to me. So, I took a deep breath and in a very shaky voice said, “We are about to perform a ceremony that celebrates love, and love, when it truly is love, expands, and deepens us. It neither diminishes nor humiliates, so let us proceed by celebrating love. We did proceed, but I can tell you that for most people, including the bride, the ceremony was ruined. And I just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. I did not want to hear anyone’s apologies or explanations. That is how humiliation works its awful power, even when we know we have done NOTHING to deserve the humiliation.
Now let’s consider an experience of humility that did not involve me at all. It is something I recently read about, which happened 20 years ago, when three young men, then in their mid twenties, were on a wilderness trip to Alaska. They had just been dropped off on this relatively deserted island, and as the boat that brought them to their destination chugged away, one of the men remembers this sinking feeling in the pit of his gut as he suddenly deeply felt their aloneness. As the darkness of the night descended, with no warning at all, a tree fell on one of the men, pinning him to the ground in a cold puddle of water. Now the danger was not only Internal bleeding but also hypothermia. Cell phones were useless, so they radioed for help and sent up flaccid flares.
One of the young men had been an English major in college, and he had two different professors, who required the class to memorize poems. “You never know,” his professors said, “when these words might save your life.” And so, very calmly he began to repeat poem after poem from the English language’s greatest writers: Blake, Frost, Dickinson, Shakespeare, Tennyson, Auden, the latter’s words suddenly becoming more than real as he gazed at the night sky:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
And there was another poem he could not remember, only one line that clung to his mind: Why are we not better than we are?
On and on he went, sometimes repeating the poems. The ending of the story was a good one; the young man was rescued, and he did not lose any body parts. Years later, when the three would have their reunions, the saved man said, “You were so calm with your voice repeating the words from some of the most beautiful poems in the English language that my own fears were calmed, and I could allow myself to believe that help would come.”
And the man who repeated the poems said something like this. “We could do nothing to remove the tree. We were imprisoned by our inaction, seeminlgy completely helpless, but I did what I could do. And while reciting those poems, the one feeling that overwhelmed my heart, head and spirit was humility. Not being able to do much, I drew out the one thing I could do, and I think it helped all three of us. We were all humbled by the circumstances in which we found ourselves---the vastness of nature’s power to bring someone to the ground and the dependence we would have on others to save us. It truly was a religious experience, and humility was both the teacher and the lesson.” I don’t think Jesus could have put it any better.
Landscapes of the Sacred
Preached by The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
August 21, 2022
Someone once said, “Tell me the landscape in which you live, and I will tell you who you are.” Indeed, place, space, geography: it does help to make us who we are, because we human beings tend to identify ourselves with particular places. Our human history and personal experiences happen in certain spaces, and we are who we are, (at least in part) because of the places we have been and the experiences we have had there. Even in a mobile country like ours, where people move around, leaving multiple homes and places behind, the sense of place still haunts us. We never truly escape the places from which we have come, even as we claim new places, where our personal stories continue to unfold. “Tell me the landscape in which you live, and I will tell you who you are.”
And the same is true for the religious and spiritual life. I was thinking about this in regard to Jeremiah, one of Israel’s great prophets, who had very little interest in doing God’s work. That is the point of our lesson today: It was not Jeremiah’s idea to be a prophet; it was God’s, and though Jeremiah tried to resist many times throughout his life, he did not manage to escape God’s call. And I wonder if that had something to do with the actual landscape in which Jeremiah lived.
I have been to Israel twice in my life, and I will tell you how moved I was by the landscape---especially the desert. This one afternoon the group I was with (Jews and Christians on a pilgrimage together) were driven in jeeps through the desert. I had this preconceived notion that the desert was this flat expanse of sand, an uninterrupted sameness going on for what looked like eternity. But that was not how it was. The terrain was pockmarked by huge sand hills and rocks, some of them like giant sculptures, jutting out of the ground toward the heavens. Up and down, we drove, careening around rocks, while the sun beat down before beginning its descent into evening. Hot in the daylight, but cold at night, the desert’s temperatures creep up and then make a precipitous descent as the sun deserts the sky.
What did this landscape mean for the people who helped to give birth to the prophetic imagination, which boldly criticizes the people for their failure to embrace justice and mercy. Such scathing critique was unique in world history. Jeremiah thought it was all God’s idea, but why did he hear and listen? Many people are deaf to God’s word---maybe most people are. So, how was it that Jeremiah could bear to hear God’s words of judgment? Was there something in the very landscape itself that unstopped his ears and opened his eyes to the grandeur of God’s demands? The place he came from had its divided loyalties between Israel to the north and Judah to the South. And Jeremiah too felt divided, a man very resistant to God’s call even as he wanted to live a normal life.
Jeremiah’s God was tough and demanding, not unlike the landscape of the desert with its shifting sands and jagged rocks, whose colors glisten in the sunlight only to become enemy hurdles that can bury and rip you apart as the light races from the sky. The sounds of the desert are eerie, sometimes frightening as the winds howl and animals roam at night, giving you the sense that in this place humans do not rule. Perhaps that is why Jeremiah heard and listened. Perhaps he felt he had no choice but to hear and respond.
The stories of our religious past happened in certain places. Particular geographies have left their marks on the men and women whose faith was forged in a Middle Eastern desert or in a colonial New England village. Our religious heritage, for example, has been heavily influenced by the theology of John Calvin, who the generation after Martin Luther And one of Calvin’s main theological points, which was so central to the Puritans, who settled New England, was the inscrutability of God, the magisterial mystery of God. Over and over again, Calvin intoned that God remains beyond anything we can think or imagine. There is a hidden quality about God, which cannot be grasped---except as God chooses to reveal God self and accommodate God-self to the limitations of human knowledge and understanding. Though Calvin was French--- he would have been burned at the stake had he remained in Paris--- most of his reforming work was done in the city of Geneva. Geneva was considered by the reformed Protestants the new Jerusalem, not unlike the way Puritans would later consider their own colony in New England as the new Jerusalem, the city on a hill as John Winthrop called it.
Geneva, the seat of reformed theology in Europe, where Calvin and his elders ruled, is a lovely city, sitting on the lake, surrounded by mountains whose tops, often covered by dense clouds, push their way toward the heavens. It is stunning, but a full panoramic view is often obscured, until the clouds clear, and then how magnificent the landscape appears. You can then see what before your eyes were blinded to. Do we really think there was no relationship between the geography of place and the reformed theology that preached the inscrutability of God? “Show me the landscape where you live, and I will tell you who you are.”
I recently read about a professor, who years ago, had taught a class of retired American history teachers, a highly motivated group of men and women, still trying to expand their understanding of what they had taught for so many years. And the professor asked them if there were any places they had visited, where they had been met by something big, so big they might even dare to name the experience holy. And the names of places came: Lenin’s Tomb, a bombed out street in Berlin, the Hiroshima Peace Park, the Battlefield at Gettysburg, a patch of forested land in Normandy, France. All these places were the sites where people were encountered by something which forever changed them.
The man, for example, who had named Lenin’s Tomb, talked about his own father, a Russian, who had been a committed communist until Stalin came to power and murdered 20 million Soviet citizens. “I always had this deep distrust of my father,” the man said, “because I could never understand his embrace of communism. Years later, after my father was dead, I made a pilgrimage to Russia and stood alone at Lenin’s Tomb, where I suddenly received a gift, a recognition of my father’s deep and keen idealism and then the terrible pain of betrayal and disappointment he lived with for the rest of his life. Though he immigrated to the United States, where he met my mother and raised five kids in a nation that was good to him, he never felt home here. This was never really his place, and when I stood at Lenin’s Tomb, somehow, I understood. But I couldn’t have figured it out on my own. It was a gift, given to me, and in a strange sort of way Lenin’s Tomb has become for me a holy place, where I was connected to my father in a new and deeper way.”
Another man told of his experiences in Berlin after the Second World War.
“I hated the Germans,” he confessed. “I had recently helped to liberate a concentration camp, and when I finally got to Berlin, I wanted to see the whole city smashed and the population decimated. I was filled with fury and hatred. And then, late one afternoon, walking alone on this deserted, bombed out street, I saw a little boy, not more than 5 or 6, wandering alone and lost. As I came closer, I noticed that his face wore an expression beyond terror, as if he had seen far more than any child can bear to see, and suddenly this deep compassion overwhelmed me, and all sense of self righteousness disappeared. I met my own guilt in the face of this child, and I knew that before God I was guilty too. I wept, because I was found by something I was not looking for.”
Jeremiah was not looking for God, but God found Jeremiah. Maybe on some level, we all have our own wildernesses or deserts to cross, the places in which we wander, sometimes lost, sometimes found. We have this illusion that our story is completely ours to write, but people like Jeremiah remind us that God sometimes writes or at least edits our stories. We all have places in our lives that help to make us who we are. “Show me the landscape where you live, and I will tell you who you are.
Preached by The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
August 21, 2022
Someone once said, “Tell me the landscape in which you live, and I will tell you who you are.” Indeed, place, space, geography: it does help to make us who we are, because we human beings tend to identify ourselves with particular places. Our human history and personal experiences happen in certain spaces, and we are who we are, (at least in part) because of the places we have been and the experiences we have had there. Even in a mobile country like ours, where people move around, leaving multiple homes and places behind, the sense of place still haunts us. We never truly escape the places from which we have come, even as we claim new places, where our personal stories continue to unfold. “Tell me the landscape in which you live, and I will tell you who you are.”
And the same is true for the religious and spiritual life. I was thinking about this in regard to Jeremiah, one of Israel’s great prophets, who had very little interest in doing God’s work. That is the point of our lesson today: It was not Jeremiah’s idea to be a prophet; it was God’s, and though Jeremiah tried to resist many times throughout his life, he did not manage to escape God’s call. And I wonder if that had something to do with the actual landscape in which Jeremiah lived.
I have been to Israel twice in my life, and I will tell you how moved I was by the landscape---especially the desert. This one afternoon the group I was with (Jews and Christians on a pilgrimage together) were driven in jeeps through the desert. I had this preconceived notion that the desert was this flat expanse of sand, an uninterrupted sameness going on for what looked like eternity. But that was not how it was. The terrain was pockmarked by huge sand hills and rocks, some of them like giant sculptures, jutting out of the ground toward the heavens. Up and down, we drove, careening around rocks, while the sun beat down before beginning its descent into evening. Hot in the daylight, but cold at night, the desert’s temperatures creep up and then make a precipitous descent as the sun deserts the sky.
What did this landscape mean for the people who helped to give birth to the prophetic imagination, which boldly criticizes the people for their failure to embrace justice and mercy. Such scathing critique was unique in world history. Jeremiah thought it was all God’s idea, but why did he hear and listen? Many people are deaf to God’s word---maybe most people are. So, how was it that Jeremiah could bear to hear God’s words of judgment? Was there something in the very landscape itself that unstopped his ears and opened his eyes to the grandeur of God’s demands? The place he came from had its divided loyalties between Israel to the north and Judah to the South. And Jeremiah too felt divided, a man very resistant to God’s call even as he wanted to live a normal life.
Jeremiah’s God was tough and demanding, not unlike the landscape of the desert with its shifting sands and jagged rocks, whose colors glisten in the sunlight only to become enemy hurdles that can bury and rip you apart as the light races from the sky. The sounds of the desert are eerie, sometimes frightening as the winds howl and animals roam at night, giving you the sense that in this place humans do not rule. Perhaps that is why Jeremiah heard and listened. Perhaps he felt he had no choice but to hear and respond.
The stories of our religious past happened in certain places. Particular geographies have left their marks on the men and women whose faith was forged in a Middle Eastern desert or in a colonial New England village. Our religious heritage, for example, has been heavily influenced by the theology of John Calvin, who the generation after Martin Luther And one of Calvin’s main theological points, which was so central to the Puritans, who settled New England, was the inscrutability of God, the magisterial mystery of God. Over and over again, Calvin intoned that God remains beyond anything we can think or imagine. There is a hidden quality about God, which cannot be grasped---except as God chooses to reveal God self and accommodate God-self to the limitations of human knowledge and understanding. Though Calvin was French--- he would have been burned at the stake had he remained in Paris--- most of his reforming work was done in the city of Geneva. Geneva was considered by the reformed Protestants the new Jerusalem, not unlike the way Puritans would later consider their own colony in New England as the new Jerusalem, the city on a hill as John Winthrop called it.
Geneva, the seat of reformed theology in Europe, where Calvin and his elders ruled, is a lovely city, sitting on the lake, surrounded by mountains whose tops, often covered by dense clouds, push their way toward the heavens. It is stunning, but a full panoramic view is often obscured, until the clouds clear, and then how magnificent the landscape appears. You can then see what before your eyes were blinded to. Do we really think there was no relationship between the geography of place and the reformed theology that preached the inscrutability of God? “Show me the landscape where you live, and I will tell you who you are.”
I recently read about a professor, who years ago, had taught a class of retired American history teachers, a highly motivated group of men and women, still trying to expand their understanding of what they had taught for so many years. And the professor asked them if there were any places they had visited, where they had been met by something big, so big they might even dare to name the experience holy. And the names of places came: Lenin’s Tomb, a bombed out street in Berlin, the Hiroshima Peace Park, the Battlefield at Gettysburg, a patch of forested land in Normandy, France. All these places were the sites where people were encountered by something which forever changed them.
The man, for example, who had named Lenin’s Tomb, talked about his own father, a Russian, who had been a committed communist until Stalin came to power and murdered 20 million Soviet citizens. “I always had this deep distrust of my father,” the man said, “because I could never understand his embrace of communism. Years later, after my father was dead, I made a pilgrimage to Russia and stood alone at Lenin’s Tomb, where I suddenly received a gift, a recognition of my father’s deep and keen idealism and then the terrible pain of betrayal and disappointment he lived with for the rest of his life. Though he immigrated to the United States, where he met my mother and raised five kids in a nation that was good to him, he never felt home here. This was never really his place, and when I stood at Lenin’s Tomb, somehow, I understood. But I couldn’t have figured it out on my own. It was a gift, given to me, and in a strange sort of way Lenin’s Tomb has become for me a holy place, where I was connected to my father in a new and deeper way.”
Another man told of his experiences in Berlin after the Second World War.
“I hated the Germans,” he confessed. “I had recently helped to liberate a concentration camp, and when I finally got to Berlin, I wanted to see the whole city smashed and the population decimated. I was filled with fury and hatred. And then, late one afternoon, walking alone on this deserted, bombed out street, I saw a little boy, not more than 5 or 6, wandering alone and lost. As I came closer, I noticed that his face wore an expression beyond terror, as if he had seen far more than any child can bear to see, and suddenly this deep compassion overwhelmed me, and all sense of self righteousness disappeared. I met my own guilt in the face of this child, and I knew that before God I was guilty too. I wept, because I was found by something I was not looking for.”
Jeremiah was not looking for God, but God found Jeremiah. Maybe on some level, we all have our own wildernesses or deserts to cross, the places in which we wander, sometimes lost, sometimes found. We have this illusion that our story is completely ours to write, but people like Jeremiah remind us that God sometimes writes or at least edits our stories. We all have places in our lives that help to make us who we are. “Show me the landscape where you live, and I will tell you who you are.
August 24, 2022
Dear Friends,
The Russian writer, Dostoevsky, once said, “Beauty will save the world.” With some hesitation the Church has agreed, which is why it has theologically affirmed that God is beautiful and through the centuries has invested in beauty, including beautiful buildings, beautiful sculpture, beautiful paintings and stained glass. The Beautiful has been a way of communicating God.
And so, when I came across an article about refugee Ukrainian artists in Paris, who are trying to inspire compassion for the Ukrainian people through the beauty of their art, it made complete sense to me. The Kiev City Ballet, for example, is exiled in France, having arrived in Paris for a tour just a few days before the war in Ukraine began. They remained in Paris along with many other Ukrainian artists, who are trying to use their art as a way of humanizing the conflict. They realize that it is not productive to continue to show the same images of war, because people simply will turn it off. The Cultural Center of Ukraine in France has a goal of offering a positive image of Ukraine to the French people for the purpose of building a lasting link between the two nations. And so, to that end many different workshops and programs are offered. On the top floor of the Center a Ukrainian woman plays a piano and sings traditional Ukrainian folk songs for a small audience. Before the war came, the songs to her were simply delightful songs, but now the songs are a way of helping her to process her emotions about the war, just as many of the ballet dancers from Kiev say the same thing about their dancing. Dancers dance and singers sing, and by doing so they are helped to realize what it is they are actually feeling.
There is a traditional Ukrainian painting style, Petrykivka, which was placed on UNESCO’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2013. Used to decorate the facades of buildings with symbolic images like trees or sunflowers, the style is the subject of workshops offered at the Cultural Center. One woman, who came from Ukraine to Paris eight years ago, had never tried to paint before, but with the war going on in Ukraine, she said she needs to feel connected to the Ukrainian people and painting in this style helps her to achieve that. As a child she grew up surrounded by this kind of work, and now as an adult, who cannot go home, she says the painting allows her to feel a deep kinship with her home.
The Cultural Center recently asked Ukrainian artists to express their emotions about the war in a mural on one of the Center’s walls in partnership with students from the Paris Academy of Fine Arts. The atmosphere was politically charged and there were many French people, who did believe at least some of the Russian propaganda about the war. That was difficult for the Ukrainian artists to accept and all the artists, Ukrainian and French, had to work hard to find a balance between pure art and hidden messages. Perhaps one of the lessons learned is that pure art is rarely ever completely pure. No one comes to art without some formed perspective on particular issues, including war and national identity.
There is another project called KidsDrawPeace4Ukraine. News organizations around the world call on young persons to create art that communicates peace and good will for the children of Ukraine. The drawings are posted on social media and children from all over the world have participated. Recently, the project asked refugee children to create their own images and share them online. Some people noted that the images of the Ukrainian and French children were really not so different, though the experiences of the two groups certainly differed. There is a power and universality in art that sometimes transcends national identity and experience.
The French government is trying hard to show support for exiled Ukrainian artists by pledging monetary support. So too has the French artistic community worked to give its support. There have been televised programs of Ukrainian and French artists and dancers performing together to raise funds.
With the war effort in Ukraine requiring so much military aid and support from the West, it might seem an excess for Ukrainian ART to assume such a prominent presence in Paris. Some might feel that this is not the important place to put one’s energies and commitment. But human beings are art making creatures. Consider the prehistoric cave paintings in Lascaux, France, which show our human ancestors expressing themselves through art. Art is one of the endeavors that makes us human, and though Jesus did not speak about art, his stories and parables were certainly an art form. And the Church throughout its history has had the wisdom to realize that art helps us to tell and understand God’s story in a fuller way.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
The Russian writer, Dostoevsky, once said, “Beauty will save the world.” With some hesitation the Church has agreed, which is why it has theologically affirmed that God is beautiful and through the centuries has invested in beauty, including beautiful buildings, beautiful sculpture, beautiful paintings and stained glass. The Beautiful has been a way of communicating God.
And so, when I came across an article about refugee Ukrainian artists in Paris, who are trying to inspire compassion for the Ukrainian people through the beauty of their art, it made complete sense to me. The Kiev City Ballet, for example, is exiled in France, having arrived in Paris for a tour just a few days before the war in Ukraine began. They remained in Paris along with many other Ukrainian artists, who are trying to use their art as a way of humanizing the conflict. They realize that it is not productive to continue to show the same images of war, because people simply will turn it off. The Cultural Center of Ukraine in France has a goal of offering a positive image of Ukraine to the French people for the purpose of building a lasting link between the two nations. And so, to that end many different workshops and programs are offered. On the top floor of the Center a Ukrainian woman plays a piano and sings traditional Ukrainian folk songs for a small audience. Before the war came, the songs to her were simply delightful songs, but now the songs are a way of helping her to process her emotions about the war, just as many of the ballet dancers from Kiev say the same thing about their dancing. Dancers dance and singers sing, and by doing so they are helped to realize what it is they are actually feeling.
There is a traditional Ukrainian painting style, Petrykivka, which was placed on UNESCO’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2013. Used to decorate the facades of buildings with symbolic images like trees or sunflowers, the style is the subject of workshops offered at the Cultural Center. One woman, who came from Ukraine to Paris eight years ago, had never tried to paint before, but with the war going on in Ukraine, she said she needs to feel connected to the Ukrainian people and painting in this style helps her to achieve that. As a child she grew up surrounded by this kind of work, and now as an adult, who cannot go home, she says the painting allows her to feel a deep kinship with her home.
The Cultural Center recently asked Ukrainian artists to express their emotions about the war in a mural on one of the Center’s walls in partnership with students from the Paris Academy of Fine Arts. The atmosphere was politically charged and there were many French people, who did believe at least some of the Russian propaganda about the war. That was difficult for the Ukrainian artists to accept and all the artists, Ukrainian and French, had to work hard to find a balance between pure art and hidden messages. Perhaps one of the lessons learned is that pure art is rarely ever completely pure. No one comes to art without some formed perspective on particular issues, including war and national identity.
There is another project called KidsDrawPeace4Ukraine. News organizations around the world call on young persons to create art that communicates peace and good will for the children of Ukraine. The drawings are posted on social media and children from all over the world have participated. Recently, the project asked refugee children to create their own images and share them online. Some people noted that the images of the Ukrainian and French children were really not so different, though the experiences of the two groups certainly differed. There is a power and universality in art that sometimes transcends national identity and experience.
The French government is trying hard to show support for exiled Ukrainian artists by pledging monetary support. So too has the French artistic community worked to give its support. There have been televised programs of Ukrainian and French artists and dancers performing together to raise funds.
With the war effort in Ukraine requiring so much military aid and support from the West, it might seem an excess for Ukrainian ART to assume such a prominent presence in Paris. Some might feel that this is not the important place to put one’s energies and commitment. But human beings are art making creatures. Consider the prehistoric cave paintings in Lascaux, France, which show our human ancestors expressing themselves through art. Art is one of the endeavors that makes us human, and though Jesus did not speak about art, his stories and parables were certainly an art form. And the Church throughout its history has had the wisdom to realize that art helps us to tell and understand God’s story in a fuller way.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
August 18, 2022
Dear Friends,
Last week I watched a movie called, The Resistance Banker, the story of two brothers, Gigs and Walraven van Hal, who during the Second World War, used their banking skills to illegally fund the Resistance in Amsterdam. They began by funneling money to what looked like on paper a charitable fund, but as the story progressed, Walraven became even more deeply involved in theft and forgery to defeat the Nazis, help the Jews and others, who were suffering under the totalitarian regime. My daughter tells me I am obsessed with the Nazis, but I tell her time and time again that I am drawn to stories of human courage, and certainly fighting against the Nazis involved tremendous courage. This story was kept hidden for years. The Bank did not want it made known how effectively illegal monetary activities were undertaken, even if the actions were on behalf of a noble cause. Finally in 2010 a statue of Walraven, who was martyred, was placed in front of the State National Bank in Amsterdam, and the full story became public, including the making of a movie.
It is important, even vitally essential, for us to have heroes and heroines, people who can inspire us with their courage, intelligence, and commitment to the good, sometimes at great risk to their own lives. A recently retired high school history teacher noted that over the past twenty years of her career, she noticed a loss of heroes in her high school students. ‘They are impressed by celebrity,” she said, “but they don’t seem to have people, who really inspire with their example of strong moral attributes.”
I have always had heroes, and one of my earliest (at about the age of 4) was The Lone Ranger. He always was on the side of the good, and I loved the end of each episode, when he was riding away after saving someone from disaster, and the person would ask, “Who is that masked man?” And the same answer would come each week, whose words I would enthusiastically repeat, “Why don’t you know? That’s the Lone Ranger!”
Another one of my heroes is Frances Perkins. I knew about her from my father, who was a big admirer of FDR. He told me, when I was in high school and studying the New Deal in my American History class, that she was the first female Cabinet secretary, serving as the Secretary of Labor. I remember a few things he said about her: Though born in Boston, she had deep connections to the state of Maine, where both parents came from, and she often returned there to spend time with grandparents. I knew she was educated at Mount Holyoke College in South Hadley, MA, and I also knew that her education there made a profound impact on her sense of justice and social obligation---hence her passionate commitment to the New Deal. And that is about all I knew. But recently I came across her name, so I ended up reading more about her, which only has made my admiration for her grow. Mary Lyon was the woman who founded Mount Holyoke, and she passionately believed that education should come with responsibility. “Education,” she said, “is to fit one to do good. Go where no one else will go; do what no one else will do,” she told her charges.
In Perkins’ last semester in college, she enrolled in a course on American Economic History in which the professor, Annah May Soule, required the students to visit the mills along the Connecticut River in Holyoke to see what the actual working conditions were. Perkins was stunned at what she saw: women and children working for long hours with no thought for their safety, or compensation should they be injured on the job. After graduation she taught, eventually moving to Chicago, where she spent her free time volunteering in Chicago Commons and Hull House, two of the oldest and most well-known settlement houses in the country. She felt a call “to do something about poverty and the unnecessary hazards to life.”
In 1907 she moved to Philadelphia, where she worked with young immigrant women, who needed help finding decent work and housing. She studied sociology and economics at the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School and two years later moved to New York, where she studied childhood malnutrition in New York’s Hell’s Kitchen, which worked into a Master’s Degree at Columbia University. In 1910 she became Executive Secretary of New York City’s Consumers League, focusing on health concerns in bakeries, fire protection in factories and legislative efforts to improve the actual working conditions of people. In 1911 she witnessed the terrible fire at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, where 148 women and girls died, because they were locked in the building and could not escape the smoke and flames. She served on a commission, committed to protecting workers from future horrors like that one.
Frances worked in New York State Government under Governor Al Smith as his closest labor advisor for the four terms he served. When Franklin Roosevelt defeated him in the election of 1928, Frances Perkins was asked to become the state’s Industrial Commissioner, who had authority and oversight over the entire labor department. When the crash of 1929 occurred, followed by the great depression, Frances worked on the issues of unemployment. She was particularly committed to the idea of unemployment insurance, and Franklin Roosevelt actually sent her to England to study the British system. He was the first public official in the nation to publicly support unemployment insurance. With his election in 1932 to the Presidency, he appointed Frances Perkins as his Secretary of Labor. She told him of her policy priorities, which he must support, she said, or she could not take the position. She would work for a 40 hour work week, a minimum wage, unemployment compensation in addition to workmen’s compensation, abolition of child labor, Social Security, universal health insurance and federal aid to the states in support of unemployment insurance. She spent the 12 years of Roosevelt’s Presidency working to accomplish those goals. When the President died in April, 1945 someone described her work not so much as the Roosevelt New Deal but the Perkins New Deal.
She continued to serve under President Truman, who appointed her to serve on The United States Civil Service Commission until 1953, when she began a career of teaching, writing, and lecturing. She died of a stroke on May 14, 1965 at the age of 85 and is buried next to her husband, Paul Wilson, in Newcastle, Maine, a place she always considered home. Her husband, by the way, suffered most of their marriage from what we would now recognize as bi-polar disorder, and so Frances was the sole economic support of the family. That experience helped to make her sensitive to the challenges families can face when illness or accident strikes. She was fortunate, she could work, but she realized that some families must contend with great burdens that make life difficult and so they need support and aid. The government, she believed, should help in such cases.
Whatever your politics, Frances Perkins is someone to be admired for her grit, her courage, her perseverance. Raised in the Plymouth Congregational Church in Worchester, where she learned of Jesus’ care for the least of these, she remembered asking her father why there was poverty, when it was clear to her that not all poor people were lazy or alcoholic, which is what her parents had taught her. Her father told her that young girls should not concern themselves with such questions. But Frances ignored those words, and we should be grateful that she did. In 1905, at the age of 25, Frances became an Episcopalian, and remained one her entire life. She fervently believed that God calls us to make the Kingdom of God in this world, and though we can never fully succeed, she thought it was life’s honorable challenge to try. What God does with our efforts is up to God, not to us.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Last week I watched a movie called, The Resistance Banker, the story of two brothers, Gigs and Walraven van Hal, who during the Second World War, used their banking skills to illegally fund the Resistance in Amsterdam. They began by funneling money to what looked like on paper a charitable fund, but as the story progressed, Walraven became even more deeply involved in theft and forgery to defeat the Nazis, help the Jews and others, who were suffering under the totalitarian regime. My daughter tells me I am obsessed with the Nazis, but I tell her time and time again that I am drawn to stories of human courage, and certainly fighting against the Nazis involved tremendous courage. This story was kept hidden for years. The Bank did not want it made known how effectively illegal monetary activities were undertaken, even if the actions were on behalf of a noble cause. Finally in 2010 a statue of Walraven, who was martyred, was placed in front of the State National Bank in Amsterdam, and the full story became public, including the making of a movie.
It is important, even vitally essential, for us to have heroes and heroines, people who can inspire us with their courage, intelligence, and commitment to the good, sometimes at great risk to their own lives. A recently retired high school history teacher noted that over the past twenty years of her career, she noticed a loss of heroes in her high school students. ‘They are impressed by celebrity,” she said, “but they don’t seem to have people, who really inspire with their example of strong moral attributes.”
I have always had heroes, and one of my earliest (at about the age of 4) was The Lone Ranger. He always was on the side of the good, and I loved the end of each episode, when he was riding away after saving someone from disaster, and the person would ask, “Who is that masked man?” And the same answer would come each week, whose words I would enthusiastically repeat, “Why don’t you know? That’s the Lone Ranger!”
Another one of my heroes is Frances Perkins. I knew about her from my father, who was a big admirer of FDR. He told me, when I was in high school and studying the New Deal in my American History class, that she was the first female Cabinet secretary, serving as the Secretary of Labor. I remember a few things he said about her: Though born in Boston, she had deep connections to the state of Maine, where both parents came from, and she often returned there to spend time with grandparents. I knew she was educated at Mount Holyoke College in South Hadley, MA, and I also knew that her education there made a profound impact on her sense of justice and social obligation---hence her passionate commitment to the New Deal. And that is about all I knew. But recently I came across her name, so I ended up reading more about her, which only has made my admiration for her grow. Mary Lyon was the woman who founded Mount Holyoke, and she passionately believed that education should come with responsibility. “Education,” she said, “is to fit one to do good. Go where no one else will go; do what no one else will do,” she told her charges.
In Perkins’ last semester in college, she enrolled in a course on American Economic History in which the professor, Annah May Soule, required the students to visit the mills along the Connecticut River in Holyoke to see what the actual working conditions were. Perkins was stunned at what she saw: women and children working for long hours with no thought for their safety, or compensation should they be injured on the job. After graduation she taught, eventually moving to Chicago, where she spent her free time volunteering in Chicago Commons and Hull House, two of the oldest and most well-known settlement houses in the country. She felt a call “to do something about poverty and the unnecessary hazards to life.”
In 1907 she moved to Philadelphia, where she worked with young immigrant women, who needed help finding decent work and housing. She studied sociology and economics at the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School and two years later moved to New York, where she studied childhood malnutrition in New York’s Hell’s Kitchen, which worked into a Master’s Degree at Columbia University. In 1910 she became Executive Secretary of New York City’s Consumers League, focusing on health concerns in bakeries, fire protection in factories and legislative efforts to improve the actual working conditions of people. In 1911 she witnessed the terrible fire at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, where 148 women and girls died, because they were locked in the building and could not escape the smoke and flames. She served on a commission, committed to protecting workers from future horrors like that one.
Frances worked in New York State Government under Governor Al Smith as his closest labor advisor for the four terms he served. When Franklin Roosevelt defeated him in the election of 1928, Frances Perkins was asked to become the state’s Industrial Commissioner, who had authority and oversight over the entire labor department. When the crash of 1929 occurred, followed by the great depression, Frances worked on the issues of unemployment. She was particularly committed to the idea of unemployment insurance, and Franklin Roosevelt actually sent her to England to study the British system. He was the first public official in the nation to publicly support unemployment insurance. With his election in 1932 to the Presidency, he appointed Frances Perkins as his Secretary of Labor. She told him of her policy priorities, which he must support, she said, or she could not take the position. She would work for a 40 hour work week, a minimum wage, unemployment compensation in addition to workmen’s compensation, abolition of child labor, Social Security, universal health insurance and federal aid to the states in support of unemployment insurance. She spent the 12 years of Roosevelt’s Presidency working to accomplish those goals. When the President died in April, 1945 someone described her work not so much as the Roosevelt New Deal but the Perkins New Deal.
She continued to serve under President Truman, who appointed her to serve on The United States Civil Service Commission until 1953, when she began a career of teaching, writing, and lecturing. She died of a stroke on May 14, 1965 at the age of 85 and is buried next to her husband, Paul Wilson, in Newcastle, Maine, a place she always considered home. Her husband, by the way, suffered most of their marriage from what we would now recognize as bi-polar disorder, and so Frances was the sole economic support of the family. That experience helped to make her sensitive to the challenges families can face when illness or accident strikes. She was fortunate, she could work, but she realized that some families must contend with great burdens that make life difficult and so they need support and aid. The government, she believed, should help in such cases.
Whatever your politics, Frances Perkins is someone to be admired for her grit, her courage, her perseverance. Raised in the Plymouth Congregational Church in Worchester, where she learned of Jesus’ care for the least of these, she remembered asking her father why there was poverty, when it was clear to her that not all poor people were lazy or alcoholic, which is what her parents had taught her. Her father told her that young girls should not concern themselves with such questions. But Frances ignored those words, and we should be grateful that she did. In 1905, at the age of 25, Frances became an Episcopalian, and remained one her entire life. She fervently believed that God calls us to make the Kingdom of God in this world, and though we can never fully succeed, she thought it was life’s honorable challenge to try. What God does with our efforts is up to God, not to us.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
THE MIRROR OF TRUTH AND JUDGMENT
Preached by Sandra Olsen
August 14, 2022
Isaiah 5: 1-7
Luke 12: 49-56
I was very fortunate that in my public high school I had some outstanding teachers. My favorite was my English teacher in my senior year, who was not only brilliant, but also intensely dramatic and incredibly skillful at engaging his students in deep discussion. One of our most memorable discussions concerned Sophocles play Oedipus Rex.
Some of you probably know the story of Oedipus the King, who when born to royal parents was left to die, because a soothsayer told the parents their son would grow up to murder his father and marry his mother. Well, Oedipus did not die, but instead was found and raised by a shepherd and his wife, and so Oedipus grew up with no knowledge of his true parentage. Years later, when he heard that he would kill his father and marry his mother, in horror he left his adopted parents’ home and wandered. One day, his real father, the king of Thebes, was riding in his carriage, and he arrogantly ordered Oedipus off the road, so his carriage could pass. In a fit of rage, Oedipus killed the man he did not know was his father. He married his mother when he solved the riddle of the sphinx; what creature moves on four limbs in the morning, then two in the afternoon and finally three in the evening. The answer is the human being, who crawls as a baby, walks upright on two legs and then in old age, adds a cane. The reward for the right answer was the widowed queen in marriage. As the play evolves, Oedipus comes to the full knowledge of his actions and his identity. When he sees all, he blinds himself, leaves the palace with his two daughters and becomes a man without a country.
Now Oedipus did not consciously kill his father and marry his mother, and I remember so well how passionately some of us argued against assigning Oedipus blame and guilt and how forcefully our teacher spoke to us about unintended consequences. “We act, thinking we are doing one thing, when in reality much more is going on,” he insisted. We see only a very small part of the picture. Now, sometimes we can’t help that; we may not have access to more knowledge, or we may be too young and inexperienced to realize what is really going on. But still, we are responsible, my teacher insisted, and what he wanted us (at the callow age of 17) to understand was how remarkable Oedipus was in his insistent search for the truth. He did not hide from it, but rather painstakingly uncovered the truth, even as his journey toward it became more and more horrifying. The mirror of truth and judgment was held up, and he dared to look and see. Oedipus did not make excuses for himself, and that my teacher insisted is rare---rarer even than great intelligence or great beauty.
Oedipus is literature, and great literature reveals to us the depths of life—just like the Bible. The biblical stories we read are not all be historical fact, but there is deep and revelatory truth there---if we dare to look. And if we look at our lessons today from Isaiah and Luke, we can see that both are concerned with the mirror of truth and judgment. They reveal to us that the tendency of our human condition is to hide, to pretend we are much better than we really are, and to make excuses for why we did this or failed to do that. And let’s face it: often we are very successful at this ruse, but Isaiah and Luke remind us that God knows, God sees, and God judges. While God loves us and is merciful, love and mercy do not come without judgment.
Isaiah lived when there was a threat posed by the Assyrian empire, which had annexed the northern kingdom, Israel, in 722 B.C., and now the southern kingdom, Judah, whose capital was Jerusalem, lived with the unease of having to pay tribute. The religious conventions of the time would have led the Jews to understand that since God had made a covenant with them, they would be protected. And they expected God to keep the covenant, even if they did not honor it---though the fall of the northern kingdom must have given them pause. God did not prevent Israel from falling to the Assyrians and later God would not prevent Judah from falling to the Babylonians in 587 B.C.
The passage from Isaiah is really an allegory, an extended comparison that begins with a female voice singing about her beloved, who owns a vineyard on a very fertile hill. And the voice tells us that her beloved took all kinds of measures to insure a bountiful harvest. He dug up the ground, cleared it of stones, and then planted it with choice vines. He even built a watchtower and hewed out a wine vat to mash the grapes and let the juice ferment.
But in verse three the voice switches to the vineyard owner, who calls upon the inhabitants of Judah to sit in judgment on the vineyard. Despite all the care lavished on the vineyard, it had not produced quality grapes, but only inferior, worthless ones. And so, in verse 5, the owner renders his judgment. He will remove the hedge that protects the vineyard from animals that would devour the crop. The owner will no longer hoe or prune, and finally he will command the clouds to withhold rain, making the vineyard into a wasteland. And indeed, in time Babylon would overrun Judah, sack, and destroy the beautiful Temple, built by King Solomon, because, the prophet said, God had expected justice from the people, but justice is not what they rendered.
Now when we hear the word justice, our immediate tendency is to think of the innocent getting his or her due and the guilty punished, but this not the way the word justice is used by the Hebrew prophets. Justice for them was primarily connected with the treatment of the least of these---the poor, the widow, the orphan, the stranger and yes, even the resident alien---people who lacked the clout to defend themselves against the upper class of Israelite society, who had structured life, tax schedules and all, for their benefit. No, the prophet said, this is not what God intends. And so, the prophetic interpretation of Judah’s eventual fall to the Babylonian empire was that it was God’s punishment for Judah’s failure to honor the covenant, to care for the least of these. Of course, there is another interpretation---Babylon was simply militarily stronger than Judah, and God had nothing to do with it.
There is a lot of distance and a tension between those two claims---God’s punishment or superior military power? No wonder Jesus said that he had come to bring a fire to the earth and to create division among households, families, and nations. The call for prophetic justice---care for the poor---is always in conflict with “business as usual.” And how does that apply to us, now living in a time of unsettling economic conditions? We hear a lot these days about a shrinking middle class, but what about an expanding poorer class? Who speaks for them? Is God holding up to us a mirror of truth and judgment? And will we look and see?
In my senior year in high school, my English teacher assigned a lot of great literature, including the Oedipus cycle by Sophocles, The Bible’s Book of Job, Shakespeare’s Hamlet, George Bernard Shaw’s plays, Man and Superman, Major Barbara and Saint Joan, Thomas Hardy’s, Tess of the D’Ubervilles and Jude the Obscure, and J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye and Franny and Zooey. When I consider those readings now, it is obvious to me that one of the great themes of this literature concerned the mirror of truth and judgment. These works showed human beings acting in the world, and their actions always had more consequences than they could initially see. Such is the human condition. All of those characters faced the mirror of truth and judgment---just as Israel and Judah did. And we will too. We live in a messy world, and how we cope with that messiness, what and whom we care about are always matters of faith.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
August 14, 2022
Isaiah 5: 1-7
Luke 12: 49-56
I was very fortunate that in my public high school I had some outstanding teachers. My favorite was my English teacher in my senior year, who was not only brilliant, but also intensely dramatic and incredibly skillful at engaging his students in deep discussion. One of our most memorable discussions concerned Sophocles play Oedipus Rex.
Some of you probably know the story of Oedipus the King, who when born to royal parents was left to die, because a soothsayer told the parents their son would grow up to murder his father and marry his mother. Well, Oedipus did not die, but instead was found and raised by a shepherd and his wife, and so Oedipus grew up with no knowledge of his true parentage. Years later, when he heard that he would kill his father and marry his mother, in horror he left his adopted parents’ home and wandered. One day, his real father, the king of Thebes, was riding in his carriage, and he arrogantly ordered Oedipus off the road, so his carriage could pass. In a fit of rage, Oedipus killed the man he did not know was his father. He married his mother when he solved the riddle of the sphinx; what creature moves on four limbs in the morning, then two in the afternoon and finally three in the evening. The answer is the human being, who crawls as a baby, walks upright on two legs and then in old age, adds a cane. The reward for the right answer was the widowed queen in marriage. As the play evolves, Oedipus comes to the full knowledge of his actions and his identity. When he sees all, he blinds himself, leaves the palace with his two daughters and becomes a man without a country.
Now Oedipus did not consciously kill his father and marry his mother, and I remember so well how passionately some of us argued against assigning Oedipus blame and guilt and how forcefully our teacher spoke to us about unintended consequences. “We act, thinking we are doing one thing, when in reality much more is going on,” he insisted. We see only a very small part of the picture. Now, sometimes we can’t help that; we may not have access to more knowledge, or we may be too young and inexperienced to realize what is really going on. But still, we are responsible, my teacher insisted, and what he wanted us (at the callow age of 17) to understand was how remarkable Oedipus was in his insistent search for the truth. He did not hide from it, but rather painstakingly uncovered the truth, even as his journey toward it became more and more horrifying. The mirror of truth and judgment was held up, and he dared to look and see. Oedipus did not make excuses for himself, and that my teacher insisted is rare---rarer even than great intelligence or great beauty.
Oedipus is literature, and great literature reveals to us the depths of life—just like the Bible. The biblical stories we read are not all be historical fact, but there is deep and revelatory truth there---if we dare to look. And if we look at our lessons today from Isaiah and Luke, we can see that both are concerned with the mirror of truth and judgment. They reveal to us that the tendency of our human condition is to hide, to pretend we are much better than we really are, and to make excuses for why we did this or failed to do that. And let’s face it: often we are very successful at this ruse, but Isaiah and Luke remind us that God knows, God sees, and God judges. While God loves us and is merciful, love and mercy do not come without judgment.
Isaiah lived when there was a threat posed by the Assyrian empire, which had annexed the northern kingdom, Israel, in 722 B.C., and now the southern kingdom, Judah, whose capital was Jerusalem, lived with the unease of having to pay tribute. The religious conventions of the time would have led the Jews to understand that since God had made a covenant with them, they would be protected. And they expected God to keep the covenant, even if they did not honor it---though the fall of the northern kingdom must have given them pause. God did not prevent Israel from falling to the Assyrians and later God would not prevent Judah from falling to the Babylonians in 587 B.C.
The passage from Isaiah is really an allegory, an extended comparison that begins with a female voice singing about her beloved, who owns a vineyard on a very fertile hill. And the voice tells us that her beloved took all kinds of measures to insure a bountiful harvest. He dug up the ground, cleared it of stones, and then planted it with choice vines. He even built a watchtower and hewed out a wine vat to mash the grapes and let the juice ferment.
But in verse three the voice switches to the vineyard owner, who calls upon the inhabitants of Judah to sit in judgment on the vineyard. Despite all the care lavished on the vineyard, it had not produced quality grapes, but only inferior, worthless ones. And so, in verse 5, the owner renders his judgment. He will remove the hedge that protects the vineyard from animals that would devour the crop. The owner will no longer hoe or prune, and finally he will command the clouds to withhold rain, making the vineyard into a wasteland. And indeed, in time Babylon would overrun Judah, sack, and destroy the beautiful Temple, built by King Solomon, because, the prophet said, God had expected justice from the people, but justice is not what they rendered.
Now when we hear the word justice, our immediate tendency is to think of the innocent getting his or her due and the guilty punished, but this not the way the word justice is used by the Hebrew prophets. Justice for them was primarily connected with the treatment of the least of these---the poor, the widow, the orphan, the stranger and yes, even the resident alien---people who lacked the clout to defend themselves against the upper class of Israelite society, who had structured life, tax schedules and all, for their benefit. No, the prophet said, this is not what God intends. And so, the prophetic interpretation of Judah’s eventual fall to the Babylonian empire was that it was God’s punishment for Judah’s failure to honor the covenant, to care for the least of these. Of course, there is another interpretation---Babylon was simply militarily stronger than Judah, and God had nothing to do with it.
There is a lot of distance and a tension between those two claims---God’s punishment or superior military power? No wonder Jesus said that he had come to bring a fire to the earth and to create division among households, families, and nations. The call for prophetic justice---care for the poor---is always in conflict with “business as usual.” And how does that apply to us, now living in a time of unsettling economic conditions? We hear a lot these days about a shrinking middle class, but what about an expanding poorer class? Who speaks for them? Is God holding up to us a mirror of truth and judgment? And will we look and see?
In my senior year in high school, my English teacher assigned a lot of great literature, including the Oedipus cycle by Sophocles, The Bible’s Book of Job, Shakespeare’s Hamlet, George Bernard Shaw’s plays, Man and Superman, Major Barbara and Saint Joan, Thomas Hardy’s, Tess of the D’Ubervilles and Jude the Obscure, and J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye and Franny and Zooey. When I consider those readings now, it is obvious to me that one of the great themes of this literature concerned the mirror of truth and judgment. These works showed human beings acting in the world, and their actions always had more consequences than they could initially see. Such is the human condition. All of those characters faced the mirror of truth and judgment---just as Israel and Judah did. And we will too. We live in a messy world, and how we cope with that messiness, what and whom we care about are always matters of faith.
August 10, 2022
Dear Friends
Last April the New York Times printed some wonderfully touching images of New Yorkers reading in public places To read in the midst of a busy city is an act of determination and concentration, because so much noise and confusion must be actively ignored. The Times noted that in 1911 the New York Public Library’s 42nd Street branch opened its doors, and more than 50,000 persons visited that day. And ever since, people have been reading inside and outside the building, people gathering all around, on its steps and even its sidewalk, reading while they are walking. Another image was from 1935, when Bryant Park, along with other city parks, opened outdoor reading rooms. They lasted during the summer months until 1943 and then opened again in 2003.
Times Square in 1962 opened an all-night bookstore, stocking 100,000 paperback books and not one of them was pornographic, which for Times Square in that era, was something worth bragging about. You could see the intense concentration and enjoyment on people’s faces as they read. One woman was standing upright, holding a book and simply reading, oblivious, it seemed, to everything else that might have been happening around her. Another image from 1961 shows Barnard students reading outside---all of them dressed in skirts or dresses, looking seriously engaged in their reading.
There were pictures of children in New York City libraries being read to as their bodies stretched and arched toward the reader, so they could better see the pictures in the book or hear the spoken word. One image showed a child reading Horton Hears a Who by Dr. Seuss, and again, there was no doubt that the child cared deeply about the words on the pages.
In 1906 The Times published a quartet of sonnets about a train guard, who was smitten with a passenger who took the local, not the express train, so she could have more time to read her novel. And indeed, there were images on the subway of people reading. I recognized some of these images from the 70’s and 80’s when the subway cars were ugly, covered with graffiti. Yet there were people, ignoring the graffiti by being completely engrossed in a book.
Images showed people reading in all different positions, standing up, leaning against a tree or even a lamppost, or sitting on a park bench, sometimes alone, sometimes with other strangers. There were images of people lying down on the grass in Central Park with their shoes off and their heads propped up with a rolled up blanket to make reading more comfortable. Sometimes there was a couple reading to each other, and though I had no idea what they were reading, I wondered if it were poetry or perhaps a favorite novel, something intimate to share with a loved one.
I love books, and though some of you know about my excess love of dresses, I do own many more books than I do dresses. I live in a house, built in 1908 with three floors of living space, five bedrooms, my study on the third floor plus a basement. In every room, including the first floor hallway and the basement, excepting the kitchen, the bathroom and the dining room, there are bookcases. I love my books even more than I love my dresses, and when my children tell me I had better start clearing out some of these books, because they certainly do not want to do it, I tell them to go stuff it. I remind them that they each have given me some trouble, so I will simply return the favor.
I realize that many people today read on their phones or on their computers and tablets, but for me, there is nothing like holding a book in my hands. A book feels like a companion, even a friend, and though I am sure there are people who feel that way about their electronics, that is not my experience. And so, when I saw the images in The Times, I could not help but smile with a feeling of deep satisfaction and even joy. Reading is such a pleasure and even a passion to me, though there are times when my reading disturbs and even upsets me. Great writing often introduces thoughts and themes that challenge our everyday conventions, and yes, that can be disturbing. Reading can goad us to think, and the thoughts that emerge are not always comfortable. Books have changed the world by changing people and changing how they understand themselves and their world.
As Protestants, we are People of the Word. While the Roman Catholics have the sacramental system, we Protestants are focused on the written Word, which was why it was such a major turning point in history, when Martin Luther translated the Bible into German. Others had translated the Bible before Luther into other languages, like English, and they paid with their lives. Church leaders realized it was dangerous when people could read and interpret the Word for themselves. And so, we continue to read and ponder, and the images I saw in the Times reminded me how central reading is to human beings.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends
Last April the New York Times printed some wonderfully touching images of New Yorkers reading in public places To read in the midst of a busy city is an act of determination and concentration, because so much noise and confusion must be actively ignored. The Times noted that in 1911 the New York Public Library’s 42nd Street branch opened its doors, and more than 50,000 persons visited that day. And ever since, people have been reading inside and outside the building, people gathering all around, on its steps and even its sidewalk, reading while they are walking. Another image was from 1935, when Bryant Park, along with other city parks, opened outdoor reading rooms. They lasted during the summer months until 1943 and then opened again in 2003.
Times Square in 1962 opened an all-night bookstore, stocking 100,000 paperback books and not one of them was pornographic, which for Times Square in that era, was something worth bragging about. You could see the intense concentration and enjoyment on people’s faces as they read. One woman was standing upright, holding a book and simply reading, oblivious, it seemed, to everything else that might have been happening around her. Another image from 1961 shows Barnard students reading outside---all of them dressed in skirts or dresses, looking seriously engaged in their reading.
There were pictures of children in New York City libraries being read to as their bodies stretched and arched toward the reader, so they could better see the pictures in the book or hear the spoken word. One image showed a child reading Horton Hears a Who by Dr. Seuss, and again, there was no doubt that the child cared deeply about the words on the pages.
In 1906 The Times published a quartet of sonnets about a train guard, who was smitten with a passenger who took the local, not the express train, so she could have more time to read her novel. And indeed, there were images on the subway of people reading. I recognized some of these images from the 70’s and 80’s when the subway cars were ugly, covered with graffiti. Yet there were people, ignoring the graffiti by being completely engrossed in a book.
Images showed people reading in all different positions, standing up, leaning against a tree or even a lamppost, or sitting on a park bench, sometimes alone, sometimes with other strangers. There were images of people lying down on the grass in Central Park with their shoes off and their heads propped up with a rolled up blanket to make reading more comfortable. Sometimes there was a couple reading to each other, and though I had no idea what they were reading, I wondered if it were poetry or perhaps a favorite novel, something intimate to share with a loved one.
I love books, and though some of you know about my excess love of dresses, I do own many more books than I do dresses. I live in a house, built in 1908 with three floors of living space, five bedrooms, my study on the third floor plus a basement. In every room, including the first floor hallway and the basement, excepting the kitchen, the bathroom and the dining room, there are bookcases. I love my books even more than I love my dresses, and when my children tell me I had better start clearing out some of these books, because they certainly do not want to do it, I tell them to go stuff it. I remind them that they each have given me some trouble, so I will simply return the favor.
I realize that many people today read on their phones or on their computers and tablets, but for me, there is nothing like holding a book in my hands. A book feels like a companion, even a friend, and though I am sure there are people who feel that way about their electronics, that is not my experience. And so, when I saw the images in The Times, I could not help but smile with a feeling of deep satisfaction and even joy. Reading is such a pleasure and even a passion to me, though there are times when my reading disturbs and even upsets me. Great writing often introduces thoughts and themes that challenge our everyday conventions, and yes, that can be disturbing. Reading can goad us to think, and the thoughts that emerge are not always comfortable. Books have changed the world by changing people and changing how they understand themselves and their world.
As Protestants, we are People of the Word. While the Roman Catholics have the sacramental system, we Protestants are focused on the written Word, which was why it was such a major turning point in history, when Martin Luther translated the Bible into German. Others had translated the Bible before Luther into other languages, like English, and they paid with their lives. Church leaders realized it was dangerous when people could read and interpret the Word for themselves. And so, we continue to read and ponder, and the images I saw in the Times reminded me how central reading is to human beings.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
GOD AS THIEF, GOD AS DISRUPTER
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
August 7, 2022
On July 16, 1945 in a New Mexican desert at a site nicknamed Trinity by Robert Oppenheimer, father of the atomic bomb, the first artificial nuclear explosion took place. Even Oppenheimer was not exactly sure what would happen, but when the explosion finally occurred and the emitted light looked like a thousands suns, what ran through Oppenheimer's mind was a line from the scared Hindu text, The Bagavaad Gita, when God said, "I am become death, shatterer of worlds, waiting that hour that ripens to their doom." Oppenheimer would live to regret his involvement in the making of the bomb, because he became convinced it would lead to humanity's doom. Nonetheless, it was impressive that Oppenheimer actually knew those lines from the Gita, just as he knew that the Hindus have a name for God the destroyer, Shiva.
Now in our Bible there are some images of God as the destroyer. Consider the flood in the Old Testament and in the Book of Revelation, when the old order is destroyed in order to make way for the new. Yet for the most part we modern day Christians find those texts troubling and embarrassing as we try to make God into a nice and comfortable companion whose job it is to help us through all the various messes with which life presents us. We don’t want to feel uncomfortable by a God who might be out to destroy or disrupt.
In today's text there is a subtle suggestion on the part of Jesus that God (or at least God's work) might well be experienced like a thief in the night. If the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You almost be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour. Why did Jesus pair the Son of Man, who indeed does God's work as well as announcing the coming of the kingdom, with a thief? Thieves break into homes, disrupt people's lives and and rip people off. How is God anything like that?
Well, consider the lives of Jesus' disciples. Their lives and that of their families were mightily disrupted. Jesus came along and called them to follow him, and they left home, though many scholars say they were not away all the time. But still it is hard to imagine that families were happy to suddenly be without the labor of a son, husband, or father. When another son told Jesus that he wanted to follow him, but first he must bury his father, Jesus' response was, "Let the dead bury the dead." How do you think that went over in a society built on filial obligation? And yet people who followed Jesus felt called by something more compelling than their families. How do we reconcile that with our notion of responsibility and obligation?
If we take seriously the time in which the Gospel of Luke was written, somewhere between 80 and 90, we know there was a great deal of concern about the delay of Jesus' return. People had expected him to come back very soon and establish God's earthly kingdom. "Sell your possessions; give alms, make purses for yourselves that do not wear out.” If life on this earth as one knows it is about to end and the new kingdom is going to be established, a different ethic is called for, so be prepared for this new time. But Jesus did not quickly return, and so in the meantime the faithful have had to figure out how to live rightly and faithfully on this earth as they await the final consummation. And sometimes as people live, they do experience God as the great disturber of their lives, the one who comes in the middle of the night like a thief.
Some years ago, I had a student intern at my church in New Haven. He had been very successful in business, but in his 50’s felt the call to ministry. During his final year at Yale Divinity, he made a trip to El Salvador, where he visited the cathedral where Bishop Oscar Romero was murdered right in the middle of celebrating Mass, as he consecrated the bread and wine. Romero was murdered for his opposition to a government that oppressed and stole from its people.. Romero could have been quiet as many priests were, but he understood silence as unfaithfulness to Christ, and he paid with his life. Is this what God wanted him to do---to die? As my student told me, God does not desire Romero’s violent death any more than God desired Jesus’ violent death, but God does desire justice and truth, and when that is pursued, the opposition raises its ugly head. And lives are disrupted and in some instances even destroyed, the price for radical afaithfulness.
A woman, who is a guidance counselor in a high school, had an interesting situation with a family with whom she was also friends. The parents were Quakers, very serious Christians, and their daughter, who was valedictorian of her class, gained admission to Amherst College, where she wanted to go. But the parents wanted her to go to the honors college at U. of CT, so they could send another student from the high school to U. Conn. “You find a student,” they told the guidance department, “whom you think can get into U Conn and prosper there, but does not have the resources to pay. Tell the family you have an anonymous donor. We think this is the right thing to do; this is what our faith calls us to do.” Well, their daughter was very unhappy. She wanted to go to Amherst, this elite, excellent and expensive private college. The parents patiently explained their position. "You can get a fine education in the honors college at U Conn. You may want to go to Amherst, but you don't need to go there. We can help somebody else."
Well, things didn't go well in the family. Grandparents got involved, and they sided with their granddaughter. The fight was ugly, but the parents stood firm, and two students went to U Conn with the daughter eventually going to law school at Colombia, while the student they helped went to business school, earned an MBA, and now works for UNICEF. To the latter God must have seemed like the bountiful giver, but for the daughter God appeared as a kind of thief, stealing from her the elite and expensive education she thought she had earned and deserved. Her relationship with her parents is still difficult, and she has nothing to do with God or church, because she thinks her parents used God as an excuse to defend a certain perspective on the world, which she did not does not share. Today, she is a corporate lawyer.
God can and does disrupt lives, but we can and should ask the tough question that really has no definitive answer, "How does anyone really know what God is asking in any specific situation?" Sometimes people do mix up personal desire with that of God's, and since God is not in the habit of speaking directly in a voice that can be recorded and verified, we human beings must do a lot of guessing. Faith is not certainty. It is not certain knowledge. As was so eloquently written in the Book of Hebrews, Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen. Faith is not something to be proven, but rather something to be risked, as Abraham risked, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer risked, as the people I spoke about today risked. They all believed that God was calling them to do something, and they risked that they were responding rightly. Did they know for sure? No. They could only take the risk, and that is the best that any person of faith can do. To demand more of faith, to demand certitude is to make faith into an idol-- an object fashioned by our own hands and our own desires.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
August 7, 2022
On July 16, 1945 in a New Mexican desert at a site nicknamed Trinity by Robert Oppenheimer, father of the atomic bomb, the first artificial nuclear explosion took place. Even Oppenheimer was not exactly sure what would happen, but when the explosion finally occurred and the emitted light looked like a thousands suns, what ran through Oppenheimer's mind was a line from the scared Hindu text, The Bagavaad Gita, when God said, "I am become death, shatterer of worlds, waiting that hour that ripens to their doom." Oppenheimer would live to regret his involvement in the making of the bomb, because he became convinced it would lead to humanity's doom. Nonetheless, it was impressive that Oppenheimer actually knew those lines from the Gita, just as he knew that the Hindus have a name for God the destroyer, Shiva.
Now in our Bible there are some images of God as the destroyer. Consider the flood in the Old Testament and in the Book of Revelation, when the old order is destroyed in order to make way for the new. Yet for the most part we modern day Christians find those texts troubling and embarrassing as we try to make God into a nice and comfortable companion whose job it is to help us through all the various messes with which life presents us. We don’t want to feel uncomfortable by a God who might be out to destroy or disrupt.
In today's text there is a subtle suggestion on the part of Jesus that God (or at least God's work) might well be experienced like a thief in the night. If the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You almost be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour. Why did Jesus pair the Son of Man, who indeed does God's work as well as announcing the coming of the kingdom, with a thief? Thieves break into homes, disrupt people's lives and and rip people off. How is God anything like that?
Well, consider the lives of Jesus' disciples. Their lives and that of their families were mightily disrupted. Jesus came along and called them to follow him, and they left home, though many scholars say they were not away all the time. But still it is hard to imagine that families were happy to suddenly be without the labor of a son, husband, or father. When another son told Jesus that he wanted to follow him, but first he must bury his father, Jesus' response was, "Let the dead bury the dead." How do you think that went over in a society built on filial obligation? And yet people who followed Jesus felt called by something more compelling than their families. How do we reconcile that with our notion of responsibility and obligation?
If we take seriously the time in which the Gospel of Luke was written, somewhere between 80 and 90, we know there was a great deal of concern about the delay of Jesus' return. People had expected him to come back very soon and establish God's earthly kingdom. "Sell your possessions; give alms, make purses for yourselves that do not wear out.” If life on this earth as one knows it is about to end and the new kingdom is going to be established, a different ethic is called for, so be prepared for this new time. But Jesus did not quickly return, and so in the meantime the faithful have had to figure out how to live rightly and faithfully on this earth as they await the final consummation. And sometimes as people live, they do experience God as the great disturber of their lives, the one who comes in the middle of the night like a thief.
Some years ago, I had a student intern at my church in New Haven. He had been very successful in business, but in his 50’s felt the call to ministry. During his final year at Yale Divinity, he made a trip to El Salvador, where he visited the cathedral where Bishop Oscar Romero was murdered right in the middle of celebrating Mass, as he consecrated the bread and wine. Romero was murdered for his opposition to a government that oppressed and stole from its people.. Romero could have been quiet as many priests were, but he understood silence as unfaithfulness to Christ, and he paid with his life. Is this what God wanted him to do---to die? As my student told me, God does not desire Romero’s violent death any more than God desired Jesus’ violent death, but God does desire justice and truth, and when that is pursued, the opposition raises its ugly head. And lives are disrupted and in some instances even destroyed, the price for radical afaithfulness.
A woman, who is a guidance counselor in a high school, had an interesting situation with a family with whom she was also friends. The parents were Quakers, very serious Christians, and their daughter, who was valedictorian of her class, gained admission to Amherst College, where she wanted to go. But the parents wanted her to go to the honors college at U. of CT, so they could send another student from the high school to U. Conn. “You find a student,” they told the guidance department, “whom you think can get into U Conn and prosper there, but does not have the resources to pay. Tell the family you have an anonymous donor. We think this is the right thing to do; this is what our faith calls us to do.” Well, their daughter was very unhappy. She wanted to go to Amherst, this elite, excellent and expensive private college. The parents patiently explained their position. "You can get a fine education in the honors college at U Conn. You may want to go to Amherst, but you don't need to go there. We can help somebody else."
Well, things didn't go well in the family. Grandparents got involved, and they sided with their granddaughter. The fight was ugly, but the parents stood firm, and two students went to U Conn with the daughter eventually going to law school at Colombia, while the student they helped went to business school, earned an MBA, and now works for UNICEF. To the latter God must have seemed like the bountiful giver, but for the daughter God appeared as a kind of thief, stealing from her the elite and expensive education she thought she had earned and deserved. Her relationship with her parents is still difficult, and she has nothing to do with God or church, because she thinks her parents used God as an excuse to defend a certain perspective on the world, which she did not does not share. Today, she is a corporate lawyer.
God can and does disrupt lives, but we can and should ask the tough question that really has no definitive answer, "How does anyone really know what God is asking in any specific situation?" Sometimes people do mix up personal desire with that of God's, and since God is not in the habit of speaking directly in a voice that can be recorded and verified, we human beings must do a lot of guessing. Faith is not certainty. It is not certain knowledge. As was so eloquently written in the Book of Hebrews, Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen. Faith is not something to be proven, but rather something to be risked, as Abraham risked, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer risked, as the people I spoke about today risked. They all believed that God was calling them to do something, and they risked that they were responding rightly. Did they know for sure? No. They could only take the risk, and that is the best that any person of faith can do. To demand more of faith, to demand certitude is to make faith into an idol-- an object fashioned by our own hands and our own desires.
August 4, 2022
Dear Friends,
The world was shocked when on July 8, Shinze Abe, the former Prime Minister of Japan, was assassinated with a home-made gun. No people were more shocked than the citizens of Japan, since gun ownership is rare. In 1958 a law was passed saying that “no one should possess a gun or sword”---though there are exceptions for hunting, sport, or industrial purposes. But the process to obtain a gun is rigorous: a thorough background check, a mental health evaluation, a written test as well as a shooting range test and a requirement to renew the gun license every three years. Japan is a nation of 125 million, and in 2019 there were nine deaths due to guns.
Japan’s story with guns is very different from our own, but then the American story is very different from most of the world. Low gun violence simply does not come because of few guns. Switzerland, for example, which has one of the highest per capita rates of gun ownership, does not suffer from the spate of gun violence and mass shootings that our country does. The same can be said for Canada. But in both these countries people say they rely on each other and government to keep them safe. The trust level (of people and laws) is high. And their trust of guns for providing safety is really quite low.
Now consider Mexico, certainly a very violent country. The guns are, however, owned and used by gang members and drug cartels. It is not easy for the average Mexican citizen to lay his or her hands on guns---and when they do, the guns are often coming from the United States. Between 2014 and 2018 70% of the guns in Mexico came from the U.S. In fact, in 2021 the Mexican government filed a suit against some U.S. based gun manufacturers, blaming them for the steady flow of guns. It is interesting to note that some Mexican politicians have tried to loosen gun laws so that people could carry guns in cars and in private companies, but the proposal was decisively defeated. And the most successful argument against it was, “Look at the United States! We certainly do not want to be anything like that!” People just do not seem to believe that owning a gun will be of much help to them. Unlike Canada and Switzerland, where trust of other people and government is high, such trust is very low in Mexico. Only 25% of Mexicans say they trust their government and only 12.4% say most people can be trusted. In the U.S. 39.6% say most other people can be trusted and in Switzerland it is 49.3%. Switzerland suffers about 50 murders a year and only 10% of those involve a gun. In contrast 67% of homicides in our country involve guns.
A professor at Ohio State University, Dr. Roth, has been conducting research on the relationship between trust, safety, and guns from the colonial era to the present situation. And what he has discovered is that low murder rates tend to be correlated with times when trust in government and fellow citizens is high. For example, at the end of World War ll, Americans tended to express a strong trust in government, and the murder rate was quite low. The 60’s and 70’s saw a rise in violence and a parallel drop in trust of both government and other people, followed by a rise in the trust of guns. Americans, unlike the rest of the world, do seem to have this TRUST in guns. While Americans believe that guns can and will keep them safe, other people in other nations have the opposite feeling: Guns are a danger, and we need to limit them.
In Dublane, Scotland 26 years ago, a teacher and 16 children were shot to death in a shocking mass shooting. This was the impetus for the United Kingdom to ban handguns. By 1996 pistol shooting had become the fastest growing sport in the U.K., and no one thought a ban on handguns would be possible. Campaigners for strict gun control received death threats, yet the ban did go through. Since its passage, 25 years ago, there has not been one single school shooting in the entire United Kingdom.
Australia pushed through a program to buyback guns after a massacre in 1996 in Port Arthur, Tasmania. The proportion of gun owners fell by 48% between 1997 and 2020. New Zealand banned ALL semi-automatic rifles less than ONE week after a mass shooter killed 51 worshippers in a mosque. And Canada, where many people are gun owners, tightened its gun laws after the 1989 mass shooting of 14 women at Ecole Polytechnique in Montreal. While the Uvalde Texas shooting did become the impetus for the passage of the first major federal gun safety legislation in over 25 years, which bolsters background checks for those under 21 and strengthens the red flag laws, Canada’s response to Uvalde was much tougher. Within a week of the shooting in Texas, Canada introduced legislation to FREEZE the buying, selling, and importing of handguns. Canada’s Prime Minister said, “We need only to look south of the border to know that if we do not take action firmly and rapidly, it gets worse and worse and more difficult to counter.” Our country, when it comes to guns, is apparently the standard NO ONE wants to follow.
It is quite fascinating that TRUST is such a major issue when it comes to guns and gun ownership. Trust in government, trust in people, and even trust in God can influence how people view guns. And certainly, how people grew up, whether or not guns were part of their culture, does have an impact as well. There was a gun tragedy in my own extended family. My father’s sister in law’s 17 year old nephew accidentally killed his 15 year old brother in a hunting accident. My parents hated guns, and though my father, a World War ll veteran, had to learn how to handle a gun, his wartime experience was behind a desk, not carrying a weapon. When he died in 2003 and his ashes were buried in a veteran’s cemetery in New Jersey, a gun salute was offered. “Oh please, no guns,” my mother said. My husband hated guns and I do too.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
The world was shocked when on July 8, Shinze Abe, the former Prime Minister of Japan, was assassinated with a home-made gun. No people were more shocked than the citizens of Japan, since gun ownership is rare. In 1958 a law was passed saying that “no one should possess a gun or sword”---though there are exceptions for hunting, sport, or industrial purposes. But the process to obtain a gun is rigorous: a thorough background check, a mental health evaluation, a written test as well as a shooting range test and a requirement to renew the gun license every three years. Japan is a nation of 125 million, and in 2019 there were nine deaths due to guns.
Japan’s story with guns is very different from our own, but then the American story is very different from most of the world. Low gun violence simply does not come because of few guns. Switzerland, for example, which has one of the highest per capita rates of gun ownership, does not suffer from the spate of gun violence and mass shootings that our country does. The same can be said for Canada. But in both these countries people say they rely on each other and government to keep them safe. The trust level (of people and laws) is high. And their trust of guns for providing safety is really quite low.
Now consider Mexico, certainly a very violent country. The guns are, however, owned and used by gang members and drug cartels. It is not easy for the average Mexican citizen to lay his or her hands on guns---and when they do, the guns are often coming from the United States. Between 2014 and 2018 70% of the guns in Mexico came from the U.S. In fact, in 2021 the Mexican government filed a suit against some U.S. based gun manufacturers, blaming them for the steady flow of guns. It is interesting to note that some Mexican politicians have tried to loosen gun laws so that people could carry guns in cars and in private companies, but the proposal was decisively defeated. And the most successful argument against it was, “Look at the United States! We certainly do not want to be anything like that!” People just do not seem to believe that owning a gun will be of much help to them. Unlike Canada and Switzerland, where trust of other people and government is high, such trust is very low in Mexico. Only 25% of Mexicans say they trust their government and only 12.4% say most people can be trusted. In the U.S. 39.6% say most other people can be trusted and in Switzerland it is 49.3%. Switzerland suffers about 50 murders a year and only 10% of those involve a gun. In contrast 67% of homicides in our country involve guns.
A professor at Ohio State University, Dr. Roth, has been conducting research on the relationship between trust, safety, and guns from the colonial era to the present situation. And what he has discovered is that low murder rates tend to be correlated with times when trust in government and fellow citizens is high. For example, at the end of World War ll, Americans tended to express a strong trust in government, and the murder rate was quite low. The 60’s and 70’s saw a rise in violence and a parallel drop in trust of both government and other people, followed by a rise in the trust of guns. Americans, unlike the rest of the world, do seem to have this TRUST in guns. While Americans believe that guns can and will keep them safe, other people in other nations have the opposite feeling: Guns are a danger, and we need to limit them.
In Dublane, Scotland 26 years ago, a teacher and 16 children were shot to death in a shocking mass shooting. This was the impetus for the United Kingdom to ban handguns. By 1996 pistol shooting had become the fastest growing sport in the U.K., and no one thought a ban on handguns would be possible. Campaigners for strict gun control received death threats, yet the ban did go through. Since its passage, 25 years ago, there has not been one single school shooting in the entire United Kingdom.
Australia pushed through a program to buyback guns after a massacre in 1996 in Port Arthur, Tasmania. The proportion of gun owners fell by 48% between 1997 and 2020. New Zealand banned ALL semi-automatic rifles less than ONE week after a mass shooter killed 51 worshippers in a mosque. And Canada, where many people are gun owners, tightened its gun laws after the 1989 mass shooting of 14 women at Ecole Polytechnique in Montreal. While the Uvalde Texas shooting did become the impetus for the passage of the first major federal gun safety legislation in over 25 years, which bolsters background checks for those under 21 and strengthens the red flag laws, Canada’s response to Uvalde was much tougher. Within a week of the shooting in Texas, Canada introduced legislation to FREEZE the buying, selling, and importing of handguns. Canada’s Prime Minister said, “We need only to look south of the border to know that if we do not take action firmly and rapidly, it gets worse and worse and more difficult to counter.” Our country, when it comes to guns, is apparently the standard NO ONE wants to follow.
It is quite fascinating that TRUST is such a major issue when it comes to guns and gun ownership. Trust in government, trust in people, and even trust in God can influence how people view guns. And certainly, how people grew up, whether or not guns were part of their culture, does have an impact as well. There was a gun tragedy in my own extended family. My father’s sister in law’s 17 year old nephew accidentally killed his 15 year old brother in a hunting accident. My parents hated guns, and though my father, a World War ll veteran, had to learn how to handle a gun, his wartime experience was behind a desk, not carrying a weapon. When he died in 2003 and his ashes were buried in a veteran’s cemetery in New Jersey, a gun salute was offered. “Oh please, no guns,” my mother said. My husband hated guns and I do too.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
MORE IS BETTER?
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
July 31, 2022
Luke 12: 13-21
We have no idea what the issue was between two brothers that would have prompted one of them to ask Jesus to tell his brother to share the family inheritance with him. It certainly was not uncommon for the oldest son to get most, if not all, of the inheritance, though in cases where there was great wealth, younger sons (and even daughters) could receive some share of the wealth. Perhaps this was a disgruntled younger son, who did not think the inheritance system was fair and so he wanted Jesus to intervene on his behalf. We simply do not know the circumstances. All we know is that Jesus refused to get involved in the family dispute. He apparently did not think the request here was so much about justice as it was about greed---about wanting more than is one’s due.
And so, Jesus simply responded by saying, “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” And then he went on to tell a parable about a rich man, who insisted on building bigger and better barns to store his copious crops, because more is better. More must be better. That’s the capitalistic motto, isn’t it, but Jesus did not live in a capitalistic economy, so it is obvious that one does not have to be a capitalist to want more. Wanting more seems to be something that is deep within us, even as we also know that riches do not give life its deepest meaning. But knowing that does not necessarily prevent us from wanting more or even acquiring more. People can rationally know that having a bigger house or a fancier car will not really bring them greater happiness, but they still can want them. I, for example, have more dresses than I could possibly wear in at least two or three years, but does not prevent me from buying more. No, because I like the pleasure that having lovely dress brings- me--even while I also know that all my dresses do not give to my life deep meaning. Am I a fool?
A fool is exactly what Jesus called the man who built all those barns. Is he a fool because he truly believed that the meaning of his life came down to having more? It is obvious he took great pleasure in his copious crops and barns, but if it was far more than pleasure he took; if he made his possessions the measure of his life--- that is spiritually deadening and foolish. He was going to die that night, so what good to him were all those barns and crops? There is no hint, by the way, that his death is a punishment for his greed. Death just happened to come to him with no warning. Perhaps if he had a warning, he might have considered what his life was truly all about. He might have asked himself what more really means.
We all know about more, because probably everyone here has been in circumstances where we not only wanted more, but also needed more. Maybe we needed a larger salary to pay tuition bills for kids in college, or to buy a house, or pay the property taxes that always seem to climb faster than our incomes. And though there is always a spiritual temptation involved in wanting more, it is also true that there are times when more really is better, when more truly does impact life in very positive ways.
Research has shown that when individual incomes in this country reach around $80,000 or 90,000 that is the tipping point---beyond this happiness does not increase with gains in wealth. Apparently, once people can comfortably pay their bills and then have extra money to do things they really enjoy--- going out to dinner, attending plays and concerts, traveling, the happiness quotient is quite high. But once people decide that all this is not enough; that is, once they want that bigger house in the fancier neighborhood---then when they actually get it, their happiness index either stays the same, or in many cases it actually decreases, because of a greater level of anxiety about the ability to maintain this standard. Research also indicates that people who live in neighborhoods, where the incomes of their neighbors are higher than theirs, are actually more prone to depression and even suicide than those with the same incomes, but who live in more modest neighborhoods. When you have less and are surrounded by people who have more, it is all too easy to become less happy and more focused on what you lack.
My youngest child, Caitlin, lived abroad for 12 years after college---in France and China and then 9 years in Thailand. She thought France never got over its grief of losing French as the international language; now English has that honor. China, she said, is a very competitive country, obsessed with having more. She also thought it was a mean country. She taught in an elite private school where the language of instruction was English, because all these successful and wealthy Chinese wanted their children to be completely fluent in English, so they could successfully compete in the world. Her fourth grade students were so anxious about their future success, she felt sorry for them. She was always telling them not to worry so much. But Thailand was a completely different experience. In a culture not driven by the desire or need to have more, people seemed to be happy with much less and grateful for what they have. She found it to be a much less anxious culture than our own and certainly China.
Yet greed can afflict anyone, which is why Jesus, though living in a culture, where most people were poor, still felt it important to teach a lesson about greed. Most of the people, who came to hear Jesus preach, were poor, and then as now the poor do need MORE for a better life. We know that Jesus was very concerned about justice and the redistribution of wealth. Many scholars believe he supported the Jubilee, when every 50 years, land and property were redistributed and returned to those who had lost them. But he also knew how dangerous it can be if the primary focus of life becomes getting and having. That certainly happens with the wealthy, but it can also happen if one is poor and lacks the basics. Life then becomes reduced to a struggle to get and have simply in order to survive. And that too can make life small and mean. Perhaps this is why Jesus refused to arbitrate a family inheritance squabble. He thought the focus was all wrong, just as the farmer’s focus on building bigger and better barns became all wrong. Both men were fools, because they did not realize that the focus on wealth can so easily become self-destructive and isolating.
In the case of the farmer, his isolation became so severe that in the course of three verses (17-19) he used the personal pronouns “I and my” nine times. The only conversation this man had was with himself, and it was all about what he was going to do with his wealth in the future: I will do this; I will pull down my barns and build bigger ones. I will say to my soul. In the immediate present his only goal was a kind of hedonistic pleasure: “relax, eat, drink and be merry.” No thought about anyone else, about how his wealth might be used on behalf of others. That is what greed does: it narrows the focus down to the self. It cuts off relationship.
This man was not only unaware of others and their needs, but he was also unaware of God and what God might well be asking of him. Such blindness to God is another mark of his foolishness. Psalm 14 says, “A fool says in his heart, There is no God,” which does not have to mean the denial of God’s existence, but rather a denial of God’s claim on one’s life. This rich man thought he had achieved everything on his own; he was clever and hard working, and so he was convinced that he owed nothing to anyone else, including God. The reward, he thought, belonged to him alone.
But Jesus told the story to remind his hearers and us that there are other claims on our lives. My and mine just don’t cut it. The rich man thought he was at the center of the story, and that is one of the great spiritual temptations---to think it is all about us. Whether rich, poor, or somewhere in between, any one of us can be greedy, so Jesus told the story to remind his hearers that no one is invulnerable to greed, and all should pay attention to where their focus is and needs to be.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
July 31, 2022
Luke 12: 13-21
We have no idea what the issue was between two brothers that would have prompted one of them to ask Jesus to tell his brother to share the family inheritance with him. It certainly was not uncommon for the oldest son to get most, if not all, of the inheritance, though in cases where there was great wealth, younger sons (and even daughters) could receive some share of the wealth. Perhaps this was a disgruntled younger son, who did not think the inheritance system was fair and so he wanted Jesus to intervene on his behalf. We simply do not know the circumstances. All we know is that Jesus refused to get involved in the family dispute. He apparently did not think the request here was so much about justice as it was about greed---about wanting more than is one’s due.
And so, Jesus simply responded by saying, “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” And then he went on to tell a parable about a rich man, who insisted on building bigger and better barns to store his copious crops, because more is better. More must be better. That’s the capitalistic motto, isn’t it, but Jesus did not live in a capitalistic economy, so it is obvious that one does not have to be a capitalist to want more. Wanting more seems to be something that is deep within us, even as we also know that riches do not give life its deepest meaning. But knowing that does not necessarily prevent us from wanting more or even acquiring more. People can rationally know that having a bigger house or a fancier car will not really bring them greater happiness, but they still can want them. I, for example, have more dresses than I could possibly wear in at least two or three years, but does not prevent me from buying more. No, because I like the pleasure that having lovely dress brings- me--even while I also know that all my dresses do not give to my life deep meaning. Am I a fool?
A fool is exactly what Jesus called the man who built all those barns. Is he a fool because he truly believed that the meaning of his life came down to having more? It is obvious he took great pleasure in his copious crops and barns, but if it was far more than pleasure he took; if he made his possessions the measure of his life--- that is spiritually deadening and foolish. He was going to die that night, so what good to him were all those barns and crops? There is no hint, by the way, that his death is a punishment for his greed. Death just happened to come to him with no warning. Perhaps if he had a warning, he might have considered what his life was truly all about. He might have asked himself what more really means.
We all know about more, because probably everyone here has been in circumstances where we not only wanted more, but also needed more. Maybe we needed a larger salary to pay tuition bills for kids in college, or to buy a house, or pay the property taxes that always seem to climb faster than our incomes. And though there is always a spiritual temptation involved in wanting more, it is also true that there are times when more really is better, when more truly does impact life in very positive ways.
Research has shown that when individual incomes in this country reach around $80,000 or 90,000 that is the tipping point---beyond this happiness does not increase with gains in wealth. Apparently, once people can comfortably pay their bills and then have extra money to do things they really enjoy--- going out to dinner, attending plays and concerts, traveling, the happiness quotient is quite high. But once people decide that all this is not enough; that is, once they want that bigger house in the fancier neighborhood---then when they actually get it, their happiness index either stays the same, or in many cases it actually decreases, because of a greater level of anxiety about the ability to maintain this standard. Research also indicates that people who live in neighborhoods, where the incomes of their neighbors are higher than theirs, are actually more prone to depression and even suicide than those with the same incomes, but who live in more modest neighborhoods. When you have less and are surrounded by people who have more, it is all too easy to become less happy and more focused on what you lack.
My youngest child, Caitlin, lived abroad for 12 years after college---in France and China and then 9 years in Thailand. She thought France never got over its grief of losing French as the international language; now English has that honor. China, she said, is a very competitive country, obsessed with having more. She also thought it was a mean country. She taught in an elite private school where the language of instruction was English, because all these successful and wealthy Chinese wanted their children to be completely fluent in English, so they could successfully compete in the world. Her fourth grade students were so anxious about their future success, she felt sorry for them. She was always telling them not to worry so much. But Thailand was a completely different experience. In a culture not driven by the desire or need to have more, people seemed to be happy with much less and grateful for what they have. She found it to be a much less anxious culture than our own and certainly China.
Yet greed can afflict anyone, which is why Jesus, though living in a culture, where most people were poor, still felt it important to teach a lesson about greed. Most of the people, who came to hear Jesus preach, were poor, and then as now the poor do need MORE for a better life. We know that Jesus was very concerned about justice and the redistribution of wealth. Many scholars believe he supported the Jubilee, when every 50 years, land and property were redistributed and returned to those who had lost them. But he also knew how dangerous it can be if the primary focus of life becomes getting and having. That certainly happens with the wealthy, but it can also happen if one is poor and lacks the basics. Life then becomes reduced to a struggle to get and have simply in order to survive. And that too can make life small and mean. Perhaps this is why Jesus refused to arbitrate a family inheritance squabble. He thought the focus was all wrong, just as the farmer’s focus on building bigger and better barns became all wrong. Both men were fools, because they did not realize that the focus on wealth can so easily become self-destructive and isolating.
In the case of the farmer, his isolation became so severe that in the course of three verses (17-19) he used the personal pronouns “I and my” nine times. The only conversation this man had was with himself, and it was all about what he was going to do with his wealth in the future: I will do this; I will pull down my barns and build bigger ones. I will say to my soul. In the immediate present his only goal was a kind of hedonistic pleasure: “relax, eat, drink and be merry.” No thought about anyone else, about how his wealth might be used on behalf of others. That is what greed does: it narrows the focus down to the self. It cuts off relationship.
This man was not only unaware of others and their needs, but he was also unaware of God and what God might well be asking of him. Such blindness to God is another mark of his foolishness. Psalm 14 says, “A fool says in his heart, There is no God,” which does not have to mean the denial of God’s existence, but rather a denial of God’s claim on one’s life. This rich man thought he had achieved everything on his own; he was clever and hard working, and so he was convinced that he owed nothing to anyone else, including God. The reward, he thought, belonged to him alone.
But Jesus told the story to remind his hearers and us that there are other claims on our lives. My and mine just don’t cut it. The rich man thought he was at the center of the story, and that is one of the great spiritual temptations---to think it is all about us. Whether rich, poor, or somewhere in between, any one of us can be greedy, so Jesus told the story to remind his hearers that no one is invulnerable to greed, and all should pay attention to where their focus is and needs to be.
July 27, 2022
Dear Friends,
On Monday, July 25, Pope Francis made a visit to the Canadian province of Alberta, where he offered a heart-felt apology for the abuse of Indigenous people, which occurred at residential schools the Canadian government had established. For over a century 60% or 70% of these schools were run by the Roman Catholic Church, while others were run by various Protestant sects and denominations as well as the Canadian government. The children, who attended these schools, were forcibly removed from their parents’ homes with the express goal of wiping out their indigenous language, culture, and religion. They were to be thoroughly assimilated into Canadian western culture and forget any connections they might remember from their former lives.
The Canadian government had apologized some years before as had Protestant denominations, but the Vatican stalled. A Truth and Reconciliation Commission, established by the Canadian government, had declared the schools to be a form of cultural genocide and had urged the Vatican to make a formal apology in person, but the Vatican held out. A little over a year ago, a shocking discovery was made in British Columbia when ground penetrating radar uncovered evidence that Indigenous children were buried in unmarked graves. Former students had attested to this and then evidence was uncovered in other areas as well. Denial was impossible, and so the ugly truth was acknowledged. Not only was cultural genocide committed, but also cruelty was visited upon the children: mental and physical abuse were suffered by many and some even died because of the neglect and abuse. Shocking is only one word to describe the cruelty. And so, the Pope travelled to Canada to make his formal apology and begin the long road toward reconciliation.
“I humbly beg forgiveness for the evil committed by so many Christians against the Indigenous peoples,” the Pope said. “I am sorry for the ways in which many members of the church and of religious communities cooperated, not least through indifference, in projects of cultural destruction and forced assimilation promoted by the government of that time which culminated in the system of residential schools.”
So, what difference does such an apology make? From what I have read, the response seems to have been quite positive. Indigenous people were genuinely moved that the Pope did come and speak words of sorrow in the hope that forgiveness would and could come. The acknowledgment of wrongdoing accompanying a request for forgiveness actually moved people away from rage and anger toward the hope that a new beginning is possible. Of course, there were those who felt the words were inadequate. Sorrow over the past can only go so far. If a new beginning is to come, it must come with action. And one possible action is reparations---payment to those who lived in the schools and survived and compensation to their heirs.
The Pope has promised further investigations, so more specifics can be learned, and a new beginning forged. What that new beginning might look like is left to the imagination. On the front page of the New York Times on Tuesday morning was a picture of the Pope in a wheelchair, sitting in a cemetery surrounded by white crosses. What was he thinking as he sat there? He knew that the Indigenous children who lay in the ground had no marker and no way of being known and remembered. Their identities were wiped out and their memory expunged from the Book of Life---not unlike what happened in the concentration camps in World War ll. Someone once said, “When we cannot remember, we hope that God will remember.” And how God remembers and what God does with the memory are not readily apparent to our limited ways of knowing and understanding.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
On Monday, July 25, Pope Francis made a visit to the Canadian province of Alberta, where he offered a heart-felt apology for the abuse of Indigenous people, which occurred at residential schools the Canadian government had established. For over a century 60% or 70% of these schools were run by the Roman Catholic Church, while others were run by various Protestant sects and denominations as well as the Canadian government. The children, who attended these schools, were forcibly removed from their parents’ homes with the express goal of wiping out their indigenous language, culture, and religion. They were to be thoroughly assimilated into Canadian western culture and forget any connections they might remember from their former lives.
The Canadian government had apologized some years before as had Protestant denominations, but the Vatican stalled. A Truth and Reconciliation Commission, established by the Canadian government, had declared the schools to be a form of cultural genocide and had urged the Vatican to make a formal apology in person, but the Vatican held out. A little over a year ago, a shocking discovery was made in British Columbia when ground penetrating radar uncovered evidence that Indigenous children were buried in unmarked graves. Former students had attested to this and then evidence was uncovered in other areas as well. Denial was impossible, and so the ugly truth was acknowledged. Not only was cultural genocide committed, but also cruelty was visited upon the children: mental and physical abuse were suffered by many and some even died because of the neglect and abuse. Shocking is only one word to describe the cruelty. And so, the Pope travelled to Canada to make his formal apology and begin the long road toward reconciliation.
“I humbly beg forgiveness for the evil committed by so many Christians against the Indigenous peoples,” the Pope said. “I am sorry for the ways in which many members of the church and of religious communities cooperated, not least through indifference, in projects of cultural destruction and forced assimilation promoted by the government of that time which culminated in the system of residential schools.”
So, what difference does such an apology make? From what I have read, the response seems to have been quite positive. Indigenous people were genuinely moved that the Pope did come and speak words of sorrow in the hope that forgiveness would and could come. The acknowledgment of wrongdoing accompanying a request for forgiveness actually moved people away from rage and anger toward the hope that a new beginning is possible. Of course, there were those who felt the words were inadequate. Sorrow over the past can only go so far. If a new beginning is to come, it must come with action. And one possible action is reparations---payment to those who lived in the schools and survived and compensation to their heirs.
The Pope has promised further investigations, so more specifics can be learned, and a new beginning forged. What that new beginning might look like is left to the imagination. On the front page of the New York Times on Tuesday morning was a picture of the Pope in a wheelchair, sitting in a cemetery surrounded by white crosses. What was he thinking as he sat there? He knew that the Indigenous children who lay in the ground had no marker and no way of being known and remembered. Their identities were wiped out and their memory expunged from the Book of Life---not unlike what happened in the concentration camps in World War ll. Someone once said, “When we cannot remember, we hope that God will remember.” And how God remembers and what God does with the memory are not readily apparent to our limited ways of knowing and understanding.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
The Prayer
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
July 24, 2022
Luke 11: 1-13
Most of you know the name of The Rev. Desmond Tutu, the South African Anglican bishop and anti-apartheid leader. Many considered him a modern saint. He died on December 26 of last year, and after his death all kinds of stories and remembrances were published. I read one about his visit to Harvard University some years ago, when he addressed a crowd of people, filled with activists of different ages. Expecting inspiration for their own struggles against poverty, war, and racism, many were disappointed when he spoke about prayer---about the power and potency of prayer, about how it had helped him and others in the struggle to bring change to South Africa. “Prayer,” he said, “was a teacher of patience and a daily reminder that God is working in history, that God’s justice would neither be mocked nor defeated and that finally God was the God of all, both the victims and the oppressors.” Some in the crowd grumbled, “What’s he talking about? “As long as the slaves prayed on their knees rather than fight on their feet, nothing much changed”’ Someone else said, “It was only when people came out of the church and started marching that Civil Rights got its due.” Tutu calmly replied by quoting Abraham Lincoln, “Many times I have been driven to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had no where else to go.” “Yes,” continued Tutu, “it takes strength and courage to move from your knees to your feet and act, but don’t underestimate the courage and strength it takes to move from your feet to your knees”.
Prayer: there is probably nothing in the religious life that confuses and unnerves us more than prayer. Many church goers openly admit they are not much good at prayer, and if you ask them to lead prayer, say at a church meeting or some other gathering, they often recoil in embarrassment, hoping that the clergy will do the praying. Public speaking is hard for many people, but public praying is even harder. Part of what makes prayer difficult for us is that we are not exactly sure what prayer is and what we can or should expect from prayer.
Oh sure, we think of prayer as talking to God, bringing our needs and desires, our wants and our fears before the divine majesty and mystery. When we pray, we often want God to do something, to fix something, though we are not sure what God is going to do with all the needs and requests. Some years ago, at a well-known medical school, there was a prayer study done among heart patients, and the results showed that people who were prayed over, whether they knew they were being prayed for or not, actually did considerably better in their recovery. On the other hand, many of us here can point to instances where we felt prayer did not work, at least in the way we were hoping. The person afflicted with cancer died despite our prayers; the needed job did not come through, the marriage collapsed despite our work and our prayers. So yes, we do sometimes wonder what good prayer really is.
I remember years ago, when I was in seminary a minister about to retire told me that he had come to the conclusion that prayer was a kind of therapy, changing the one doing the praying, but doing little to alter the outward circumstances. On the other hand, I knew a nun, who had spent 15 years, cloistered, praying for the world. Prayer, she told me, was like storming the gates of heaven with our pleas. She fervently believed that prayer does change things. Jesus told us to persist, to knock, to plead and never give up.
The Protestant reformer Martin Luther used to say that one of our mistakes with prayer is that we tend to think of it as a one way conversation---we do the talking (or the whining or complaining, as Luther was fond of saying) and God is supposed to do the listening and then the acting, changing life for the better. Now there is nothing wrong with asking God for things---that is certainly part of the tradition, and when we examine the Lord’s Prayer, as it is presented in Luke’s gospel, we find there are a number of petitions---the asking for daily bread, the request for the forgiveness of sin, and the avoidance of times of trial or temptation. But note: petition is not where the prayer begins. Rather it begins with an acknowledgment of God: Our Father, who art in heaven.
Now God in this first century culture was imagined as Father, but God can also be Mother, the Divine Parent, loving and caring for us, who although is concerned with earthly matters is also beyond earth, beyond our cares and concerns---in heaven. And this God is holy---that is what the word hallowed means, holy. With the acknowledgment of God’s identity as holy parent, the declaration is made that God’s kingdom, God’s rule, God’s will are to be accomplished on earth as they are in heaven. So, Jesus taught that before any human request or need is brought to God in prayer, the first step is an acknowledgment of God---God’s care for us as a parent and God’s rule in heaven and on earth.
Luther thought that if we could began prayer with such an acknowledgment, we would be helped to temper our insistence on getting our needs met. Our needs, wants and desires do not suddenly disappear, and indeed, they may be completely worthy and humanly very important. Jesus told us that God realizes we have needs, but the needs are to be viewed in relationship to God. This is what Desmond Tutu meant to communicate about the importance of prayer to him and to those who struggled with him for justice in South Africa. Tutu was a tireless worker for justice, and he fervently believed that God was with him in this struggle, but he began with God and not with the struggle, and for him this made all the difference. Prayer helped him to move from his knees to his feet and struggle for what he believed was right and good and just. Prayer for Bishop Tutu was more than talking to God, more than laying out human needs and crying out for justice: How long, O Lord, how long? Prayer also means listening to and for God. As the Psalmist sang so long ago, “Be still and know that I am God”. Prayer is also about that stillness.
When my husband and I visited Poland six Julys ago, we went to Auschwitz and Birkenau, the notorious concentration camps. There in one of the buildings was a rabbi, who was silently praying. I will tell you that one of the things that struck me was how quiet everyone was. People dare not speak above a whisper. I told the rabbi I was a Christian clergywoman, and I was not too sure what it meant to pray in a place like this. “Yes,” he acknowledged, there were many desperate prayers prayed here, many of them unanswered. Yet I believe that in such a place as this prayer can become God’s truth--- the certainty that pain is not empty; the world is not a void, and the soul is not alone. Your Jesus said to pray without ceasing, and when he prayed, Thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven---that is a call to action—God’s action as well as our own.”
Putting his hands in his pocket, he pulled out some sheets of paper, and gave me one. “Here,” he said, “I carry copies of this, and I give it to people I meet whom I think would be interested.” What he gave me was a prayer, written by an unknown prisoner in the Ravensbruck Concentration Camp, and placed by the body of a dead child:
O Lord, remember not only the men and women of good will here, but remember also those of ill will. But do not remember all the suffering they have inflicted on us. Remember the fruits we have bought, thanks to this suffering: our comradeship, our loyalty, our humility, our courage, our generosity, the greatness of heart, which has grown out of this, and when they come to judgment let all the fruits, which we have borne be their forgiveness.
What good does prayer do? Jesus never once explained prayer; he never said how it worked, or why it is that some prayers seem to be answered, while others are not. He told us simply, “When you pray, say this.” Our call as Christians is to pray, and what God does with our prayers, how God uses our prayers, we leave all that to God. We cannot know what we cannot know, but we can hope that there are prayers, which God uses to heal the world of its brokenness.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
July 24, 2022
Luke 11: 1-13
Most of you know the name of The Rev. Desmond Tutu, the South African Anglican bishop and anti-apartheid leader. Many considered him a modern saint. He died on December 26 of last year, and after his death all kinds of stories and remembrances were published. I read one about his visit to Harvard University some years ago, when he addressed a crowd of people, filled with activists of different ages. Expecting inspiration for their own struggles against poverty, war, and racism, many were disappointed when he spoke about prayer---about the power and potency of prayer, about how it had helped him and others in the struggle to bring change to South Africa. “Prayer,” he said, “was a teacher of patience and a daily reminder that God is working in history, that God’s justice would neither be mocked nor defeated and that finally God was the God of all, both the victims and the oppressors.” Some in the crowd grumbled, “What’s he talking about? “As long as the slaves prayed on their knees rather than fight on their feet, nothing much changed”’ Someone else said, “It was only when people came out of the church and started marching that Civil Rights got its due.” Tutu calmly replied by quoting Abraham Lincoln, “Many times I have been driven to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had no where else to go.” “Yes,” continued Tutu, “it takes strength and courage to move from your knees to your feet and act, but don’t underestimate the courage and strength it takes to move from your feet to your knees”.
Prayer: there is probably nothing in the religious life that confuses and unnerves us more than prayer. Many church goers openly admit they are not much good at prayer, and if you ask them to lead prayer, say at a church meeting or some other gathering, they often recoil in embarrassment, hoping that the clergy will do the praying. Public speaking is hard for many people, but public praying is even harder. Part of what makes prayer difficult for us is that we are not exactly sure what prayer is and what we can or should expect from prayer.
Oh sure, we think of prayer as talking to God, bringing our needs and desires, our wants and our fears before the divine majesty and mystery. When we pray, we often want God to do something, to fix something, though we are not sure what God is going to do with all the needs and requests. Some years ago, at a well-known medical school, there was a prayer study done among heart patients, and the results showed that people who were prayed over, whether they knew they were being prayed for or not, actually did considerably better in their recovery. On the other hand, many of us here can point to instances where we felt prayer did not work, at least in the way we were hoping. The person afflicted with cancer died despite our prayers; the needed job did not come through, the marriage collapsed despite our work and our prayers. So yes, we do sometimes wonder what good prayer really is.
I remember years ago, when I was in seminary a minister about to retire told me that he had come to the conclusion that prayer was a kind of therapy, changing the one doing the praying, but doing little to alter the outward circumstances. On the other hand, I knew a nun, who had spent 15 years, cloistered, praying for the world. Prayer, she told me, was like storming the gates of heaven with our pleas. She fervently believed that prayer does change things. Jesus told us to persist, to knock, to plead and never give up.
The Protestant reformer Martin Luther used to say that one of our mistakes with prayer is that we tend to think of it as a one way conversation---we do the talking (or the whining or complaining, as Luther was fond of saying) and God is supposed to do the listening and then the acting, changing life for the better. Now there is nothing wrong with asking God for things---that is certainly part of the tradition, and when we examine the Lord’s Prayer, as it is presented in Luke’s gospel, we find there are a number of petitions---the asking for daily bread, the request for the forgiveness of sin, and the avoidance of times of trial or temptation. But note: petition is not where the prayer begins. Rather it begins with an acknowledgment of God: Our Father, who art in heaven.
Now God in this first century culture was imagined as Father, but God can also be Mother, the Divine Parent, loving and caring for us, who although is concerned with earthly matters is also beyond earth, beyond our cares and concerns---in heaven. And this God is holy---that is what the word hallowed means, holy. With the acknowledgment of God’s identity as holy parent, the declaration is made that God’s kingdom, God’s rule, God’s will are to be accomplished on earth as they are in heaven. So, Jesus taught that before any human request or need is brought to God in prayer, the first step is an acknowledgment of God---God’s care for us as a parent and God’s rule in heaven and on earth.
Luther thought that if we could began prayer with such an acknowledgment, we would be helped to temper our insistence on getting our needs met. Our needs, wants and desires do not suddenly disappear, and indeed, they may be completely worthy and humanly very important. Jesus told us that God realizes we have needs, but the needs are to be viewed in relationship to God. This is what Desmond Tutu meant to communicate about the importance of prayer to him and to those who struggled with him for justice in South Africa. Tutu was a tireless worker for justice, and he fervently believed that God was with him in this struggle, but he began with God and not with the struggle, and for him this made all the difference. Prayer helped him to move from his knees to his feet and struggle for what he believed was right and good and just. Prayer for Bishop Tutu was more than talking to God, more than laying out human needs and crying out for justice: How long, O Lord, how long? Prayer also means listening to and for God. As the Psalmist sang so long ago, “Be still and know that I am God”. Prayer is also about that stillness.
When my husband and I visited Poland six Julys ago, we went to Auschwitz and Birkenau, the notorious concentration camps. There in one of the buildings was a rabbi, who was silently praying. I will tell you that one of the things that struck me was how quiet everyone was. People dare not speak above a whisper. I told the rabbi I was a Christian clergywoman, and I was not too sure what it meant to pray in a place like this. “Yes,” he acknowledged, there were many desperate prayers prayed here, many of them unanswered. Yet I believe that in such a place as this prayer can become God’s truth--- the certainty that pain is not empty; the world is not a void, and the soul is not alone. Your Jesus said to pray without ceasing, and when he prayed, Thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven---that is a call to action—God’s action as well as our own.”
Putting his hands in his pocket, he pulled out some sheets of paper, and gave me one. “Here,” he said, “I carry copies of this, and I give it to people I meet whom I think would be interested.” What he gave me was a prayer, written by an unknown prisoner in the Ravensbruck Concentration Camp, and placed by the body of a dead child:
O Lord, remember not only the men and women of good will here, but remember also those of ill will. But do not remember all the suffering they have inflicted on us. Remember the fruits we have bought, thanks to this suffering: our comradeship, our loyalty, our humility, our courage, our generosity, the greatness of heart, which has grown out of this, and when they come to judgment let all the fruits, which we have borne be their forgiveness.
What good does prayer do? Jesus never once explained prayer; he never said how it worked, or why it is that some prayers seem to be answered, while others are not. He told us simply, “When you pray, say this.” Our call as Christians is to pray, and what God does with our prayers, how God uses our prayers, we leave all that to God. We cannot know what we cannot know, but we can hope that there are prayers, which God uses to heal the world of its brokenness.
July 14, 2022
Dear Friends,
This is truly incredible---the most exciting knowledge that has come our way in quite a long time. I am referring to the images that are coming from the James Webb Telescope, revealing what has been invisible details of the universe. I wrote about the Telescope some months ago, but now we can actually see images of multiple galaxies, stars bursting, dying and becoming nebulae. On Wednesday morning, I opened up The New York Times to see on the front page a picture of the cliffs of the Carina Nebula with stars in the background, surrounded by multiple galaxies. The light from these galaxies originated more than 13 billion years ago. The James Webb is going to give us images close to the dawn of time and the edge of the universe. This is truly spectacular!
The first image from Webb, which was shown on Monday, is named SMACS 0723. It is a patch of the sky that is visible in the Southern Hemisphere, and it includes a massive cluster of galaxies about 4 billion light years away from our earth. Before Webb the record for the earliest and farthest galaxy ever seen is 420 million years after the Big Bang, but astronomers expect Webb to break that record time and time again.
Astronomers are fascinated by the birth and death of stars. Most stars, including our sun, will come to an end, forming a nebula, which is like a colorful gas cloud. The cloud will expand and eventually fade away into the space between stars. But Webb shows that light is emitted from complex carbon molecules that travel through space, settling in clouds that eventually give birth to new stars, planets, and asteroids. These carbon molecules seem to be born from the same process that give rise to stars. There is so much to be learned and so much that is not yet understood. One astronomer commented that just as Hubble changed what was known, Webb will do the same. In many respects, he said, “we will have to rip up the previous work we have done and start over.”
I think we all can imagine how hard it is to rip up previous work and begin again. We human beings have this tendency to hang on to what we believe/think is true, and when new knowledge intrudes and does not square with what we thought we knew, it is painful, and we resist. I remember very well when my husband was a graduate student, and he had been working on a series of experiments for many months, hoping the work would lead to a thesis. Well, it came to nothing. He had to admit this line of thinking was a dead end. At first, he could not believe it; he did not want to believe it, because he had to throw out five months of solid experimentation. He tried to consider all kinds of different explanations for why things did not work out. He argued with his supervising professor. But finally, he was forced to conclude that this line of work and thought would not lead him to where he needed to go. He had to rip it up and start over. And then something new had the chance to be born. This also reminds me how very difficult, impossible really, it was for Albert Einstein to wrap his head around the fact that light can behave as both a wave and a particle (photon). “I do not believe,” he said, “that God plays dice with the universe.” He wanted to know God’s thoughts.
The Webb Telescope cost over $30 billion and took over 30 years to develop, the brainchild of at least 20,000 engineers, astronomers, and technicians from NASA, and the Canadian and European Space Agencies. On Tuesday there was a ceremony at which two of the astronomers congratulated and praised the teams that had worked so long and so well together. Dr. Mather claimed he had never worried that Webb would not succeed, while the other astronomer, Dr. Zurbuchen said, “I get paid to worry.” And perhaps God does too—worry, that is!
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
This is truly incredible---the most exciting knowledge that has come our way in quite a long time. I am referring to the images that are coming from the James Webb Telescope, revealing what has been invisible details of the universe. I wrote about the Telescope some months ago, but now we can actually see images of multiple galaxies, stars bursting, dying and becoming nebulae. On Wednesday morning, I opened up The New York Times to see on the front page a picture of the cliffs of the Carina Nebula with stars in the background, surrounded by multiple galaxies. The light from these galaxies originated more than 13 billion years ago. The James Webb is going to give us images close to the dawn of time and the edge of the universe. This is truly spectacular!
The first image from Webb, which was shown on Monday, is named SMACS 0723. It is a patch of the sky that is visible in the Southern Hemisphere, and it includes a massive cluster of galaxies about 4 billion light years away from our earth. Before Webb the record for the earliest and farthest galaxy ever seen is 420 million years after the Big Bang, but astronomers expect Webb to break that record time and time again.
Astronomers are fascinated by the birth and death of stars. Most stars, including our sun, will come to an end, forming a nebula, which is like a colorful gas cloud. The cloud will expand and eventually fade away into the space between stars. But Webb shows that light is emitted from complex carbon molecules that travel through space, settling in clouds that eventually give birth to new stars, planets, and asteroids. These carbon molecules seem to be born from the same process that give rise to stars. There is so much to be learned and so much that is not yet understood. One astronomer commented that just as Hubble changed what was known, Webb will do the same. In many respects, he said, “we will have to rip up the previous work we have done and start over.”
I think we all can imagine how hard it is to rip up previous work and begin again. We human beings have this tendency to hang on to what we believe/think is true, and when new knowledge intrudes and does not square with what we thought we knew, it is painful, and we resist. I remember very well when my husband was a graduate student, and he had been working on a series of experiments for many months, hoping the work would lead to a thesis. Well, it came to nothing. He had to admit this line of thinking was a dead end. At first, he could not believe it; he did not want to believe it, because he had to throw out five months of solid experimentation. He tried to consider all kinds of different explanations for why things did not work out. He argued with his supervising professor. But finally, he was forced to conclude that this line of work and thought would not lead him to where he needed to go. He had to rip it up and start over. And then something new had the chance to be born. This also reminds me how very difficult, impossible really, it was for Albert Einstein to wrap his head around the fact that light can behave as both a wave and a particle (photon). “I do not believe,” he said, “that God plays dice with the universe.” He wanted to know God’s thoughts.
The Webb Telescope cost over $30 billion and took over 30 years to develop, the brainchild of at least 20,000 engineers, astronomers, and technicians from NASA, and the Canadian and European Space Agencies. On Tuesday there was a ceremony at which two of the astronomers congratulated and praised the teams that had worked so long and so well together. Dr. Mather claimed he had never worried that Webb would not succeed, while the other astronomer, Dr. Zurbuchen said, “I get paid to worry.” And perhaps God does too—worry, that is!
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
When the Enemy Saves
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
July 10, 2022
Luke 10: 25-37
There is probably no more familiar story in the Bible than the Good Samaritan. Even people with no church background often know it. It used to be considered part of general western cultural knowledge, but in today’s society, that is probably changing. Anyway, I would guess that everyone here knows it. But it is always useful to revisit even the most familiar text to see if any new insights can emerge.
This parable is unique to Luke, though both Matthew and Mark have someone ask a question about which is the greatest commandment. The exchange in Luke is between a lawyer and Jesus and it begins with a question, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” In Matthew’s gospel the question is Which is the greatest commandment and in Mark’s gospel it is which is the first commandment, but Luke makes no attempt to rank the commandments. Like the quintessential teacher he is, Jesus responds to the question by asking questions: What is written in the law? What do you read there? And the lawyer responds by citing a verse from Deuteronomy and one from Leviticus. Love of God and love for neighbor permeate the Jewish law. And so, Jesus simply responds, “Do this and live.”
But the lawyer is not finished, and he then poses a question about the neighbor: Who is my neighbor? If eternal life is gained by loving God fully and loving the neighbor as oneself, it is interesting that this lawyer seems to know who God is, but he does not know the identity of his neighbor, and Jesus responds by telling the story of a man, beaten, and left for dead, who is helped and quite literally saved by a Samaritan. Now we are never directly told that the injured man is a Jew, but since Jesus is Jewish and the lawyer, who approaches Jesus is most likely Jewish, and the people, who would be hearing this story are probably a mixture of Jews and gentiles, who would know the enmity between the Samaritans the Jews, it is a safe interpretation to identify the man as Jewish. And what we see is a man, considered the enemy of the Jew, who helps and saves him.
The friction between Jew and Samaritan goes back to the days of the Assyrian invasion of the northern kingdom, Israel, in 722 BC, where Samaritans also lived. Although they read the same scriptures, the Jews considered Sinai the sacred mountain, while the Samaritans thought it was Mount Gerizim. But the real tension grew when after the Assyrians invaded, the Samaritans began to intermarry with them, and intermarriage to the Jewish was anathema. It was considered a pollution of the bloodline, and after that Samaritans were viewed as thoroughly unclean and polluted. So, Jews and Samaritans hated each other, and everyone knew it. No one listening to this story, Jew or gentile, would have expected the Samaritan to be the one who would offer aid. The priest and the Levite walked by on the other side of the road to avoid any contact with what they perhaps thought was a dead body. Priests could become ritually unclean if they touched a dead body, but Levites were only in danger of ritual contamination if they touched a dead body while performing their sacred duties.
When Jesus asked who the neighbor was to the man, the lawyer correctly answered, “The one who showed him mercy,” and then Jesus said, “Go, and do likewise.” And because of that command, we tend to see the story from the perspective of the Samaritan, and so we understand the ethical dimension of the story in terms of what we are called to do---render mercy and aid.
But what happens if we see the story from the perspective of the beaten man, the one left for dead. What does it mean when the one who helps you, the one who literally saves your life is your enemy? How does that change the meaning of the story for us? How do we carry that lesson into the actual living of our lives.
I have a very good friend and colleague, Kaz, who for three years, while he was a student at Yale Divinity School, was my student intern. Kaz has been serving for the past 10 years a church in Marlborough, MA. He is Polish with a PhD in law and he never thought he could become a minister because he is gay. But the United States was friendlier to gay pastors than the Reformed Church in Poland, so Kaz changed professions and countries of residence. He is now a dual citizen. Anyway, Kaz’s Nana, the mother of his mother, lived through the Second World War in Poland.
The Nazis hated the Slavs almost as much as they hated the Jews, which is why they invaded Poland in 1939 and Russia in June, 1941, despite the pact Hitler and Stalin had signed. The Germans murdered many Poles and forced others, like Kaz’s Nana to leave their homes. She was told to report to the train station, where she would be deported to another city or town. She had with her, her three year old daughter, who would become Kaz’s mother. While standing on the train platform, there was this young German soldier, not more than 17 or 18, and Kaz’s Nana described him as the perfect example of an Aryan---blond hair, blue eyes, handsome and strong. He stared at Kaz’s Nana and her little girl, and then he lifted his arm and pointed to the woods beyond the train station. “Run, Mother, run,” he commanded. And that is exactly what his nana did. Holding her daughter and the bag she was carrying, she ran to the woods. Cowering there for a while, considering what she would do next, she suddenly heard the sound of machine guns as she witnessed the people on the train platform being brutally shot down. She ran for her life, hiding in the woods until she found shelter in another town with other Poles, willing to help her and her child.
When she told the story to Kaz, she said even after all these years, she did not fully understand why she did what the young soldier told her to do. She did not understand why she believed him. “I hated the Germans,” she confessed. “They were less than human to me, so why did I listen to that boy? And why did he save me? Perhaps I reminded him of his mother, or perhaps your mother reminded him of his little sister. I don’t know. I only know that my life and the life of your mother were saved by someone who was my enemy and the enemy of Poland. And what that has meant for me is that after the war I was never able to successfully hate the Germans as so many other Poles did. Yes, I saw what they did. I saw the destruction of my beloved Warsaw and later I would learn the full story of their massacre of the Jews as well as the Poles. I knew all that, and yet because I was saved by one of them, I was forced to come to terms with the truth that guilt and innocence are not evenly shared. My life and the life of your mother were in that young man’s hands, and we are both alive because of him. He was my enemy, and yet he literally became my savior. He saved us from certain death.
When we see ourselves as the brutalized man, left to die by the side of the road, and consider what it might mean for us to be saved by the one we hate or consider our enemy, the parable of the Good Samaritan does take on a different ethical dimension, because it removes us from the position of power, where we all prefer to be, and puts us in the position of victim. And the world never looks the same to the powerful as it does to the victim. In this case the Samaritan, the enemy of the Jew, had power; he had agency, meaning he could act and act responsibly and virtuously. And that is admirable, and Jesus tells us, “Go and do likewise.” But there may be times in life when we are not in the position of power. We may find ourselves victimized---victimized by circumstances beyond our control, and then we are dependent upon others to show us the care and compassion we need. We don’t want to be victims and much of the time we do not want to be dependent, but life sometimes writes us into a story in which we would prefer not to play a role. But, when forced by circumstances, how do we respond? What do we learn and what can we learn when the one or ones who help us are not our family, not our friends, but the one we call enemy?
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
July 10, 2022
Luke 10: 25-37
There is probably no more familiar story in the Bible than the Good Samaritan. Even people with no church background often know it. It used to be considered part of general western cultural knowledge, but in today’s society, that is probably changing. Anyway, I would guess that everyone here knows it. But it is always useful to revisit even the most familiar text to see if any new insights can emerge.
This parable is unique to Luke, though both Matthew and Mark have someone ask a question about which is the greatest commandment. The exchange in Luke is between a lawyer and Jesus and it begins with a question, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” In Matthew’s gospel the question is Which is the greatest commandment and in Mark’s gospel it is which is the first commandment, but Luke makes no attempt to rank the commandments. Like the quintessential teacher he is, Jesus responds to the question by asking questions: What is written in the law? What do you read there? And the lawyer responds by citing a verse from Deuteronomy and one from Leviticus. Love of God and love for neighbor permeate the Jewish law. And so, Jesus simply responds, “Do this and live.”
But the lawyer is not finished, and he then poses a question about the neighbor: Who is my neighbor? If eternal life is gained by loving God fully and loving the neighbor as oneself, it is interesting that this lawyer seems to know who God is, but he does not know the identity of his neighbor, and Jesus responds by telling the story of a man, beaten, and left for dead, who is helped and quite literally saved by a Samaritan. Now we are never directly told that the injured man is a Jew, but since Jesus is Jewish and the lawyer, who approaches Jesus is most likely Jewish, and the people, who would be hearing this story are probably a mixture of Jews and gentiles, who would know the enmity between the Samaritans the Jews, it is a safe interpretation to identify the man as Jewish. And what we see is a man, considered the enemy of the Jew, who helps and saves him.
The friction between Jew and Samaritan goes back to the days of the Assyrian invasion of the northern kingdom, Israel, in 722 BC, where Samaritans also lived. Although they read the same scriptures, the Jews considered Sinai the sacred mountain, while the Samaritans thought it was Mount Gerizim. But the real tension grew when after the Assyrians invaded, the Samaritans began to intermarry with them, and intermarriage to the Jewish was anathema. It was considered a pollution of the bloodline, and after that Samaritans were viewed as thoroughly unclean and polluted. So, Jews and Samaritans hated each other, and everyone knew it. No one listening to this story, Jew or gentile, would have expected the Samaritan to be the one who would offer aid. The priest and the Levite walked by on the other side of the road to avoid any contact with what they perhaps thought was a dead body. Priests could become ritually unclean if they touched a dead body, but Levites were only in danger of ritual contamination if they touched a dead body while performing their sacred duties.
When Jesus asked who the neighbor was to the man, the lawyer correctly answered, “The one who showed him mercy,” and then Jesus said, “Go, and do likewise.” And because of that command, we tend to see the story from the perspective of the Samaritan, and so we understand the ethical dimension of the story in terms of what we are called to do---render mercy and aid.
But what happens if we see the story from the perspective of the beaten man, the one left for dead. What does it mean when the one who helps you, the one who literally saves your life is your enemy? How does that change the meaning of the story for us? How do we carry that lesson into the actual living of our lives.
I have a very good friend and colleague, Kaz, who for three years, while he was a student at Yale Divinity School, was my student intern. Kaz has been serving for the past 10 years a church in Marlborough, MA. He is Polish with a PhD in law and he never thought he could become a minister because he is gay. But the United States was friendlier to gay pastors than the Reformed Church in Poland, so Kaz changed professions and countries of residence. He is now a dual citizen. Anyway, Kaz’s Nana, the mother of his mother, lived through the Second World War in Poland.
The Nazis hated the Slavs almost as much as they hated the Jews, which is why they invaded Poland in 1939 and Russia in June, 1941, despite the pact Hitler and Stalin had signed. The Germans murdered many Poles and forced others, like Kaz’s Nana to leave their homes. She was told to report to the train station, where she would be deported to another city or town. She had with her, her three year old daughter, who would become Kaz’s mother. While standing on the train platform, there was this young German soldier, not more than 17 or 18, and Kaz’s Nana described him as the perfect example of an Aryan---blond hair, blue eyes, handsome and strong. He stared at Kaz’s Nana and her little girl, and then he lifted his arm and pointed to the woods beyond the train station. “Run, Mother, run,” he commanded. And that is exactly what his nana did. Holding her daughter and the bag she was carrying, she ran to the woods. Cowering there for a while, considering what she would do next, she suddenly heard the sound of machine guns as she witnessed the people on the train platform being brutally shot down. She ran for her life, hiding in the woods until she found shelter in another town with other Poles, willing to help her and her child.
When she told the story to Kaz, she said even after all these years, she did not fully understand why she did what the young soldier told her to do. She did not understand why she believed him. “I hated the Germans,” she confessed. “They were less than human to me, so why did I listen to that boy? And why did he save me? Perhaps I reminded him of his mother, or perhaps your mother reminded him of his little sister. I don’t know. I only know that my life and the life of your mother were saved by someone who was my enemy and the enemy of Poland. And what that has meant for me is that after the war I was never able to successfully hate the Germans as so many other Poles did. Yes, I saw what they did. I saw the destruction of my beloved Warsaw and later I would learn the full story of their massacre of the Jews as well as the Poles. I knew all that, and yet because I was saved by one of them, I was forced to come to terms with the truth that guilt and innocence are not evenly shared. My life and the life of your mother were in that young man’s hands, and we are both alive because of him. He was my enemy, and yet he literally became my savior. He saved us from certain death.
When we see ourselves as the brutalized man, left to die by the side of the road, and consider what it might mean for us to be saved by the one we hate or consider our enemy, the parable of the Good Samaritan does take on a different ethical dimension, because it removes us from the position of power, where we all prefer to be, and puts us in the position of victim. And the world never looks the same to the powerful as it does to the victim. In this case the Samaritan, the enemy of the Jew, had power; he had agency, meaning he could act and act responsibly and virtuously. And that is admirable, and Jesus tells us, “Go and do likewise.” But there may be times in life when we are not in the position of power. We may find ourselves victimized---victimized by circumstances beyond our control, and then we are dependent upon others to show us the care and compassion we need. We don’t want to be victims and much of the time we do not want to be dependent, but life sometimes writes us into a story in which we would prefer not to play a role. But, when forced by circumstances, how do we respond? What do we learn and what can we learn when the one or ones who help us are not our family, not our friends, but the one we call enemy?
July 6, 2022
Dear Friends,
Despite the horror of the gun assault on the Chicago suburb, Highland Park, leaving seven people dead and dozens wounded and the gun violence that daily afflicts the southside of Chicago without national attention, most Americans tried to enjoy the Fourth of July this past Monday. For two years celebrations of the 4th were severely limited because of Covid, so people were looking forward to trips and picnics and the iconic fireworks displays in various cities and towns across the nation. The Fourth is a day to remember and celebrate those achievements in our history, which make us proud, even as we also admit the nation has never lived up to its promise of liberty and justice for all. There are a number of events worth celebrating and remembering, and certainly one of the worthiest is the signing of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 on July 2 by President Lyndon Johnson.
When Johnson was Senate Majority leader, he had pushed the Civil Rights Act of 1957 through Congress, and as President, he was determined to pass the stronger civil rights legislation that John F. Kennedy had wanted to pass in 1963 before he was assassinated in Dallas. In fact, five days after Kennedy’s murder, Johnson addressed Congress, “No memorial oration or eulogy could more eloquently honor President Kennedy’s memory than the earliest possible passage of the civil rights act for which he fought so long.”
In 1964 only 6.7% of Black Mississippians were registered to vote, and the summer of 1964 became known as Freedom Summer as people set out to register to vote black citizens of Mississippi. Bob Moses was a New York City teacher, who began to register people in 1961, and the registration continued through the next summers, with 1964 boasting the greatest number of volunteers going south to help with the drive. Three of the volunteers were James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, Michael Schwerner, and they disappeared near Philadelphia, Mississippi on June 21. No one had any idea where they were, but many suspected the worst, even as some Mississippians said it was all a hoax. There was outrage across the country, and Johnson tried to use that outrage to push hard for the passage of the Civil Rights Act.
The House of Representatives had been working to pass a bill since the summer of 1963, but all the following fall and winter it had been held up in the Rules Committee by its chair, a staunch segregationist from Virginia. Howard Smith. But over the winter of 1964 congressmen heard from so many of their constituents, angry about the hold up that Smith finally let it move out of Committee. On February 10, 1964 the House passed the bill and sent it to the Senate. The trouble with the Senate was that many of the southern Democrats tended to be staunch segregationists, so breaking the filibuster was not an easy task. In those years the filibuster demanded that people actually hold the floor by talking, so squads of senators took turns speaking and reading. Richard Russell, a Democrat from Georgia and a friend of Lyndon Johnson, made his feelings known when he said, “We will resist to the bitter end any measure or any movement which would have a tendency to bring about the social equality and intermingling and the amalgamation of the races in our states.”
As the spring settled on the nation, many people, both Black and White, demonstrated in favor of the legislation. The Senate was three votes shy of breaking the filibuster, and there were Republicans, who though supporting civil rights, did not want to support more government regulation in the economic lives of business, so they refused to pass the bill. On June 18 Black people jumped into a Whites Only swimming pool in St. Augustine, Florida, and then the owner was caught on camera dumping acid into the pool. The image of a White man pouring acid into a pool to prevent Black persons from swimming was too much for some people, and the choke hold on the Senate was broken. The Republican Senator from Illinois, Everett Dirksen, then delivered the three votes necessary to break the filibuster to the majority leader, Mike Mansfield. The Senate passed the bill on June 19 and sent its version back to the House. The seething anger over the missing three civil rights workers gave Johnson the fire to pressure the House to pass the bill. Johnson signed the bill on July 2.
But right before writing his name on the bill, he addressed the nation. Johnson spoke of the triumph of the American Revolution, but he also said that those who founded the new nation realized that “freedom would be secure only if each generation fought to renew and enlarge its meaning.” The purpose of the law,” he said, “is simple. It does not restrict the freedom of any American so long as he respects the rights of others. It does say that those who are equal before God shall now be equal in the polling booths, in the classrooms, in the factories, and in hotels, restaurants, movie theaters, and other places that provide service to the public.”
On August 4, 1964 the three bodies of the murdered civil rights workers were unearthed in a dam near Philadelphia, Mississippi. The Ku Klux Klan had been responsible for the murders, one of them a law enforcement officer. As much hope as the nation felt in the signing of the bill on that July 2, the three murdered bodies were a reminder of just how far fear and hatred can viciously reach. The same is true today, which is why Jesus reminded his followers to be “gentle as doves and as wise as serpents.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Despite the horror of the gun assault on the Chicago suburb, Highland Park, leaving seven people dead and dozens wounded and the gun violence that daily afflicts the southside of Chicago without national attention, most Americans tried to enjoy the Fourth of July this past Monday. For two years celebrations of the 4th were severely limited because of Covid, so people were looking forward to trips and picnics and the iconic fireworks displays in various cities and towns across the nation. The Fourth is a day to remember and celebrate those achievements in our history, which make us proud, even as we also admit the nation has never lived up to its promise of liberty and justice for all. There are a number of events worth celebrating and remembering, and certainly one of the worthiest is the signing of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 on July 2 by President Lyndon Johnson.
When Johnson was Senate Majority leader, he had pushed the Civil Rights Act of 1957 through Congress, and as President, he was determined to pass the stronger civil rights legislation that John F. Kennedy had wanted to pass in 1963 before he was assassinated in Dallas. In fact, five days after Kennedy’s murder, Johnson addressed Congress, “No memorial oration or eulogy could more eloquently honor President Kennedy’s memory than the earliest possible passage of the civil rights act for which he fought so long.”
In 1964 only 6.7% of Black Mississippians were registered to vote, and the summer of 1964 became known as Freedom Summer as people set out to register to vote black citizens of Mississippi. Bob Moses was a New York City teacher, who began to register people in 1961, and the registration continued through the next summers, with 1964 boasting the greatest number of volunteers going south to help with the drive. Three of the volunteers were James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, Michael Schwerner, and they disappeared near Philadelphia, Mississippi on June 21. No one had any idea where they were, but many suspected the worst, even as some Mississippians said it was all a hoax. There was outrage across the country, and Johnson tried to use that outrage to push hard for the passage of the Civil Rights Act.
The House of Representatives had been working to pass a bill since the summer of 1963, but all the following fall and winter it had been held up in the Rules Committee by its chair, a staunch segregationist from Virginia. Howard Smith. But over the winter of 1964 congressmen heard from so many of their constituents, angry about the hold up that Smith finally let it move out of Committee. On February 10, 1964 the House passed the bill and sent it to the Senate. The trouble with the Senate was that many of the southern Democrats tended to be staunch segregationists, so breaking the filibuster was not an easy task. In those years the filibuster demanded that people actually hold the floor by talking, so squads of senators took turns speaking and reading. Richard Russell, a Democrat from Georgia and a friend of Lyndon Johnson, made his feelings known when he said, “We will resist to the bitter end any measure or any movement which would have a tendency to bring about the social equality and intermingling and the amalgamation of the races in our states.”
As the spring settled on the nation, many people, both Black and White, demonstrated in favor of the legislation. The Senate was three votes shy of breaking the filibuster, and there were Republicans, who though supporting civil rights, did not want to support more government regulation in the economic lives of business, so they refused to pass the bill. On June 18 Black people jumped into a Whites Only swimming pool in St. Augustine, Florida, and then the owner was caught on camera dumping acid into the pool. The image of a White man pouring acid into a pool to prevent Black persons from swimming was too much for some people, and the choke hold on the Senate was broken. The Republican Senator from Illinois, Everett Dirksen, then delivered the three votes necessary to break the filibuster to the majority leader, Mike Mansfield. The Senate passed the bill on June 19 and sent its version back to the House. The seething anger over the missing three civil rights workers gave Johnson the fire to pressure the House to pass the bill. Johnson signed the bill on July 2.
But right before writing his name on the bill, he addressed the nation. Johnson spoke of the triumph of the American Revolution, but he also said that those who founded the new nation realized that “freedom would be secure only if each generation fought to renew and enlarge its meaning.” The purpose of the law,” he said, “is simple. It does not restrict the freedom of any American so long as he respects the rights of others. It does say that those who are equal before God shall now be equal in the polling booths, in the classrooms, in the factories, and in hotels, restaurants, movie theaters, and other places that provide service to the public.”
On August 4, 1964 the three bodies of the murdered civil rights workers were unearthed in a dam near Philadelphia, Mississippi. The Ku Klux Klan had been responsible for the murders, one of them a law enforcement officer. As much hope as the nation felt in the signing of the bill on that July 2, the three murdered bodies were a reminder of just how far fear and hatred can viciously reach. The same is true today, which is why Jesus reminded his followers to be “gentle as doves and as wise as serpents.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
The Repairability Index
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
July 3, 2022
2 Kings 5: 1-14
I recently read that France now requires an index on certain electronic products, like cell phones and computers, that lets the consumer know how difficult it might be to get it repaired or even buy replacement parts. Apparently, you can look up the code and see how challenging or expensive a fix might be. It is supposed to help consumers make informed judgments before buying a product or wasting a great deal of money and time trying to get it repaired. It is not perfect, of course, but it does help, and apparently people have been relatively pleased with the results.
It is good to have an idea of how challenging it might be to fix something, but when it comes to human beings coming up with an accurate repairability index would be, well, extremely difficult. While it is certainly true that medicine gives odds on something working or not and insurance companies will consider the odds of healing before agreeing to spending a pile of money on a particular procedure, accurate predicting is extremely challenging. I have a college friend, who has been suffering for over 25 years from a rare form of slow growing cancer where these tiny carcinoids appear in different organs of the body. Because they are so slow growing, they do not respond to chemo, but they have responded to some new radical forms of treatment, very, very expensive, I might add. One shot is over $60,000 and the new radiation therapy he is about to receive in July is over $600,000. He told me a few weeks ago that the insurance always initially rejects the treatment, but Alex is a very smart corporate lawyer, and so far, he has always outfoxed the insurance company, which has ended up paying and paying year after year. And he has outlived all the predictions. His repairability index, though judged low, has turned out to be amazingly high.
Yes, human beings are tricky creatures when it comes to predicting their repairability, and no more so than when it comes to predicting psychological and spiritual recovery. I have seen addicts have their recovery programs rejected or at least questioned after they have failed numerous other ones, but then, miraculously, after the next attempt, against all predictions, healing took hold. Who can figure?
Our story today from the Second Book of Kings is about repairability, or healing. Naaman, a mighty warrior from Syria, is afflicted with leprosy, what is now known as Hansen’s disease. Though in biblical times, it was treated as a dreaded disease and highly infectious, my husband tells me it is not all that infectious and most of the time it is not all that serious, although it can become so. It is possible for the body to be almost eaten to shreds by these little sores that can cover and consume the body. So Naaman was suffering from leprosy. His name, by the way, literally means pleasant or pleasing---interesting, because the Syrians and the Israelites were often at war, but here we meet a pleasant foreigner. A servant, who was an Israelite, captured in a raid, told Naaman’s wife that he should seek healing form Elisha, the prophet, who had replaced Elijah about whom we read last week. And Naaman’s king mistakenly thought he had to send copious gifts to the King of Israel in order to ask for healing for his mighty warrior. The Israelite king took this as a grave insult, tearing his clothes, at the mere suggestion that he might have power over healing, and so Elisha, the prophet, had to intervene and set the king straight. And this is how it often is in real life. The high and the mighty are so easily offended because they tend to think everything is about them.
And Naaman made the same mistake. He became offended when Elisha failed to address him in person with the instructions to wash seven times in the River Jordan. He thought the rivers in Syria must be even better for healing. So, like the King of Israel, he too became bent out of shape. But look who brought Naaman back to reality---again the lowly, the servants. They reminded Naaman that if he had been given a challenging and difficult task, he would have done it, but because the task was so easy, he thought he was above its simplicity. But, despite his pride, he listened to the servants, followed the instructions about bathing and was healed. Sometimes that’s all it takes---enough humility to listen and respond.
A friend of mine recently told me a story about her neighbor, a man around 70, who had not spoken to his parents in over 50 years. Apparently, it had to do with Viet Nam. His father had been a decorated flier in World War Il, and when the son was drafted, he went to Canada rather than serve in a war he considered unwinnable and unjust. The father was furious with his son, and apparently said some pretty terrible things, accusing his son of cowardice, telling him he was ashamed to call him his son. “You,” he accused, “are no longer my son.” And so, the son left for Canada and never returned to the United States. Well, the father, now in his 90’s, was dying of Alzheimer’s, and the son, despite the terrible rift in their relationship, actually regretted the rupture. “I don’t know why I stayed away so long,” he told my friend. “I should have gone there years ago, but I am stubborn and proud, and I was waiting for my father to reach out. But he never did. Besides, I just did not know what to say. I did not know how to get over the breach. And now my father does not even have enough of a working brain to know me and know my sorrow. Now it is too late.”
Well, one day his 14 year old grandson was over the house and the man was speaking to his wife once again about the situation. “And my poor mother,” he was saying to his wife. “She had nothing to do with it, but she did not think she could buck my father, and I was so angry at her, because I thought she did not have the strength to do the right thing.” And do you know what that 14 year old said? “Grandpa, why didn’t you have the strength to do the right thing? Why don’t you go NOW and say, “I’m sorry?” Out of the mouth of babes.
And so, the man went. He flew to Chicago and arrived at the nursing home, where his father had been living for the past two years. Entering his father’s room, he immediately recognized the wizened old man, lying in the bed. His hands were placed flat on the sheet, and though gnarled with age, the son still recognized the strength that had once been in them. His mother was sitting in a chair, hunched and tired looking, but she immediately recognized her son, and wrapped her arms around him in a loving embrace. “I’m sorry,” the son said, and when his father heard those words, he opened his eyes and stared. The son sat down next to his father and took his hand and held it for three days until the man died. His last breath was a peaceful one.
We human beings have this tendency to trip over our pride, which often prevents us from not only doing the right thing but even recognizing the right thing. And sometimes it is the small ones, the less experienced ones, the least of these, like children, adolescents, or servants, who see what we are so often blind to as well as blinded by. Not everything can be repaired. Some things, including relationships, are never fixed. That family would never recover the 50 years of anger and bitterness that were surrendered to pride. But something did happen; something was repaired, and even if not perfectly, it was worth the trip, worth the effort, even if the repairability index seemed very low.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
July 3, 2022
2 Kings 5: 1-14
I recently read that France now requires an index on certain electronic products, like cell phones and computers, that lets the consumer know how difficult it might be to get it repaired or even buy replacement parts. Apparently, you can look up the code and see how challenging or expensive a fix might be. It is supposed to help consumers make informed judgments before buying a product or wasting a great deal of money and time trying to get it repaired. It is not perfect, of course, but it does help, and apparently people have been relatively pleased with the results.
It is good to have an idea of how challenging it might be to fix something, but when it comes to human beings coming up with an accurate repairability index would be, well, extremely difficult. While it is certainly true that medicine gives odds on something working or not and insurance companies will consider the odds of healing before agreeing to spending a pile of money on a particular procedure, accurate predicting is extremely challenging. I have a college friend, who has been suffering for over 25 years from a rare form of slow growing cancer where these tiny carcinoids appear in different organs of the body. Because they are so slow growing, they do not respond to chemo, but they have responded to some new radical forms of treatment, very, very expensive, I might add. One shot is over $60,000 and the new radiation therapy he is about to receive in July is over $600,000. He told me a few weeks ago that the insurance always initially rejects the treatment, but Alex is a very smart corporate lawyer, and so far, he has always outfoxed the insurance company, which has ended up paying and paying year after year. And he has outlived all the predictions. His repairability index, though judged low, has turned out to be amazingly high.
Yes, human beings are tricky creatures when it comes to predicting their repairability, and no more so than when it comes to predicting psychological and spiritual recovery. I have seen addicts have their recovery programs rejected or at least questioned after they have failed numerous other ones, but then, miraculously, after the next attempt, against all predictions, healing took hold. Who can figure?
Our story today from the Second Book of Kings is about repairability, or healing. Naaman, a mighty warrior from Syria, is afflicted with leprosy, what is now known as Hansen’s disease. Though in biblical times, it was treated as a dreaded disease and highly infectious, my husband tells me it is not all that infectious and most of the time it is not all that serious, although it can become so. It is possible for the body to be almost eaten to shreds by these little sores that can cover and consume the body. So Naaman was suffering from leprosy. His name, by the way, literally means pleasant or pleasing---interesting, because the Syrians and the Israelites were often at war, but here we meet a pleasant foreigner. A servant, who was an Israelite, captured in a raid, told Naaman’s wife that he should seek healing form Elisha, the prophet, who had replaced Elijah about whom we read last week. And Naaman’s king mistakenly thought he had to send copious gifts to the King of Israel in order to ask for healing for his mighty warrior. The Israelite king took this as a grave insult, tearing his clothes, at the mere suggestion that he might have power over healing, and so Elisha, the prophet, had to intervene and set the king straight. And this is how it often is in real life. The high and the mighty are so easily offended because they tend to think everything is about them.
And Naaman made the same mistake. He became offended when Elisha failed to address him in person with the instructions to wash seven times in the River Jordan. He thought the rivers in Syria must be even better for healing. So, like the King of Israel, he too became bent out of shape. But look who brought Naaman back to reality---again the lowly, the servants. They reminded Naaman that if he had been given a challenging and difficult task, he would have done it, but because the task was so easy, he thought he was above its simplicity. But, despite his pride, he listened to the servants, followed the instructions about bathing and was healed. Sometimes that’s all it takes---enough humility to listen and respond.
A friend of mine recently told me a story about her neighbor, a man around 70, who had not spoken to his parents in over 50 years. Apparently, it had to do with Viet Nam. His father had been a decorated flier in World War Il, and when the son was drafted, he went to Canada rather than serve in a war he considered unwinnable and unjust. The father was furious with his son, and apparently said some pretty terrible things, accusing his son of cowardice, telling him he was ashamed to call him his son. “You,” he accused, “are no longer my son.” And so, the son left for Canada and never returned to the United States. Well, the father, now in his 90’s, was dying of Alzheimer’s, and the son, despite the terrible rift in their relationship, actually regretted the rupture. “I don’t know why I stayed away so long,” he told my friend. “I should have gone there years ago, but I am stubborn and proud, and I was waiting for my father to reach out. But he never did. Besides, I just did not know what to say. I did not know how to get over the breach. And now my father does not even have enough of a working brain to know me and know my sorrow. Now it is too late.”
Well, one day his 14 year old grandson was over the house and the man was speaking to his wife once again about the situation. “And my poor mother,” he was saying to his wife. “She had nothing to do with it, but she did not think she could buck my father, and I was so angry at her, because I thought she did not have the strength to do the right thing.” And do you know what that 14 year old said? “Grandpa, why didn’t you have the strength to do the right thing? Why don’t you go NOW and say, “I’m sorry?” Out of the mouth of babes.
And so, the man went. He flew to Chicago and arrived at the nursing home, where his father had been living for the past two years. Entering his father’s room, he immediately recognized the wizened old man, lying in the bed. His hands were placed flat on the sheet, and though gnarled with age, the son still recognized the strength that had once been in them. His mother was sitting in a chair, hunched and tired looking, but she immediately recognized her son, and wrapped her arms around him in a loving embrace. “I’m sorry,” the son said, and when his father heard those words, he opened his eyes and stared. The son sat down next to his father and took his hand and held it for three days until the man died. His last breath was a peaceful one.
We human beings have this tendency to trip over our pride, which often prevents us from not only doing the right thing but even recognizing the right thing. And sometimes it is the small ones, the less experienced ones, the least of these, like children, adolescents, or servants, who see what we are so often blind to as well as blinded by. Not everything can be repaired. Some things, including relationships, are never fixed. That family would never recover the 50 years of anger and bitterness that were surrendered to pride. But something did happen; something was repaired, and even if not perfectly, it was worth the trip, worth the effort, even if the repairability index seemed very low.
June 28, 2022
Dear Friends
My sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Guyette, believed in the power of biography to shape the minds and moral character of her students. She was always telling us stories of people, who made a difference. Sometimes they were persons of historical significance, known to many, and at other times they were people who just did what was good and right without public fanfare or knowledge. I thought of Mrs. Guyette the other day, when I came across the obituary of a woman name Andree Geulen, who died at the age of 100. Mrs. Guyette would have loved her story, and she would have loved even more the sharing of it with her young and impressionable students.
Andree Geulen was born in 1921 and grew up in a Roman Catholic family. Later she taught in a Belgian all girls boarding school in Brussels, when her Jewish students were suddenly ordered by the occupying Nazis to put a yellow star on their uniforms. The Jewish girls were so humiliated by this that Andree remembers how they would clutch their notebooks to their chests in an effort to hide the hated yellow star. And so, what did the teacher do? She had all her students, Jews and non-Jews alike, put aprons on over their uniforms, which hid the stars. A few weeks later she noticed that some of her Jewish students were no longer in class. It did not take her long to discover the terrible reason: The students, along with their families, had been rounded up and were on their way to Auschwitz.
The horrified teacher knew that she had to do something, and so she volunteered with The Committee for the Defense of the Jews, which hid Jewish children in convents, farms, monasteries, boarding schools and with other families, willing to hide Jewish children. “It was a race against time,” she said. “I had addresses of Jewish families and it was my job to get to the Jewish children before the Gestapo did.” Between the fall of 1942 and September, 1944 Geulen personally saved between 300 and 400 children. When she died on May 31 in a Belgium nursing home, she was the last survivor of a cadre of twelve women who worked for the Committee and saved over 4000 Jewish children. As we can imagine, the work of the Committee was not only dangerous, it was also emotionally harrowing. Parents would give up their children to these women without knowing where their children were going or even if they would ever see them again. Many of these parents died in concentration camps.
In 2017 there was an exhibition at Queens College about the Belgian resistance, and Andree Geulen was there. She described how torturous it was to pull children away from parents, who begged to know where their children were going. But no information was ever given to the parents to keep everything as secret as possible. Ms. Geulen said if she had been a mother at the time, she does not think she would have been able to do what she did. She described how each child was given a new name and was told not to tell anyone she or he was Jewish. Of course, young children did not understand this at all, and Ms. Geulen recalls being on a train with a young girl, when another passenger asked the girl her name. The child turned to Ms. Geulen and asked, “Should I tell her my new name or my old one?” Luckily, the passenger was not at all sympathetic to the Nazis.
In May, 1943 the Nazis raided the boarding school, where Ms. Geulen was teaching, where twelve Jewish children were hidden. The school’s headmistress and her husband were sent to concentration camps from which they never returned, but though Ms. Geulen was questioned, she was never arrested or faced any charges. She always believed her blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin as well as her impeccable German worked to her advantage when it came to dealing with Nazis. After all, she presented with the “perfect visage” of an Aryan! When being questioned, one German officer asked her, “Are you not ashamed of teaching Jewish children?” Her response: “Are you not ashamed of persecuting Jewish children?”
After the war was over, she worked hard to reunite the children with their parents, but this too was emotionally grueling work. The youngest children often did not remember their parents, and they did not want to leave the only family they had known. And sometimes it was extremely painful to put the children in orphanages when it was finally recognized that the parents would not be returning.
In 1989 Andree Geulen was honored by Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum and center for research in Jerusalem. She has a place on the Avenue of the Righteous Among the Nations, a recognition given to non-Jews who risked their lives to save Jews from the Nazi horror. I recall visiting the Museum in 2006 and walking along the outside avenue, reading the names of people from all over the world. One of my fellow travelers remarked, “There are way too few names here.” True, and if there had been a groundswell of protest from the gentiles, there would have been no Holocaust. The Nazis managed to do their murderous work because there was hardly an objection from the wider population. Where there was substantial objection---such as from the Roman Catholic Church in Bulgaria—the Jews fared much better.
In the last decades of her life, Ms. Geulen found a new career in documenting some of the stories of the hidden Belgian children. One of them, Helene Weiss, discovered Ms. Geulen’s address and sent her a letter of gratitude as well as some pictures of her children and grandchildren. “If it weren’t for you,” she wrote, “they would not be here.” How true! As I said, my sixth grade teacher would have loved this story, and she would have loved even more telling us the story and then asking us questions to encourage us to think more deeply about what goodness is and why it matters if we pursue it.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends
My sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Guyette, believed in the power of biography to shape the minds and moral character of her students. She was always telling us stories of people, who made a difference. Sometimes they were persons of historical significance, known to many, and at other times they were people who just did what was good and right without public fanfare or knowledge. I thought of Mrs. Guyette the other day, when I came across the obituary of a woman name Andree Geulen, who died at the age of 100. Mrs. Guyette would have loved her story, and she would have loved even more the sharing of it with her young and impressionable students.
Andree Geulen was born in 1921 and grew up in a Roman Catholic family. Later she taught in a Belgian all girls boarding school in Brussels, when her Jewish students were suddenly ordered by the occupying Nazis to put a yellow star on their uniforms. The Jewish girls were so humiliated by this that Andree remembers how they would clutch their notebooks to their chests in an effort to hide the hated yellow star. And so, what did the teacher do? She had all her students, Jews and non-Jews alike, put aprons on over their uniforms, which hid the stars. A few weeks later she noticed that some of her Jewish students were no longer in class. It did not take her long to discover the terrible reason: The students, along with their families, had been rounded up and were on their way to Auschwitz.
The horrified teacher knew that she had to do something, and so she volunteered with The Committee for the Defense of the Jews, which hid Jewish children in convents, farms, monasteries, boarding schools and with other families, willing to hide Jewish children. “It was a race against time,” she said. “I had addresses of Jewish families and it was my job to get to the Jewish children before the Gestapo did.” Between the fall of 1942 and September, 1944 Geulen personally saved between 300 and 400 children. When she died on May 31 in a Belgium nursing home, she was the last survivor of a cadre of twelve women who worked for the Committee and saved over 4000 Jewish children. As we can imagine, the work of the Committee was not only dangerous, it was also emotionally harrowing. Parents would give up their children to these women without knowing where their children were going or even if they would ever see them again. Many of these parents died in concentration camps.
In 2017 there was an exhibition at Queens College about the Belgian resistance, and Andree Geulen was there. She described how torturous it was to pull children away from parents, who begged to know where their children were going. But no information was ever given to the parents to keep everything as secret as possible. Ms. Geulen said if she had been a mother at the time, she does not think she would have been able to do what she did. She described how each child was given a new name and was told not to tell anyone she or he was Jewish. Of course, young children did not understand this at all, and Ms. Geulen recalls being on a train with a young girl, when another passenger asked the girl her name. The child turned to Ms. Geulen and asked, “Should I tell her my new name or my old one?” Luckily, the passenger was not at all sympathetic to the Nazis.
In May, 1943 the Nazis raided the boarding school, where Ms. Geulen was teaching, where twelve Jewish children were hidden. The school’s headmistress and her husband were sent to concentration camps from which they never returned, but though Ms. Geulen was questioned, she was never arrested or faced any charges. She always believed her blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin as well as her impeccable German worked to her advantage when it came to dealing with Nazis. After all, she presented with the “perfect visage” of an Aryan! When being questioned, one German officer asked her, “Are you not ashamed of teaching Jewish children?” Her response: “Are you not ashamed of persecuting Jewish children?”
After the war was over, she worked hard to reunite the children with their parents, but this too was emotionally grueling work. The youngest children often did not remember their parents, and they did not want to leave the only family they had known. And sometimes it was extremely painful to put the children in orphanages when it was finally recognized that the parents would not be returning.
In 1989 Andree Geulen was honored by Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum and center for research in Jerusalem. She has a place on the Avenue of the Righteous Among the Nations, a recognition given to non-Jews who risked their lives to save Jews from the Nazi horror. I recall visiting the Museum in 2006 and walking along the outside avenue, reading the names of people from all over the world. One of my fellow travelers remarked, “There are way too few names here.” True, and if there had been a groundswell of protest from the gentiles, there would have been no Holocaust. The Nazis managed to do their murderous work because there was hardly an objection from the wider population. Where there was substantial objection---such as from the Roman Catholic Church in Bulgaria—the Jews fared much better.
In the last decades of her life, Ms. Geulen found a new career in documenting some of the stories of the hidden Belgian children. One of them, Helene Weiss, discovered Ms. Geulen’s address and sent her a letter of gratitude as well as some pictures of her children and grandchildren. “If it weren’t for you,” she wrote, “they would not be here.” How true! As I said, my sixth grade teacher would have loved this story, and she would have loved even more telling us the story and then asking us questions to encourage us to think more deeply about what goodness is and why it matters if we pursue it.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Return To Your Home
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville
June 19, 2022
Luke 8: 26-39
It was very unusual for us Jews to go into gentile territory. Though Jesus had this tendency to surprise us, even he did not go very often where the gentiles lived. But this time he did. We all had been in a boat, when suddenly this fierce storm came up on the Sea of Galilee. Jesus was sleeping, so we woke him up, accusing him of not caring if we perished. He calmed the storm and then castigated us for our little faith. And right after that calming, he decided to take us into gentile territory. Why? Sometimes I think he just liked to shock us to the point we would be forced to rethink and reconsider some of our assumptions. With Jesus you could never remain settled, that is, where you were comfortable. Just in case you have not figured it out, I am one of the disciples---which one it does not matter, at least not in this story.
So, there we were in the country of the Gerasenes, on the opposite shore from Galilee, and immediately we were confronted by this wild man, possessed by demons. The poor man’s feet and hands were bloody from his restraints, which he managed to pull off, but not without harm to himself. His eyes had this wild look about them, and he was practically naked. He had no home; he lived among the tombs, which for us Jews is unclean territory. I think that if we were not so afraid of him, we would have felt compassion for his situation. I mean he was unwanted by everyone; his family did not know how to cope with him, and the townspeople were afraid. To be possessed by a demon is a fearful thing, so how can you blame people for abandoning him. No one could do anything with this man---except Jesus. And the strange thing was that immediately the demons recognized Jesus’ power and authority. No one else had, not even we disciples. We thought of Jesus as an extraordinary teacher and healer, but no one would have called him “the Son of the Most High God,” which is what the demon called Jesus. And that struck us as more than strange; there was something frightening about it, because it was to us a signal that Jesus was much more than we realized. But how was it that the demon knew what we did not? That was a mystery.
Jesus commanded the evil spirit to come out of the man and it obeyed him, but only after Jesus did two things. First, he asked the spirit’s name, which was Legion, a word meaning many, but also a word for a company of Roman soldiers, numbering 5 or 6,000, which now, when I think back on it, was a play on words, a way of acknowledging that living under Roman rule was not only hard for us Jews, but also a challenge for gentiles. And the second thing that happened before the spirits emerged from the man was their request that they not be forced to return to the abyss, which was simply a word for the place of God’s enemies. The evil spirits wanted to go into the herd of pigs, and when Jesus allowed them to do so, the pigs raced off the edge of the bank, into the lake, where they were drowned, at least the pigs were drowned, but we disciples had our doubts about the spirits. I think it takes more than water to get rid of the evil spirits---but perhaps this was meant as a subtle reference to baptism, where the old self dies and a new one is reborn. And I can tell you that this man was reborn. He was completely remade, in his right mind, clothed, clean, respectable.
But the townspeople were not happy; they were afraid. And, of course, the owners of the pigs were pretty upset. No one knew what to think about what had just happened. And when people are confused like that; when their minds do not know the categories to put certain experiences into, well, fear rules. They recognized they were in completely new territory, and so they thought the best solution was for Jesus to leave. And Jesus complied with their request. He offered no argument at all. He got into the boat and was ready to depart, but the healed man wanted to go with us. He begged Jesus to take him along, and I can tell you there was something heart breaking, almost a bit pathetic about the man’s request. I remember thinking to myself, “Well, he has nowhere else to go. His family and community had rejected him, so why would he go back? But how could we take a gentile with us? What would people think? What would they say? I did not see how it could possibly work. But Jesus turned him down flat. No discussion at all. Jesus told him he must return to his home and declare what God had done for him. And so, he went. In a sense I think we can say he was the first evangelist, but evangelizing not in a distant place, but rather the place he had called home.
Home: consider what that word means. Now in my time most people remained at home. Rarely did they move away from the place they were born. But this poor man was expelled from his home. For years he could not go home, and now Jesus commanded him to return. But I could not help but wonder if he really wanted to go. As much as we might love home and as much as sick people want nothing more than to return home, we also should understand that sometimes home is a hard place to be. Sometimes home is the place that treats you like an outsider, perhaps because you are different---hold different opinions about this or that, or you may have a different kind of life style--- then home does not really feel like home. And perhaps this is how it was for the Gerasene.
Jesus certainly realized how challenging home can be. He hardly had an easy relationship with his home. His family thought him out of his mind, and there were some instances in which his own townspeople had their full of what they thought was his nonsense, even wanting to push him off a cliff. So surely Jesus realized how tough home can be and how hard it sometimes is to go home. No wonder one of your own novelists would write millennia after I lived, You Can’t Go Home Again, because sometimes you can’t. Sometimes you change so much that home does not really feel like home any more, and the people you have known and loved don’t recognize who you have become.
I think it was that way for Jesus. He never seemed to be comfortable in Nazareth, and I don’t think most people were comfortable having him there. His family loved him, but they did not understand him, and so there was this breach that could not be overcome. We all noticed it, because whenever we disciples went home, we had a real homecoming. Oh, people wondered why we were off with this strange man, but you should understand that we did regularly return honme. We had work to do at home, homes to care for, families to provide for, fishing to do. WE were not ALWAYS on the road with Jesus, away from home But Jesus, even when he was back home, he was far away.
I don’t know how it was for the healed Gerasene. Perhaps he could go home again. Perhaps his family and friends were relieved that he was well. I understood that he had been sick for quite a long time, so I can imagine that going home was not easy for him. He had been through something his family and the people of his town would never fully understand---neither his illness nor his healing. But such is life. We often are with people who have been through experiences we will never have or never fully understand, and so they stand on different ground from us---like the soldier I recently met who had been in Afghanistan.
He said he was doing a lot better after two years of living in hell. But he also said that his family, including his wife, could never understand what he had been through; they could not feel what he felt. And they could not understand why sometimes being home is so painful for him, why home no longer means what it once did. “All we can do,” the soldier told me, “is acknowledge the lack of shared experience and understanding. We can listen to each other, and hope that listening is enough.” Well, I hope it is enough, but listening is hard work, something that many people do not want to do. And so, I wonder if people bothered to listen to the Gerasene man. Did they listen to his experience of sickness and healing, or did they turn away in fear and confusion? How about all of you? Do you listen, or do you turn away as well?
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville
June 19, 2022
Luke 8: 26-39
It was very unusual for us Jews to go into gentile territory. Though Jesus had this tendency to surprise us, even he did not go very often where the gentiles lived. But this time he did. We all had been in a boat, when suddenly this fierce storm came up on the Sea of Galilee. Jesus was sleeping, so we woke him up, accusing him of not caring if we perished. He calmed the storm and then castigated us for our little faith. And right after that calming, he decided to take us into gentile territory. Why? Sometimes I think he just liked to shock us to the point we would be forced to rethink and reconsider some of our assumptions. With Jesus you could never remain settled, that is, where you were comfortable. Just in case you have not figured it out, I am one of the disciples---which one it does not matter, at least not in this story.
So, there we were in the country of the Gerasenes, on the opposite shore from Galilee, and immediately we were confronted by this wild man, possessed by demons. The poor man’s feet and hands were bloody from his restraints, which he managed to pull off, but not without harm to himself. His eyes had this wild look about them, and he was practically naked. He had no home; he lived among the tombs, which for us Jews is unclean territory. I think that if we were not so afraid of him, we would have felt compassion for his situation. I mean he was unwanted by everyone; his family did not know how to cope with him, and the townspeople were afraid. To be possessed by a demon is a fearful thing, so how can you blame people for abandoning him. No one could do anything with this man---except Jesus. And the strange thing was that immediately the demons recognized Jesus’ power and authority. No one else had, not even we disciples. We thought of Jesus as an extraordinary teacher and healer, but no one would have called him “the Son of the Most High God,” which is what the demon called Jesus. And that struck us as more than strange; there was something frightening about it, because it was to us a signal that Jesus was much more than we realized. But how was it that the demon knew what we did not? That was a mystery.
Jesus commanded the evil spirit to come out of the man and it obeyed him, but only after Jesus did two things. First, he asked the spirit’s name, which was Legion, a word meaning many, but also a word for a company of Roman soldiers, numbering 5 or 6,000, which now, when I think back on it, was a play on words, a way of acknowledging that living under Roman rule was not only hard for us Jews, but also a challenge for gentiles. And the second thing that happened before the spirits emerged from the man was their request that they not be forced to return to the abyss, which was simply a word for the place of God’s enemies. The evil spirits wanted to go into the herd of pigs, and when Jesus allowed them to do so, the pigs raced off the edge of the bank, into the lake, where they were drowned, at least the pigs were drowned, but we disciples had our doubts about the spirits. I think it takes more than water to get rid of the evil spirits---but perhaps this was meant as a subtle reference to baptism, where the old self dies and a new one is reborn. And I can tell you that this man was reborn. He was completely remade, in his right mind, clothed, clean, respectable.
But the townspeople were not happy; they were afraid. And, of course, the owners of the pigs were pretty upset. No one knew what to think about what had just happened. And when people are confused like that; when their minds do not know the categories to put certain experiences into, well, fear rules. They recognized they were in completely new territory, and so they thought the best solution was for Jesus to leave. And Jesus complied with their request. He offered no argument at all. He got into the boat and was ready to depart, but the healed man wanted to go with us. He begged Jesus to take him along, and I can tell you there was something heart breaking, almost a bit pathetic about the man’s request. I remember thinking to myself, “Well, he has nowhere else to go. His family and community had rejected him, so why would he go back? But how could we take a gentile with us? What would people think? What would they say? I did not see how it could possibly work. But Jesus turned him down flat. No discussion at all. Jesus told him he must return to his home and declare what God had done for him. And so, he went. In a sense I think we can say he was the first evangelist, but evangelizing not in a distant place, but rather the place he had called home.
Home: consider what that word means. Now in my time most people remained at home. Rarely did they move away from the place they were born. But this poor man was expelled from his home. For years he could not go home, and now Jesus commanded him to return. But I could not help but wonder if he really wanted to go. As much as we might love home and as much as sick people want nothing more than to return home, we also should understand that sometimes home is a hard place to be. Sometimes home is the place that treats you like an outsider, perhaps because you are different---hold different opinions about this or that, or you may have a different kind of life style--- then home does not really feel like home. And perhaps this is how it was for the Gerasene.
Jesus certainly realized how challenging home can be. He hardly had an easy relationship with his home. His family thought him out of his mind, and there were some instances in which his own townspeople had their full of what they thought was his nonsense, even wanting to push him off a cliff. So surely Jesus realized how tough home can be and how hard it sometimes is to go home. No wonder one of your own novelists would write millennia after I lived, You Can’t Go Home Again, because sometimes you can’t. Sometimes you change so much that home does not really feel like home any more, and the people you have known and loved don’t recognize who you have become.
I think it was that way for Jesus. He never seemed to be comfortable in Nazareth, and I don’t think most people were comfortable having him there. His family loved him, but they did not understand him, and so there was this breach that could not be overcome. We all noticed it, because whenever we disciples went home, we had a real homecoming. Oh, people wondered why we were off with this strange man, but you should understand that we did regularly return honme. We had work to do at home, homes to care for, families to provide for, fishing to do. WE were not ALWAYS on the road with Jesus, away from home But Jesus, even when he was back home, he was far away.
I don’t know how it was for the healed Gerasene. Perhaps he could go home again. Perhaps his family and friends were relieved that he was well. I understood that he had been sick for quite a long time, so I can imagine that going home was not easy for him. He had been through something his family and the people of his town would never fully understand---neither his illness nor his healing. But such is life. We often are with people who have been through experiences we will never have or never fully understand, and so they stand on different ground from us---like the soldier I recently met who had been in Afghanistan.
He said he was doing a lot better after two years of living in hell. But he also said that his family, including his wife, could never understand what he had been through; they could not feel what he felt. And they could not understand why sometimes being home is so painful for him, why home no longer means what it once did. “All we can do,” the soldier told me, “is acknowledge the lack of shared experience and understanding. We can listen to each other, and hope that listening is enough.” Well, I hope it is enough, but listening is hard work, something that many people do not want to do. And so, I wonder if people bothered to listen to the Gerasene man. Did they listen to his experience of sickness and healing, or did they turn away in fear and confusion? How about all of you? Do you listen, or do you turn away as well?
TOUGH WORDS IN TOUGH TIMES
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
June 26, 2022
1 Kings 19: 1-15a
Luke 9: 51-62
Two weeks ago I was at a theology seminar called, “The Word of God,” and one of my colleagues brought up a point that none of us had previously considered. Referring to the Lord’s Prayer, which we all understand to be a model for prayer---after all, Jesus said, “When you pray, pray like this”---she pointed out that nowhere does this prayer include praying for the sick. Jesus healed the sick, but when he gave us the Lord’s Prayer as a model for our praying, he did not include the sick. I find that very strange, she mused.
I never thought about that, someone else said, but I suppose we should not be surprised. We always think that following Jesus is going to make our lives easier, safer, more comfortable, but actually the opposite is true. Jesus is so demanding. And then our discussion turned to a recent scripture lesson---the one about the Gerasene demonic, who after being healed of his horrible malady was not permitted to follow Jesus as he begged to do, but instead was told to return home to the people who had rejected him ---a very difficult assignment, to say the least. Jesus did not give the man a break, though he had spent years, possessed by demons, rejected by his family and community, forced to live among the tombs, where his body was often lacerated on the rocks and his spirit, ripped to shreds by demons or what we today might call epilepsy or some other illness. Jesus did not hesitate to say tough words in tough times.
And in today’s lessons we have more of the same---more difficult assignments, more tough words in tough times. God or Jesus does not let up. First, consider Elijah, who was nothing if not zealous for God. He had been confronting King Ahab and his queen, Jezebel, about their worship of Baal, and in a contest Elijah beat her prophets, who failed to make fire to burn up the offering to Baal. Elijah’s prayer to God brought success, and then Elijah saw to it that Jezebel’s 450 prophets were put to the sword. So, is it any wonder that Jezebel was rip roaring angry and promised to repay Elijah in kind? And so, Elijah ran. Weary to the bone, both physically and spiritually, he pretty much felt he had nothing more to give. He was ready to give up everything, including his life. And there on a mountain top, God walked by---and Elijah met God not in the power of the wind, the earthquake or fire, but in the sound of sheer silence. That’s how it sometimes is in life, isn’t it? We want a word, an answer, a reassurance, and all we get is silence. But notice the silence did not last; maybe Elijah would have preferred the silence to the tough words God spoke, ordering him to Damascus, where he was to anoint two kings and a prophet. No, his work was not yet done. He was not yet allowed to rest. More tough words in what was for Elijah very tough times.
And in our lesson from Luke we meet a tough and exacting Jesus, who also doesn’t let up. Unlike Elijah Jesus does not countenance violence against those who will not receive him, and he sternly castigated his disciples for misunderstanding the call to righteousness. But Jesus made it clear to a would be follower that he could not expect comfort or even a stable home. And to the one who wanted to bury his father before following Jesus, he was told, “Let the dead bury the dead.” That would be bad enough in our day, but in Jesus’ time, obligations of parents to children and children to parents were rigidly applied. A son must bury his father, and to fail to do so would be considered a severe breaking of the law to honor parents. That Jesus would say such a thing would have been heard as completely shocking---so much so, most people would have walked away in anger and disgust. And that really is point: the demands on the followers are so severe that most people turn around and walk away.
Maybe, someone at my seminar suggested, the church is for catching people who walk away from the hard demands of discipleship. The church is easier on us than Jesus is, and then she told us this story about a time she was working at a fairly wealthy Episcopal Church. She had this parishioner whose infection led to sepsis, and she almost died, but after her organs were washed in bleach, she turned the corner and was on the mend. It was then she had a dream, and in her dream, Jesus came to her and said, “You know that soup kitchen your church wants to build by expanding its kitchen, costing nearly one million dollars? I want you to pay for it. You’ve got the money.”
And the woman in her dream was quite shocked, and said to Jesus, “Why are you bothering me with this now? Can’t you see I have been very sick. I almost died.”
“That is no excuse,” said Jesus. You did not die, and so I expect you to do something big. You can make a difference in this case, so do it.
But the church is going to borrow the money, she told Jesus. The church can afford to take out a loan; they will be able to repay it easily
.
That is not the point, Jesus insisted. The point is: I want you to pay for it. You need to pay for it. And so, the woman, who was quite unnerved, called her minister to come to the hospital. And she told her the story.
How do you know it really was Jesus, the minister asked?
Well, she said, I know this was not my idea. I never would have thought this up. I don’t like giving away so much of my money. I am not happy about it.
Then, maybe you should not do it, the minister said. Maybe you will regret it later, after you are out of the hospital and fully recovered.
I probably will regret it, but that is not the point. The point is Jesus told me to do it, and so, I had better listen.
Has Jesus ever told you to do something like this before?
No, never, she said, which is why I believe it was Jesus.
You know, the minister said, when we have been very sick, the mind can play all kinds of games with us. I think you need to wait a while before you do any check writing---just to make sure.
Make sure of what, she asked?
Make sure that you want to do this.
I already told you, I don’t want to do it, but this is what Jesus told me to do, so I am going to listen. What kind of minister are you, anyway? Why are you so suspicious of Jesus?
It’s not Jesus I’m suspicious of; it’s you. I don’t want to deal with you after you decide that you made a big mistake. I don’t want to be accused of squeezing money out of you.
It seems to me, the woman said very sternly, you are using the word I far too much. This is not about you; it is about Jesus and what Jesus wants. Most of the time Jesus is not so clear, but this one time he is, so I am going to listen, and I would think that as a minister you would listen too.
Well, I think I will have to discuss it with the Consistory. They can make the final decision.
And the final decision was to accept the check. But no one on the Consistory was comfortable, and no one really believed that Jesus told her to do it. It is all in her mind, they said; her conscience is speaking to her.
But, someone at the seminar asked, isn’t this how God works? Doesn’t God use our minds, our consciences, and our imaginations? What else does God have to work with?
The trouble is, someone else said, we are all so acclimated to ambiguity and unknowing that we run away from anything that suggests the certainty of God. Yes, much of the time we are uncertain and ambiguous, but there are these times when God does get through, and thank God some people listen, even if the words are tough in tough times.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
June 26, 2022
1 Kings 19: 1-15a
Luke 9: 51-62
Two weeks ago I was at a theology seminar called, “The Word of God,” and one of my colleagues brought up a point that none of us had previously considered. Referring to the Lord’s Prayer, which we all understand to be a model for prayer---after all, Jesus said, “When you pray, pray like this”---she pointed out that nowhere does this prayer include praying for the sick. Jesus healed the sick, but when he gave us the Lord’s Prayer as a model for our praying, he did not include the sick. I find that very strange, she mused.
I never thought about that, someone else said, but I suppose we should not be surprised. We always think that following Jesus is going to make our lives easier, safer, more comfortable, but actually the opposite is true. Jesus is so demanding. And then our discussion turned to a recent scripture lesson---the one about the Gerasene demonic, who after being healed of his horrible malady was not permitted to follow Jesus as he begged to do, but instead was told to return home to the people who had rejected him ---a very difficult assignment, to say the least. Jesus did not give the man a break, though he had spent years, possessed by demons, rejected by his family and community, forced to live among the tombs, where his body was often lacerated on the rocks and his spirit, ripped to shreds by demons or what we today might call epilepsy or some other illness. Jesus did not hesitate to say tough words in tough times.
And in today’s lessons we have more of the same---more difficult assignments, more tough words in tough times. God or Jesus does not let up. First, consider Elijah, who was nothing if not zealous for God. He had been confronting King Ahab and his queen, Jezebel, about their worship of Baal, and in a contest Elijah beat her prophets, who failed to make fire to burn up the offering to Baal. Elijah’s prayer to God brought success, and then Elijah saw to it that Jezebel’s 450 prophets were put to the sword. So, is it any wonder that Jezebel was rip roaring angry and promised to repay Elijah in kind? And so, Elijah ran. Weary to the bone, both physically and spiritually, he pretty much felt he had nothing more to give. He was ready to give up everything, including his life. And there on a mountain top, God walked by---and Elijah met God not in the power of the wind, the earthquake or fire, but in the sound of sheer silence. That’s how it sometimes is in life, isn’t it? We want a word, an answer, a reassurance, and all we get is silence. But notice the silence did not last; maybe Elijah would have preferred the silence to the tough words God spoke, ordering him to Damascus, where he was to anoint two kings and a prophet. No, his work was not yet done. He was not yet allowed to rest. More tough words in what was for Elijah very tough times.
And in our lesson from Luke we meet a tough and exacting Jesus, who also doesn’t let up. Unlike Elijah Jesus does not countenance violence against those who will not receive him, and he sternly castigated his disciples for misunderstanding the call to righteousness. But Jesus made it clear to a would be follower that he could not expect comfort or even a stable home. And to the one who wanted to bury his father before following Jesus, he was told, “Let the dead bury the dead.” That would be bad enough in our day, but in Jesus’ time, obligations of parents to children and children to parents were rigidly applied. A son must bury his father, and to fail to do so would be considered a severe breaking of the law to honor parents. That Jesus would say such a thing would have been heard as completely shocking---so much so, most people would have walked away in anger and disgust. And that really is point: the demands on the followers are so severe that most people turn around and walk away.
Maybe, someone at my seminar suggested, the church is for catching people who walk away from the hard demands of discipleship. The church is easier on us than Jesus is, and then she told us this story about a time she was working at a fairly wealthy Episcopal Church. She had this parishioner whose infection led to sepsis, and she almost died, but after her organs were washed in bleach, she turned the corner and was on the mend. It was then she had a dream, and in her dream, Jesus came to her and said, “You know that soup kitchen your church wants to build by expanding its kitchen, costing nearly one million dollars? I want you to pay for it. You’ve got the money.”
And the woman in her dream was quite shocked, and said to Jesus, “Why are you bothering me with this now? Can’t you see I have been very sick. I almost died.”
“That is no excuse,” said Jesus. You did not die, and so I expect you to do something big. You can make a difference in this case, so do it.
But the church is going to borrow the money, she told Jesus. The church can afford to take out a loan; they will be able to repay it easily
.
That is not the point, Jesus insisted. The point is: I want you to pay for it. You need to pay for it. And so, the woman, who was quite unnerved, called her minister to come to the hospital. And she told her the story.
How do you know it really was Jesus, the minister asked?
Well, she said, I know this was not my idea. I never would have thought this up. I don’t like giving away so much of my money. I am not happy about it.
Then, maybe you should not do it, the minister said. Maybe you will regret it later, after you are out of the hospital and fully recovered.
I probably will regret it, but that is not the point. The point is Jesus told me to do it, and so, I had better listen.
Has Jesus ever told you to do something like this before?
No, never, she said, which is why I believe it was Jesus.
You know, the minister said, when we have been very sick, the mind can play all kinds of games with us. I think you need to wait a while before you do any check writing---just to make sure.
Make sure of what, she asked?
Make sure that you want to do this.
I already told you, I don’t want to do it, but this is what Jesus told me to do, so I am going to listen. What kind of minister are you, anyway? Why are you so suspicious of Jesus?
It’s not Jesus I’m suspicious of; it’s you. I don’t want to deal with you after you decide that you made a big mistake. I don’t want to be accused of squeezing money out of you.
It seems to me, the woman said very sternly, you are using the word I far too much. This is not about you; it is about Jesus and what Jesus wants. Most of the time Jesus is not so clear, but this one time he is, so I am going to listen, and I would think that as a minister you would listen too.
Well, I think I will have to discuss it with the Consistory. They can make the final decision.
And the final decision was to accept the check. But no one on the Consistory was comfortable, and no one really believed that Jesus told her to do it. It is all in her mind, they said; her conscience is speaking to her.
But, someone at the seminar asked, isn’t this how God works? Doesn’t God use our minds, our consciences, and our imaginations? What else does God have to work with?
The trouble is, someone else said, we are all so acclimated to ambiguity and unknowing that we run away from anything that suggests the certainty of God. Yes, much of the time we are uncertain and ambiguous, but there are these times when God does get through, and thank God some people listen, even if the words are tough in tough times.
SUFFERING FOR WHAT?
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
June 12, 2022
Romans 5: 1-5
Last week, Pentecost Sunday, we heard the story from Acts, when the Spirit blew like a mighty wind, bringing understanding to the whole gathered community. We also heard portions of the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ laid out the law of higher righteousness. In Matthew’s gospel to have the Spirit of Christ means living that law---caring for the least of these and renouncing violence and acts of raw power grabbing. In other words, in Matthew’s gospel followers of Christ are recognized through what they do. But when we arrive at Paul’s Letters, the example and teachings of Jesus Christ are not so apparent. Paul never repeats any of our favorite parables, showing what a good life looks like, and he rarely refers to Jesus’ life at all---except his death on the cross. For Paul having the Spirit of Christ is not so much about doing as it is about being; not so much about the outward action in the world, as it is about the inward turning toward Christ in faith and hope. The Spirit gives faith, and faith is supposed to endure the sufferings life brings.
Let’s face it, suffering is a major challenge in life, and quite frankly, it is probably the most serious challenge to the Christian faith, to any faith. People have literally stopped believing in God because they have suffered terrible pain and sorrow, and they wonder how it is that a good and gracious God can permit such sufferings. What has impressed me in my ministry, including work in hospitals, is that people can often endure assaults on their own bodies, but when the same happens to someone they love, especially to a child, that is when the struggle can easily move to another level.
I knew this woman whose 6 year old was dying of leukemia. It was a long, drawn out battle and after he died, she told me what was left inside of her was NOTHING. “It is like a big black hole in me,” she said, “sucking in all the life and light I ever had, leaving nothing but utter and complete darkness. I could feel nothing for anyone, not my husband, not my friends, nothing. God too became nothing to me. While my child was fighting to live, I could pray and even sometimes become angry at God, but once my son died, God too was swallowed up into that giant black hole. My husband and I separated less than a year after Galen died, and then we quickly divorced. We were not angry at each other; we did not blame each other. It was just that there was nothing left. We both became empty shells of what we once had been.”
What would any of us dare to say to her? Who among us would have the nerve to quote this passage from Romans: We boast in our suffering, knowing that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character and character produces hope and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love had been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit? Perhaps some might think her faith weak, but who has the right to judge another’s faith? She did not think of her faith as weak; she was active in her local Presbyterian Church; she prayed and read the Bible regularly, and she pondered the big questions. She did not expect easy answers, and she did not expect God to repair all the brokenness in the world. Though she hoped and fervently prayed that her son would live, when he died, she told me she did not even blame God for his death. It was just that suddenly God had become a nothing, a shocking irrelevancy.
Now, perhaps in time, even years, she might regain her balance and perhaps she will find God or God find her. We never know how our spiritual lives will change, evolve, and grow. We can go through something harrowing, and then come out on the other side after a very long, dark journey, finding ourselves to be different persons, stronger, more courageous, more faithful. At the time we were going through the experience and even in the aftermath, we could not see one foot ahead of us, but we never know what or how life will teach us, and we never know how God will use our experiences to change us.
When I worked in New Haven, I would often walk across the Green, and sometimes on a lovely day, I would just sit there for a short while. That’s when I met this young man, who had returned from Iraq, a psychological casualty of the war. He and I just struck up a conversation one day, and whenever he saw me, it was obvious he wanted to talk. He told me all about his breakdown, how he had lost his bearings. His three best friends had been killed and then his commanding officer, whom he liked and trusted, stepped on a landmine, also killed. “I broke apart,” he told me. “I was in such bad shape, they me sent home.” But home was not an easy place to be. His father had been an officer in Viet Nam with all kinds of medals and citations for bravery. “My father does not make any allowances for what he thinks is weakness,” he told me, “but then my father makes no room in his life for anything like vulnerability. He pushes it all down deep inside. And maybe that helps him cope. But I am not like my father. I am beginning to understand that my feelings are really not weaknesses at all, but a kind of strength. I have become friendly with this minister at the Unitarian Church, and he and I talk about God a lot. And I am discovering that the less I try to make God conform to my idea of what God should do or be, the more I find God to be a help and comfort to me. I don’t know very much about God, he said, but I don’t have to. I just need God to know me. And somehow, I think God does.
Our passage from Romans got me to thinking about that young man, remembering all our conversations. His suffering had produced endurance, and his endurance produced character and his character produced hope. And his hope did not disappoint him, and he would not give up, no matter how wounded his psyche and soul were. Why was his pain so different from that mother’s? But just as none of us can truly judge another’s faith, we cannot judge another’s pain. But that mother had more than her own pain to bear; she also had her child’s whom she loved and had to watch die, helpless to do anything but wait and watch. Wounds are not all the same, and people bear different wounds differently.
I don’t think this passage from Romans is something we have the right to say to someone else, who is in pain. We can say it to ourselves, but we don’t have enough authority to say it to another. Remember, Paul wrote this letter to the Christian Church in Rome, and writing is not exactly the same thing as saying something to someone’s face, especially someone in great pain. The church in Rome did have its sufferings; there were persecutions and all kinds of misunderstandings and accusations, and I would imagine that sometimes God did seem at a distance. Perhaps there were times God seemed to disappoint. But they endured, as Paul also endured. Just as we too sometimes endure. And our endurance is a kind of victory. We get through it, and though we may look back and wonder how we endured it all, nonetheless, our endurance brought us out to the other side. We can then feel stronger, though at the time of our endurance, we did not recognize anything that looked like strength. Having endured our character is built up and then we can look to hope. And hope that really is hope and remains hope does not disappoint. It is like what that young man said about God: the less he tried to get God to conform to what he thought God should do and be, the more God was a comfort and help to him. And perhaps the same is true of hope. The more we can embrace hope without trying to fill in all the details of what we think hope should deliver, then hope can truly be a comfort and help to us.
None of us escapes suffering, though some suffer more than others, and it is also true that some can use their sufferings in ways that build them up rather than rip them apart and down. Jesus certainly suffered, not only the ignoble indignity of a cruel death on a cross, but he also suffered what he experienced as God’s abandonment. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why, indeed, but at least he called out, My God, my God. There is something in that word that is endurance, an endurance of character and a hope that all manner of things shall finally be made well by a good and gracious God.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
June 12, 2022
Romans 5: 1-5
Last week, Pentecost Sunday, we heard the story from Acts, when the Spirit blew like a mighty wind, bringing understanding to the whole gathered community. We also heard portions of the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ laid out the law of higher righteousness. In Matthew’s gospel to have the Spirit of Christ means living that law---caring for the least of these and renouncing violence and acts of raw power grabbing. In other words, in Matthew’s gospel followers of Christ are recognized through what they do. But when we arrive at Paul’s Letters, the example and teachings of Jesus Christ are not so apparent. Paul never repeats any of our favorite parables, showing what a good life looks like, and he rarely refers to Jesus’ life at all---except his death on the cross. For Paul having the Spirit of Christ is not so much about doing as it is about being; not so much about the outward action in the world, as it is about the inward turning toward Christ in faith and hope. The Spirit gives faith, and faith is supposed to endure the sufferings life brings.
Let’s face it, suffering is a major challenge in life, and quite frankly, it is probably the most serious challenge to the Christian faith, to any faith. People have literally stopped believing in God because they have suffered terrible pain and sorrow, and they wonder how it is that a good and gracious God can permit such sufferings. What has impressed me in my ministry, including work in hospitals, is that people can often endure assaults on their own bodies, but when the same happens to someone they love, especially to a child, that is when the struggle can easily move to another level.
I knew this woman whose 6 year old was dying of leukemia. It was a long, drawn out battle and after he died, she told me what was left inside of her was NOTHING. “It is like a big black hole in me,” she said, “sucking in all the life and light I ever had, leaving nothing but utter and complete darkness. I could feel nothing for anyone, not my husband, not my friends, nothing. God too became nothing to me. While my child was fighting to live, I could pray and even sometimes become angry at God, but once my son died, God too was swallowed up into that giant black hole. My husband and I separated less than a year after Galen died, and then we quickly divorced. We were not angry at each other; we did not blame each other. It was just that there was nothing left. We both became empty shells of what we once had been.”
What would any of us dare to say to her? Who among us would have the nerve to quote this passage from Romans: We boast in our suffering, knowing that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character and character produces hope and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love had been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit? Perhaps some might think her faith weak, but who has the right to judge another’s faith? She did not think of her faith as weak; she was active in her local Presbyterian Church; she prayed and read the Bible regularly, and she pondered the big questions. She did not expect easy answers, and she did not expect God to repair all the brokenness in the world. Though she hoped and fervently prayed that her son would live, when he died, she told me she did not even blame God for his death. It was just that suddenly God had become a nothing, a shocking irrelevancy.
Now, perhaps in time, even years, she might regain her balance and perhaps she will find God or God find her. We never know how our spiritual lives will change, evolve, and grow. We can go through something harrowing, and then come out on the other side after a very long, dark journey, finding ourselves to be different persons, stronger, more courageous, more faithful. At the time we were going through the experience and even in the aftermath, we could not see one foot ahead of us, but we never know what or how life will teach us, and we never know how God will use our experiences to change us.
When I worked in New Haven, I would often walk across the Green, and sometimes on a lovely day, I would just sit there for a short while. That’s when I met this young man, who had returned from Iraq, a psychological casualty of the war. He and I just struck up a conversation one day, and whenever he saw me, it was obvious he wanted to talk. He told me all about his breakdown, how he had lost his bearings. His three best friends had been killed and then his commanding officer, whom he liked and trusted, stepped on a landmine, also killed. “I broke apart,” he told me. “I was in such bad shape, they me sent home.” But home was not an easy place to be. His father had been an officer in Viet Nam with all kinds of medals and citations for bravery. “My father does not make any allowances for what he thinks is weakness,” he told me, “but then my father makes no room in his life for anything like vulnerability. He pushes it all down deep inside. And maybe that helps him cope. But I am not like my father. I am beginning to understand that my feelings are really not weaknesses at all, but a kind of strength. I have become friendly with this minister at the Unitarian Church, and he and I talk about God a lot. And I am discovering that the less I try to make God conform to my idea of what God should do or be, the more I find God to be a help and comfort to me. I don’t know very much about God, he said, but I don’t have to. I just need God to know me. And somehow, I think God does.
Our passage from Romans got me to thinking about that young man, remembering all our conversations. His suffering had produced endurance, and his endurance produced character and his character produced hope. And his hope did not disappoint him, and he would not give up, no matter how wounded his psyche and soul were. Why was his pain so different from that mother’s? But just as none of us can truly judge another’s faith, we cannot judge another’s pain. But that mother had more than her own pain to bear; she also had her child’s whom she loved and had to watch die, helpless to do anything but wait and watch. Wounds are not all the same, and people bear different wounds differently.
I don’t think this passage from Romans is something we have the right to say to someone else, who is in pain. We can say it to ourselves, but we don’t have enough authority to say it to another. Remember, Paul wrote this letter to the Christian Church in Rome, and writing is not exactly the same thing as saying something to someone’s face, especially someone in great pain. The church in Rome did have its sufferings; there were persecutions and all kinds of misunderstandings and accusations, and I would imagine that sometimes God did seem at a distance. Perhaps there were times God seemed to disappoint. But they endured, as Paul also endured. Just as we too sometimes endure. And our endurance is a kind of victory. We get through it, and though we may look back and wonder how we endured it all, nonetheless, our endurance brought us out to the other side. We can then feel stronger, though at the time of our endurance, we did not recognize anything that looked like strength. Having endured our character is built up and then we can look to hope. And hope that really is hope and remains hope does not disappoint. It is like what that young man said about God: the less he tried to get God to conform to what he thought God should do and be, the more God was a comfort and help to him. And perhaps the same is true of hope. The more we can embrace hope without trying to fill in all the details of what we think hope should deliver, then hope can truly be a comfort and help to us.
None of us escapes suffering, though some suffer more than others, and it is also true that some can use their sufferings in ways that build them up rather than rip them apart and down. Jesus certainly suffered, not only the ignoble indignity of a cruel death on a cross, but he also suffered what he experienced as God’s abandonment. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why, indeed, but at least he called out, My God, my God. There is something in that word that is endurance, an endurance of character and a hope that all manner of things shall finally be made well by a good and gracious God.
Turning the Other Cheek?
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville,
June 5, 2022
Matthew 5: 38-48
Today is Pentecost Sunday, when we celebrate the coming of the Spirit. You heard the dramatic story in the book of Acts about the Spirit’s arrival, how it blew like a mighty wind, bringing understanding as it descended upon the the gahtered community. But what is this Spirit? We all use this word spirit rather loosely, talking about a spirit of freedom, a spirit of forgiveness, a spirit of inclusion and tolerance, a spirit of understanding and truth. But when Christians refer to Pentecost, the reference is not to a general spirit, but rather to Christ’s Spirit, and in Matthew’s gospel something very specific was meant---- radical care and concern for the poor---the least of these--- and embracing a particular form of non-violence. To have the spirit of Christ mandated that life was to conform to the law of higher righteousness.
Let’s turn to the text and consider what these words actually meant in their original context. Jesus is being very political here, meaning that he understands who has the power, in this case Rome, and how that power is to be answered by people who do not have the same power Rome has. Let’s begin with: “Do not resist one who is evil.” Now the English word resist is a translation of a Greek word, which means literally against an armed rebellion. So the meaning might be better stated: “Do not repay evil by an armed rebellion.” Palestine was under Roman occupation. Twenty years before Jesus walked this earth, there had been an armed rebellion of Galileans against Rome, which resulted in over 2000 crucifixions, lining the roads into and out of Galilean towns. It is not farfetched to think that some of those who heard Jesus preach had friends and relatives who meant that cruel end. So, Jesus is not preaching an unrealistic ethical purity here. He wants his hearers to understand exactly how armed rebellion ends.
Consider the rule: If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other. Pay attention to the word right, because in order to hit someone with an open fist or hand on the right cheek, one must use the left hand. But this was a right handed society; only the most unclean tasks were performed with the left hand. If one wanted to strike a blow with the right hand, one would need to deliver it to the left cheek. But Jesus said the right one. What he is describing is a situation in which someone delivers a slap using the back side of the right hand to the right cheek---the kind of slap a master would deliver to his servant, a father to his son, an officer to someone lower in rank. This is not about a violent fight, but rather an act of humiliation and insult delivered to those considered inferior. So to turn the other cheek, the left one, to a superior who has just humiliated them says “Your slap of humiliation did not work. You are going to have to strike me on the left cheek and to do that you are going to have to use your open right hand or right fist. I am going to force you to acknowledge me as your equal. I will not be humiliated by your back handed slap.
Now for the next example: If someone would sue you and take your coat, let him have your cloak as well. We have an issue here with translation. The word coat is the outer garment, but the word cloak in the Greek usually means the inner garment, the underwear. The situation Jesus is describing is a legal one in which a person has pledged his or her coat as collateral. In Exodus it says, If ever you take your neighbor’s garment in pledge, you shall restore it to him before the sun goes down, for that is their only covering. It would only be the very poor who would have nothing but their coat to offer as collateral. Jesus is describing a situation in which a poor person has been hauled into court, because he cannot repay the loan to get his coat back. So Jesus counsels him to give away his underwear and stand there naked. But nakedness was strickly taboo in ancient Israel, and the shame and the curse fell not upon the naked one but upon the person viewing the nakedness. This goes back to the Old Testament story when one of Noah’s sons saw him naked when Noah was drunk. Noah then cursed his son for beholding his nakedness. So by stripping off the inner garments in court, the debtor brings the creditor into the same situation that brought down a curse upon Noah’s son. The system is unmasked as one worthy of cursing.
Now for the last example. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him 2 miles. Again, this is a very specific situation, drawn from the practice of limiting the amount of forced labor a Roman soldier could compel a subject citizen to carry his heavy pack, usually weighing between 65 and 85 pounds. A soldier could insist that someone carry his pack one mile. Indeed, there were markers along the roadside designating the allowable distance. To force a subject to go beyond the mile imposed fines on the soldier. And yet here Jesus is counseling the offer of another mile. What would a soldier think if another mile were offered? Are you insulting my strength? Are you trying to get me into trouble? So, the initiative has been taken by the oppressed, and the oppressor is put on the defensive.
So what does all this mean for us today? Obviously, our world has changed, and mainline Protestants are neither fundamentalists nor originalists, who would deny that the meaning changes over time. We do not live in Jesus’ time and place, which means that we are burdened with the task of figuring out for ourselves what it might mean for us to have the spirit of Christ. What kind of lives are we to live? How are we to make choices? What is wrong and what is right? People often want definite answers, insisting on simplicity in what is a very complicated world. And yet that complicated world is the one in which God meets us and speaks to us. And it is God who must reckon with the fact that all God’s people neither hear nor understand in the same way. And if God must reckon with that difference then so must we.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville,
June 5, 2022
Matthew 5: 38-48
Today is Pentecost Sunday, when we celebrate the coming of the Spirit. You heard the dramatic story in the book of Acts about the Spirit’s arrival, how it blew like a mighty wind, bringing understanding as it descended upon the the gahtered community. But what is this Spirit? We all use this word spirit rather loosely, talking about a spirit of freedom, a spirit of forgiveness, a spirit of inclusion and tolerance, a spirit of understanding and truth. But when Christians refer to Pentecost, the reference is not to a general spirit, but rather to Christ’s Spirit, and in Matthew’s gospel something very specific was meant---- radical care and concern for the poor---the least of these--- and embracing a particular form of non-violence. To have the spirit of Christ mandated that life was to conform to the law of higher righteousness.
Let’s turn to the text and consider what these words actually meant in their original context. Jesus is being very political here, meaning that he understands who has the power, in this case Rome, and how that power is to be answered by people who do not have the same power Rome has. Let’s begin with: “Do not resist one who is evil.” Now the English word resist is a translation of a Greek word, which means literally against an armed rebellion. So the meaning might be better stated: “Do not repay evil by an armed rebellion.” Palestine was under Roman occupation. Twenty years before Jesus walked this earth, there had been an armed rebellion of Galileans against Rome, which resulted in over 2000 crucifixions, lining the roads into and out of Galilean towns. It is not farfetched to think that some of those who heard Jesus preach had friends and relatives who meant that cruel end. So, Jesus is not preaching an unrealistic ethical purity here. He wants his hearers to understand exactly how armed rebellion ends.
Consider the rule: If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other. Pay attention to the word right, because in order to hit someone with an open fist or hand on the right cheek, one must use the left hand. But this was a right handed society; only the most unclean tasks were performed with the left hand. If one wanted to strike a blow with the right hand, one would need to deliver it to the left cheek. But Jesus said the right one. What he is describing is a situation in which someone delivers a slap using the back side of the right hand to the right cheek---the kind of slap a master would deliver to his servant, a father to his son, an officer to someone lower in rank. This is not about a violent fight, but rather an act of humiliation and insult delivered to those considered inferior. So to turn the other cheek, the left one, to a superior who has just humiliated them says “Your slap of humiliation did not work. You are going to have to strike me on the left cheek and to do that you are going to have to use your open right hand or right fist. I am going to force you to acknowledge me as your equal. I will not be humiliated by your back handed slap.
Now for the next example: If someone would sue you and take your coat, let him have your cloak as well. We have an issue here with translation. The word coat is the outer garment, but the word cloak in the Greek usually means the inner garment, the underwear. The situation Jesus is describing is a legal one in which a person has pledged his or her coat as collateral. In Exodus it says, If ever you take your neighbor’s garment in pledge, you shall restore it to him before the sun goes down, for that is their only covering. It would only be the very poor who would have nothing but their coat to offer as collateral. Jesus is describing a situation in which a poor person has been hauled into court, because he cannot repay the loan to get his coat back. So Jesus counsels him to give away his underwear and stand there naked. But nakedness was strickly taboo in ancient Israel, and the shame and the curse fell not upon the naked one but upon the person viewing the nakedness. This goes back to the Old Testament story when one of Noah’s sons saw him naked when Noah was drunk. Noah then cursed his son for beholding his nakedness. So by stripping off the inner garments in court, the debtor brings the creditor into the same situation that brought down a curse upon Noah’s son. The system is unmasked as one worthy of cursing.
Now for the last example. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him 2 miles. Again, this is a very specific situation, drawn from the practice of limiting the amount of forced labor a Roman soldier could compel a subject citizen to carry his heavy pack, usually weighing between 65 and 85 pounds. A soldier could insist that someone carry his pack one mile. Indeed, there were markers along the roadside designating the allowable distance. To force a subject to go beyond the mile imposed fines on the soldier. And yet here Jesus is counseling the offer of another mile. What would a soldier think if another mile were offered? Are you insulting my strength? Are you trying to get me into trouble? So, the initiative has been taken by the oppressed, and the oppressor is put on the defensive.
So what does all this mean for us today? Obviously, our world has changed, and mainline Protestants are neither fundamentalists nor originalists, who would deny that the meaning changes over time. We do not live in Jesus’ time and place, which means that we are burdened with the task of figuring out for ourselves what it might mean for us to have the spirit of Christ. What kind of lives are we to live? How are we to make choices? What is wrong and what is right? People often want definite answers, insisting on simplicity in what is a very complicated world. And yet that complicated world is the one in which God meets us and speaks to us. And it is God who must reckon with the fact that all God’s people neither hear nor understand in the same way. And if God must reckon with that difference then so must we.
June 9, 2022
In 1958 the young, tall, lanky, and brilliant pianist from Texas named Van Cliburn won the Tchaikovsky Piano Competition in Moscow, perhaps the most renown and competitive piano competition in the entire world. This was in the midst of the Cold War, and the story goes (perhaps apocryphal) that the judges actually called Nikita Khrushchev to determine what they should do. Apparently, the Russians did not relish the idea of giving victory to an American. The question was simple: Is he the best? And when the answer came back in the affirmative, Van Cliburn was named the winner. It was viewed as a victory for the world and for the arts. Power politics would not have the final say.
The challenge continues. In an auditorium at Texas Christian University in Fort Worth another competition is underway: The Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, one of the most prestigious competitions in classical music. It too has defied power politics by refusing to bend to the pressure of banning Russian musicians. Among the contestants are six Russians, two from Belarus and one from the Ukraine. The Russian pianists are far from comfortable, and some of them have stated their opposition to the war in Ukraine. Many of them live outside of Russia, and one simply said, “I am trying to stay focused on the music.” Another woman said she believes it is her duty as an artist to show solidarity with Ukraine. Another Russian pianist said he thought it was important for the Russian artists to be present at the competition to show there is another side to Russia beside the aggression of Putin. One pianist said that while he felt distant from contemporary Russian culture, yet he does feel a connection to Russia through its great music. This person will begin graduate study at the Yale School of Music in the fall.
We can imagine that it is hardly easy to be Russian in these circumstances. Many organizations have cut ties with Russian artists and athletes. Some people, in fact, have been very critical of the Van Cliburn’s refusal to play politics. The war is viewed as immoral by most countries, and there are many people who feel that only the complete isolation of Russia, including its artists, will send the correct message. And yet how does banning a talented 23 year old pianist, who has worked hard his whole young life to perfect his art and has no political power over the course of the war, help Ukraine and the world to become a more peaceful place? Such a question is hardly trivial. And it is not trivial that the pianists from Russia, Belarus and the one Ukrainian sat together, speaking in Russia about the interpretation of music, various teachers, and the feel of the onstage piano.
Some will argue that the arts play a healing role in the world. Beauty is something that brings people together and the recognition of great talent, no matter the country of origin, draws people together in a way that few other events do. The great Russian writer, Dostoevsky, once remarked, “Beauty will save the world,” and so it can seem foolish and short sighted to refuse to seat those who can make people weep over the exquisite rendition of a piece of music. Furthermore, in this case, the one Ukrainian pianist has no problem with the presence of the Russians and has gone out of his way to be encouraging. But the competition has also made it clear that it will tolerate no pro-war statements from any of the players. If such positions are declared, the threat is immediate expulsion from the competition.
There is no doubt, however, that the war does play a role. The chair of the Jury, Marin Alsop, who is also a renown conductor, says you can feel the tension and the intense emotion. “Perhaps it is projection” he admits, “but I do not think so.” The sole Ukrainian pianist, Dmytro Choni, from Kyiv, said he believes that in dark times music can serve as a therapy. “The goal of music is to unite people, to give relief from what is going on in the world. Music can be a cure, a treatment. It has always been like this, but maybe in these times it is especially relevant.” May it be so.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
In 1958 the young, tall, lanky, and brilliant pianist from Texas named Van Cliburn won the Tchaikovsky Piano Competition in Moscow, perhaps the most renown and competitive piano competition in the entire world. This was in the midst of the Cold War, and the story goes (perhaps apocryphal) that the judges actually called Nikita Khrushchev to determine what they should do. Apparently, the Russians did not relish the idea of giving victory to an American. The question was simple: Is he the best? And when the answer came back in the affirmative, Van Cliburn was named the winner. It was viewed as a victory for the world and for the arts. Power politics would not have the final say.
The challenge continues. In an auditorium at Texas Christian University in Fort Worth another competition is underway: The Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, one of the most prestigious competitions in classical music. It too has defied power politics by refusing to bend to the pressure of banning Russian musicians. Among the contestants are six Russians, two from Belarus and one from the Ukraine. The Russian pianists are far from comfortable, and some of them have stated their opposition to the war in Ukraine. Many of them live outside of Russia, and one simply said, “I am trying to stay focused on the music.” Another woman said she believes it is her duty as an artist to show solidarity with Ukraine. Another Russian pianist said he thought it was important for the Russian artists to be present at the competition to show there is another side to Russia beside the aggression of Putin. One pianist said that while he felt distant from contemporary Russian culture, yet he does feel a connection to Russia through its great music. This person will begin graduate study at the Yale School of Music in the fall.
We can imagine that it is hardly easy to be Russian in these circumstances. Many organizations have cut ties with Russian artists and athletes. Some people, in fact, have been very critical of the Van Cliburn’s refusal to play politics. The war is viewed as immoral by most countries, and there are many people who feel that only the complete isolation of Russia, including its artists, will send the correct message. And yet how does banning a talented 23 year old pianist, who has worked hard his whole young life to perfect his art and has no political power over the course of the war, help Ukraine and the world to become a more peaceful place? Such a question is hardly trivial. And it is not trivial that the pianists from Russia, Belarus and the one Ukrainian sat together, speaking in Russia about the interpretation of music, various teachers, and the feel of the onstage piano.
Some will argue that the arts play a healing role in the world. Beauty is something that brings people together and the recognition of great talent, no matter the country of origin, draws people together in a way that few other events do. The great Russian writer, Dostoevsky, once remarked, “Beauty will save the world,” and so it can seem foolish and short sighted to refuse to seat those who can make people weep over the exquisite rendition of a piece of music. Furthermore, in this case, the one Ukrainian pianist has no problem with the presence of the Russians and has gone out of his way to be encouraging. But the competition has also made it clear that it will tolerate no pro-war statements from any of the players. If such positions are declared, the threat is immediate expulsion from the competition.
There is no doubt, however, that the war does play a role. The chair of the Jury, Marin Alsop, who is also a renown conductor, says you can feel the tension and the intense emotion. “Perhaps it is projection” he admits, “but I do not think so.” The sole Ukrainian pianist, Dmytro Choni, from Kyiv, said he believes that in dark times music can serve as a therapy. “The goal of music is to unite people, to give relief from what is going on in the world. Music can be a cure, a treatment. It has always been like this, but maybe in these times it is especially relevant.” May it be so.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
June 2, 2022
Dear Friends,
Lucy Harper is on a mission. In fact, she has been on a mission for at least seven years as she tries to encourage Americans to think about their country in a different way. Distressed over the deep divisions in cultural and political issues, she has been traveling across the nation, teaching classes and leading workshops telling people, “America is not a political prize to be fought over, but an idea to be fought for.” Her success, she admits, is not overly impressive.
In 2015 she became part of the American Network, an organization whose goal is to create groups or networks of Americans, who work to help their communities look at the nation “through the lens of values.” Everyone, she says, knows about “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” enshrined in the Declaration of Independence, but the values of the United States really come down to balance: freedom and equality, law and ethics, common wealth and private wealth, unity and diversity. All these different values, which sometimes do conflict, must be balanced, she maintains. And it the balance, even the desire for balance that is the problem today. People no longer want to work toward balance.
She and her husband have been teaching a course on The American Vision at The University of Miami’s Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. Yet she has noticed that there are current events courses being taught, some from a liberal and others from a conservative perspective. The ideological splits are so deep, she maintains, that different courses are taught to avoid the nasty interactions that result when people bring their ideological bent to class. She finds this deeply discouraging and dangerous. So now she is trying another approach---though the medium of a play. Some of the nation’s most renown thinkers, like Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton share the stage as they debate what makes America what it is or wants to be. She does not know what the impact will be. The play opens this weekend at Principia College in Elsah, Illinois, and it will move on to the University of California at Berkley in the fall. Her hope is that the play will spark thought and debate among people, whose minds can change when they meet IDEAS, different from their own. We have arrived at a point, she claims, where we only want to talk with people, who think as we do. But that kind of insular thinking is bringing us to the brink of disaster. We must find a new way to open ourselves to a wider realm of thinking and feeling. The world, after all, is a big place, and it is hard to appreciate the bigness if we are so committed to our own little place in the world.
I wonder what Jesus would have thought of this approach. He certainly never traveled very far from his home, perhaps not more than 70 miles or so, and he probably tended to stay within the Jewish community, though there is little doubt that his interaction with gentiles, made an impact, forcing him beyond the world he knew so well. He became a reformer of Jewish law, believing that the law of higher righteousness or love was more important for the flourishing of life than following the strict letter of the law. From where did that idea come? I imagine Jesus as a master of conversation, both listening to others as he also thought and taught. Perhaps in conversing with so many different people, he began to see a new approach to law and to life. Talking and listening, listening, and talking. We all could do a bit more of both, and we could do it with the blessings of God in Jesus Christ.
Blessings always,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Lucy Harper is on a mission. In fact, she has been on a mission for at least seven years as she tries to encourage Americans to think about their country in a different way. Distressed over the deep divisions in cultural and political issues, she has been traveling across the nation, teaching classes and leading workshops telling people, “America is not a political prize to be fought over, but an idea to be fought for.” Her success, she admits, is not overly impressive.
In 2015 she became part of the American Network, an organization whose goal is to create groups or networks of Americans, who work to help their communities look at the nation “through the lens of values.” Everyone, she says, knows about “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” enshrined in the Declaration of Independence, but the values of the United States really come down to balance: freedom and equality, law and ethics, common wealth and private wealth, unity and diversity. All these different values, which sometimes do conflict, must be balanced, she maintains. And it the balance, even the desire for balance that is the problem today. People no longer want to work toward balance.
She and her husband have been teaching a course on The American Vision at The University of Miami’s Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. Yet she has noticed that there are current events courses being taught, some from a liberal and others from a conservative perspective. The ideological splits are so deep, she maintains, that different courses are taught to avoid the nasty interactions that result when people bring their ideological bent to class. She finds this deeply discouraging and dangerous. So now she is trying another approach---though the medium of a play. Some of the nation’s most renown thinkers, like Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton share the stage as they debate what makes America what it is or wants to be. She does not know what the impact will be. The play opens this weekend at Principia College in Elsah, Illinois, and it will move on to the University of California at Berkley in the fall. Her hope is that the play will spark thought and debate among people, whose minds can change when they meet IDEAS, different from their own. We have arrived at a point, she claims, where we only want to talk with people, who think as we do. But that kind of insular thinking is bringing us to the brink of disaster. We must find a new way to open ourselves to a wider realm of thinking and feeling. The world, after all, is a big place, and it is hard to appreciate the bigness if we are so committed to our own little place in the world.
I wonder what Jesus would have thought of this approach. He certainly never traveled very far from his home, perhaps not more than 70 miles or so, and he probably tended to stay within the Jewish community, though there is little doubt that his interaction with gentiles, made an impact, forcing him beyond the world he knew so well. He became a reformer of Jewish law, believing that the law of higher righteousness or love was more important for the flourishing of life than following the strict letter of the law. From where did that idea come? I imagine Jesus as a master of conversation, both listening to others as he also thought and taught. Perhaps in conversing with so many different people, he began to see a new approach to law and to life. Talking and listening, listening, and talking. We all could do a bit more of both, and we could do it with the blessings of God in Jesus Christ.
Blessings always,
Sandra
THREE WAR STORIES
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
Memorial Day Week-end, May 29, 2022
Exodus 21: 12-27
Matthew 5: 17-26
When I was a freshman in college, the required Humanities course included a number of classics on the subject of war: Herodotus, The History of the Persian Wars, Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, Trotsky’s History of the Russian Revolution and the great Russian novel, War and Peace by Tolstoy. Now this was in the midst of the Viet Nam War, and I can tell you we were not pleased with reading about war. When the regular professor was suddenly taken ill, we had this gentle, wise, retired professor. He understood the anger of the college students regarding Viet Nam, but he began the class by telling us a story from World War I, when the Germans set fire to the famous library in Louvain, Belgium.
When the President of the Library attempted to speak of the loss---irreplaceable ancient manuscripts and scrolls, he stuttered out the words, La Bibliotheque, French for library, but he could not go on. He broke down weeping. “I want you,” the professor told us, “to understand the depth of his grief, the loss of knowledge that could never be regained. You will have here the opportunity to read great thoughts and ideas, and the love of knowledge and the love of learning are civilizing forces that can fight against the barbarity of war. And something else, you will read this in Herodotus: As brutal as war is, sometimes war also shows forth great virtues: courage, compassion, self sacrifice, the grief of lost love. And virtue is part of what your education is about.”
Today I am going to tell you three brief stories of war, all from different wars, with different perspectives. And as you hear these true tales, put them in dialogue with what you heard from the Jewish law as well as from the gospel of Jesus Christ.
There was nothing in the background of Joshua Chamberlain that would have suggested he would become a great warrior. A professor at Bowdoin College in Maine, he taught rhetoric, natural theology, and languages. When the Civil War came, this husband and a father of four, age 33, enlisted in the Union Army, much to the grief of his wife, Fanny, whom he adored. Appalled at the secession of the southern states and morally opposed to slavery, in 1862 he entered the Union Army as a lieutenant colonel and three years later left the army as a General. Chamberlain commanded the 20th Maine, and on July 3,1863 Chamberlain and his men found themselves on a long escarpment called Cemetery Ridge facing the Confederate Army. This was the Battle of Gettysburg.
It was absolutely vital, General Meade told him, to hold your line at all costs, for if Lee could overwhelm the Union forces here, he would have a gateway into Washington, DC, and a victory which might convince England and France to support the Confederacy. Chamberlain received a chilling order from Meade that morning: “Any man who does not do his duty should be immediately executed.” But instilling fear was not Chamberlain’s method. He led by courageous example, fighting in the very heat of battle at the head of the battle lines. Finally, at one point, when the ammunition was almost gone and defeat seemed imminent, Chamberlain yelled out one word, Bayonet as he pulled out his and led the charge. The word caught like fire and swept along the ranks. The men charged ahead in a rage, following their leader, and the Confederates turned around and ran.
There would be other battles and other examples of Chamberlain’s great bravery, and his uncanny ability to cheat death many times over, but he is also remembered for a different kind of noble bravery. When General Lee surrendered to General Grant at Appomattox, the Confederates were starving, and the Union Army fed them. Three days later, Grant asked Chamberlain to command the ceremony in which the Confederate Army would formally surrender. Chamberlain described Lee as “a commanding form, superbly mounted, richly accoutered, of imposing bearing and noble countenance with an expression of deep sadness overmastered by deep strength.” When Chamberlain witnessed the downcast ranks of the defeated Confederate Army, he resolved to mark these defeated warriors by an act of respect, welcoming them back into the Union. Chamberlain ordered his buglers to sound and his soldiers to raise their weapons in a traditional salute. And Lee, shocked at this show of deep respect, then ordered his troops to return the same. There would be no exchange of hatred that day between the soldiers. “We are all on one side now,” Chamberlain said with hope in his heart.
Vera Brittain was studying at Oxford University, when, in 1915 she enlisted as a nurse in England’s armed services. Before the end of the war, she would serve in London, Malta and close to the Western Front in France. She lost all the men she loved to the war, including her fiancé, Roland Leighton, her brother, Edward and two very close friends. Vera was waiting for her fiancé to return on leave on Christmas, 1915, when the day after Christmas the phone rang. Running to receive the call, which she surely thought must be from Roland, she learned instead that he had died on December 23, 1915. He was shot while going to repair the barbed wire fencing in No Man’s Land.
Vera wrote in her book, Testament of Youth, “I would whisper like a maniac to the somber, indifferent light, “Oh, my love, so proud, so confident, so contemptuous of humiliation, you, who were meant to lead a forlorn hope, to fall in a great fight---just to be shot like a rat in the dark as you go to repair a fence. Why did you go so boldly and heedlessly into No Man’s Land, when you knew that your leave was so near? Dearest, why did you? Why did you?
And hardest of all for her to bear was the silence. He had left, she wrote, no message for those of us who loved him. He had gone down to the grave consciously indifferent to all of us who loved him so much. All throughout the first months of 1916, my letters and diaries emphasize again and again the grief of having no word to cherish through the long empty years. I waited and waited for the hope of a message, and though I had heard from his colonel, his company commander, a Catholic priest and was even visited by an officer, who wanted to help me, I learned all there was to learn about his death, including that at the end I had been quite forgotten. And so Vera lived with a grief that she transmuted into work for peace as well as a book, both a memoir and an elegy for the generation who came of age on the eve of the war and then vanished in its trenches.
Nicholas Winton came from a wealthy Jewish family, who had immigrated to England from Germany in the late 1800’s. By 1938 Nicholas was a successful stockbroker about to go to Switzerland on a vacation with a friend. But his friend called and told him he was in Prague helping refugees, who were trying to flee Hitler. Nicholas arrived in Prague on New Year’s Eve, 1938, and was shocked at what he witnessed: freezing refugee camps, filled with desperate people. Many were convinced that soon Hitler would arrive in Czechoslovakia, and then what would they do? How would they escape? Nicholas Winton then took a particular interest in a certain kind of refugee: those adults who were willing to stay but were trying to get their children out of the country. He set up an office in Prague and asked his mother to do the same in London. What do we need to do to get these children to safety in England? That was his mission.
He returned to London in January, 1939 with hundreds of photos and details of children. Though he continued to work as a stockbroker during the day, every evening he worked on his rescue plan. The Home Office in London had previously said it would accept unaccompanied Jewish children from Germany and Austria, but now it agreed to include Czechoslovakia. The bar was set high; he had to find families who would accept the children and also 50 pounds per child, today worth about $3500. Though many donated, he would also use his own money to fill in the many gaps. His first transport left Prague on March 14, 1939. There were two in April, one in May, one in June, two in July, and one in August. The journey ended at London’s Liverpool Street Station. As the children alighted from the train, they sat on benches on one side of a curtain and the new parents on the other side. As each name was called out, the children went through an opening in the curtain and were welcomed by the new parents on the other side. On September 1,1939 Nicholas Winton had scheduled his largest transport, but this was the day Germany invaded Poland, and the Second World War began. Almost all of them died in concentration camps.
No one would have ever known about Nicholas Winton, but his wife found a scrapbook, assembled by one of Nicholas’ assistants, and wanted to know who all these children were, and so Nicholas told her the story. The story made it to the newspapers and then on a BBC Program called, That’s Life. Winton was invited to the program, but he did not know that some of the grown up children he had saved were also there. The woman sitting next to Nicholas introduced herself as Vera Diamont, who came to London on a train from Prague in 1939. When the program’s host asked if there were any others present who made a similar trip, dozens stood up. Nicholas Winton, normally so reserved, broke down in tears. There were over 6000 people alive at that time in 1989 who were descendants of the 668 people he had saved. Among the saved were at least three Nobel Laureates. Nicholas Winton died in 2015 at the age of 106, cared for toward the end of his life by Vera Diamont, one of the people he saved.
War is indeed a terrible thing, brutal and ugly. But I think that old retired professor, who taught some humanities classes to me now over 50 years ago, knew of what he spoke. Sometimes in the worst of times virtue does assert itself and make itself known. And I think Jesus, as much as he was opposed to violence, would agree. He was, after all, a keen observer of the human condition, and he knew that sometimes out of the depths something great can emerge---great courage, great grief, great compassion.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
Memorial Day Week-end, May 29, 2022
Exodus 21: 12-27
Matthew 5: 17-26
When I was a freshman in college, the required Humanities course included a number of classics on the subject of war: Herodotus, The History of the Persian Wars, Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, Trotsky’s History of the Russian Revolution and the great Russian novel, War and Peace by Tolstoy. Now this was in the midst of the Viet Nam War, and I can tell you we were not pleased with reading about war. When the regular professor was suddenly taken ill, we had this gentle, wise, retired professor. He understood the anger of the college students regarding Viet Nam, but he began the class by telling us a story from World War I, when the Germans set fire to the famous library in Louvain, Belgium.
When the President of the Library attempted to speak of the loss---irreplaceable ancient manuscripts and scrolls, he stuttered out the words, La Bibliotheque, French for library, but he could not go on. He broke down weeping. “I want you,” the professor told us, “to understand the depth of his grief, the loss of knowledge that could never be regained. You will have here the opportunity to read great thoughts and ideas, and the love of knowledge and the love of learning are civilizing forces that can fight against the barbarity of war. And something else, you will read this in Herodotus: As brutal as war is, sometimes war also shows forth great virtues: courage, compassion, self sacrifice, the grief of lost love. And virtue is part of what your education is about.”
Today I am going to tell you three brief stories of war, all from different wars, with different perspectives. And as you hear these true tales, put them in dialogue with what you heard from the Jewish law as well as from the gospel of Jesus Christ.
There was nothing in the background of Joshua Chamberlain that would have suggested he would become a great warrior. A professor at Bowdoin College in Maine, he taught rhetoric, natural theology, and languages. When the Civil War came, this husband and a father of four, age 33, enlisted in the Union Army, much to the grief of his wife, Fanny, whom he adored. Appalled at the secession of the southern states and morally opposed to slavery, in 1862 he entered the Union Army as a lieutenant colonel and three years later left the army as a General. Chamberlain commanded the 20th Maine, and on July 3,1863 Chamberlain and his men found themselves on a long escarpment called Cemetery Ridge facing the Confederate Army. This was the Battle of Gettysburg.
It was absolutely vital, General Meade told him, to hold your line at all costs, for if Lee could overwhelm the Union forces here, he would have a gateway into Washington, DC, and a victory which might convince England and France to support the Confederacy. Chamberlain received a chilling order from Meade that morning: “Any man who does not do his duty should be immediately executed.” But instilling fear was not Chamberlain’s method. He led by courageous example, fighting in the very heat of battle at the head of the battle lines. Finally, at one point, when the ammunition was almost gone and defeat seemed imminent, Chamberlain yelled out one word, Bayonet as he pulled out his and led the charge. The word caught like fire and swept along the ranks. The men charged ahead in a rage, following their leader, and the Confederates turned around and ran.
There would be other battles and other examples of Chamberlain’s great bravery, and his uncanny ability to cheat death many times over, but he is also remembered for a different kind of noble bravery. When General Lee surrendered to General Grant at Appomattox, the Confederates were starving, and the Union Army fed them. Three days later, Grant asked Chamberlain to command the ceremony in which the Confederate Army would formally surrender. Chamberlain described Lee as “a commanding form, superbly mounted, richly accoutered, of imposing bearing and noble countenance with an expression of deep sadness overmastered by deep strength.” When Chamberlain witnessed the downcast ranks of the defeated Confederate Army, he resolved to mark these defeated warriors by an act of respect, welcoming them back into the Union. Chamberlain ordered his buglers to sound and his soldiers to raise their weapons in a traditional salute. And Lee, shocked at this show of deep respect, then ordered his troops to return the same. There would be no exchange of hatred that day between the soldiers. “We are all on one side now,” Chamberlain said with hope in his heart.
Vera Brittain was studying at Oxford University, when, in 1915 she enlisted as a nurse in England’s armed services. Before the end of the war, she would serve in London, Malta and close to the Western Front in France. She lost all the men she loved to the war, including her fiancé, Roland Leighton, her brother, Edward and two very close friends. Vera was waiting for her fiancé to return on leave on Christmas, 1915, when the day after Christmas the phone rang. Running to receive the call, which she surely thought must be from Roland, she learned instead that he had died on December 23, 1915. He was shot while going to repair the barbed wire fencing in No Man’s Land.
Vera wrote in her book, Testament of Youth, “I would whisper like a maniac to the somber, indifferent light, “Oh, my love, so proud, so confident, so contemptuous of humiliation, you, who were meant to lead a forlorn hope, to fall in a great fight---just to be shot like a rat in the dark as you go to repair a fence. Why did you go so boldly and heedlessly into No Man’s Land, when you knew that your leave was so near? Dearest, why did you? Why did you?
And hardest of all for her to bear was the silence. He had left, she wrote, no message for those of us who loved him. He had gone down to the grave consciously indifferent to all of us who loved him so much. All throughout the first months of 1916, my letters and diaries emphasize again and again the grief of having no word to cherish through the long empty years. I waited and waited for the hope of a message, and though I had heard from his colonel, his company commander, a Catholic priest and was even visited by an officer, who wanted to help me, I learned all there was to learn about his death, including that at the end I had been quite forgotten. And so Vera lived with a grief that she transmuted into work for peace as well as a book, both a memoir and an elegy for the generation who came of age on the eve of the war and then vanished in its trenches.
Nicholas Winton came from a wealthy Jewish family, who had immigrated to England from Germany in the late 1800’s. By 1938 Nicholas was a successful stockbroker about to go to Switzerland on a vacation with a friend. But his friend called and told him he was in Prague helping refugees, who were trying to flee Hitler. Nicholas arrived in Prague on New Year’s Eve, 1938, and was shocked at what he witnessed: freezing refugee camps, filled with desperate people. Many were convinced that soon Hitler would arrive in Czechoslovakia, and then what would they do? How would they escape? Nicholas Winton then took a particular interest in a certain kind of refugee: those adults who were willing to stay but were trying to get their children out of the country. He set up an office in Prague and asked his mother to do the same in London. What do we need to do to get these children to safety in England? That was his mission.
He returned to London in January, 1939 with hundreds of photos and details of children. Though he continued to work as a stockbroker during the day, every evening he worked on his rescue plan. The Home Office in London had previously said it would accept unaccompanied Jewish children from Germany and Austria, but now it agreed to include Czechoslovakia. The bar was set high; he had to find families who would accept the children and also 50 pounds per child, today worth about $3500. Though many donated, he would also use his own money to fill in the many gaps. His first transport left Prague on March 14, 1939. There were two in April, one in May, one in June, two in July, and one in August. The journey ended at London’s Liverpool Street Station. As the children alighted from the train, they sat on benches on one side of a curtain and the new parents on the other side. As each name was called out, the children went through an opening in the curtain and were welcomed by the new parents on the other side. On September 1,1939 Nicholas Winton had scheduled his largest transport, but this was the day Germany invaded Poland, and the Second World War began. Almost all of them died in concentration camps.
No one would have ever known about Nicholas Winton, but his wife found a scrapbook, assembled by one of Nicholas’ assistants, and wanted to know who all these children were, and so Nicholas told her the story. The story made it to the newspapers and then on a BBC Program called, That’s Life. Winton was invited to the program, but he did not know that some of the grown up children he had saved were also there. The woman sitting next to Nicholas introduced herself as Vera Diamont, who came to London on a train from Prague in 1939. When the program’s host asked if there were any others present who made a similar trip, dozens stood up. Nicholas Winton, normally so reserved, broke down in tears. There were over 6000 people alive at that time in 1989 who were descendants of the 668 people he had saved. Among the saved were at least three Nobel Laureates. Nicholas Winton died in 2015 at the age of 106, cared for toward the end of his life by Vera Diamont, one of the people he saved.
War is indeed a terrible thing, brutal and ugly. But I think that old retired professor, who taught some humanities classes to me now over 50 years ago, knew of what he spoke. Sometimes in the worst of times virtue does assert itself and make itself known. And I think Jesus, as much as he was opposed to violence, would agree. He was, after all, a keen observer of the human condition, and he knew that sometimes out of the depths something great can emerge---great courage, great grief, great compassion.
May 26, 2022
Dear Friends,
What can any of us say about the terrible slaughter of 21 people in a Texas elementary school in Texas? Words fail us as our hearts break. Sometimes silence is the best response, yet we might also be moved to prayer. Here is a prayer written by Maren Tirabassi, a retired UCC minister and poet. Read it and use it as you are able.
God, rock the weeping parents
of Uvalde, Texas
in your tender arms.
Ease the fear and pain of brothers and sisters,
and sit beside them in nightmares.
Companion where comforting fails,
and hold those who grieve Eva Mireles,
and the other adult who died.
Ease the hearts of emergency responders,
of medical teams working now,
with the families of the injured.
Give calm moments
in the tornado of loss, guilt, confusion,
of family, friends, work mates
of Salvador Ramos,
and especially those
who know his grandmother.
Be with teachers and counselors
of the Robb Elementary School
as school ends abruptly
to recognize trauma
among survivors this month
and for years to come,
and bring counselors to the counselors
who will hold this in their hearts,
and teach us all the things
that make for peace.
Holy One, who calls – Woe
upon all who put a stone for stumbling
before any child, have mercy on us
if we do not remove weapons
from the hands of children,
and from the schools of children.
amen.
Written by Maren Tirabassi
Dear Friends,
What can any of us say about the terrible slaughter of 21 people in a Texas elementary school in Texas? Words fail us as our hearts break. Sometimes silence is the best response, yet we might also be moved to prayer. Here is a prayer written by Maren Tirabassi, a retired UCC minister and poet. Read it and use it as you are able.
God, rock the weeping parents
of Uvalde, Texas
in your tender arms.
Ease the fear and pain of brothers and sisters,
and sit beside them in nightmares.
Companion where comforting fails,
and hold those who grieve Eva Mireles,
and the other adult who died.
Ease the hearts of emergency responders,
of medical teams working now,
with the families of the injured.
Give calm moments
in the tornado of loss, guilt, confusion,
of family, friends, work mates
of Salvador Ramos,
and especially those
who know his grandmother.
Be with teachers and counselors
of the Robb Elementary School
as school ends abruptly
to recognize trauma
among survivors this month
and for years to come,
and bring counselors to the counselors
who will hold this in their hearts,
and teach us all the things
that make for peace.
Holy One, who calls – Woe
upon all who put a stone for stumbling
before any child, have mercy on us
if we do not remove weapons
from the hands of children,
and from the schools of children.
amen.
Written by Maren Tirabassi
May 18, 2022
Dear Friends,
There are times, when I retrieve my New York Times from the front steps, I almost dread what I might read---stories of war, gun violence, school failures, etc. But on Friday, May 13 on the front page was something that made my heart leap: First Visual Journey to the Center of Our Galaxy. There it was, a reddish orange and yellow ball, the first image of the black hole at the center of the Milky Way. It made me gasp. I remember decades ago reading about black holes as if they were theoretical, since no astronomer had yet seen one. But they were actually postulated over 100 years ago from the mathematics of Einstein’s 1915 Theory of Relativity. And now here it is, described by the Times as “a lumpy doughnut of radio emission framing empty space.” Another scientist called it “the gentle giant at the center of our universe.” This black hole was “discovered” 20 years ago, but until now no one had a direct picture.
This is not the first image of a black hole. In 2019 an image of a black hole in the Galaxy Messier 87 was captured, and that image is now in the Museum of Modern Art in New York. An astronomer at the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics said, “We have seen what we thought was unseeable.” This is breathtakingly significant. We are pushing boundaries of knowledge that until very recently were believed to be impossible to push. All this can lead to a deeper understanding of gravity, galaxy evolution and how stars can generate quasars, which are “geysers of energy” that can be seen across the universe. In 1971 two scientists at Cambridge University in England suggested that massive black holes could be the source of quasars. While they had worked out the mathematics of it, no one had yet seen a black hole.
While Einstein’s Theory of Relativity led to the conclusion that black holes “exist,” that conclusion was not something Einstein liked or wanted. He did not approve of the idea that space-time could “quiver, bend, rip, expand and even disappear forever into the maw of a black hole.” The gravity of a black hole is so strong that not even light can escape it. Black holes seem to be all throughout the universe, at the center of every galaxy, some of them the result of stars that have collapsed inward and just keep going or growing. Materials like dust, gas, shredded stars fall into a black hole and are heated up millions of degrees in a dense storm of electromagnetic fields. Much of the material remains within the black hole, but some of it is “spit out,” like a great firestorm, and this is what is known as a quasar. These quasars are so bright they outshine galaxies many thousand times over.
The reason the black hole at the center of our Milky Way is called “the gentle giant” is because it is quite inefficient. Though incredibly bright, it only puts out a few hundred times as much energy as the sun, yet it is FOUR MILLION TIMES as massive. Compared to the black hole in M87, our black hole is one thousandth the mass, but it evolves more than a thousand times faster, altering its appearance every five minutes. In observing the black hole in M87, one physicist said, “It was like the great Buddha, just sitting here.” But observing our black hole is a completely different experience with its constant motion and changes.
In my study at home, I have a huge, framed poster of Albert Einstein with this quote from him: “I want to know God’s thoughts. The rest are details.” And yet it is these details out of which new knowledge will come and grow. I think it is marvelously exciting. The psalmist talks about “such knowledge being too wonderful for me.” And indeed, it is.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
There are times, when I retrieve my New York Times from the front steps, I almost dread what I might read---stories of war, gun violence, school failures, etc. But on Friday, May 13 on the front page was something that made my heart leap: First Visual Journey to the Center of Our Galaxy. There it was, a reddish orange and yellow ball, the first image of the black hole at the center of the Milky Way. It made me gasp. I remember decades ago reading about black holes as if they were theoretical, since no astronomer had yet seen one. But they were actually postulated over 100 years ago from the mathematics of Einstein’s 1915 Theory of Relativity. And now here it is, described by the Times as “a lumpy doughnut of radio emission framing empty space.” Another scientist called it “the gentle giant at the center of our universe.” This black hole was “discovered” 20 years ago, but until now no one had a direct picture.
This is not the first image of a black hole. In 2019 an image of a black hole in the Galaxy Messier 87 was captured, and that image is now in the Museum of Modern Art in New York. An astronomer at the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics said, “We have seen what we thought was unseeable.” This is breathtakingly significant. We are pushing boundaries of knowledge that until very recently were believed to be impossible to push. All this can lead to a deeper understanding of gravity, galaxy evolution and how stars can generate quasars, which are “geysers of energy” that can be seen across the universe. In 1971 two scientists at Cambridge University in England suggested that massive black holes could be the source of quasars. While they had worked out the mathematics of it, no one had yet seen a black hole.
While Einstein’s Theory of Relativity led to the conclusion that black holes “exist,” that conclusion was not something Einstein liked or wanted. He did not approve of the idea that space-time could “quiver, bend, rip, expand and even disappear forever into the maw of a black hole.” The gravity of a black hole is so strong that not even light can escape it. Black holes seem to be all throughout the universe, at the center of every galaxy, some of them the result of stars that have collapsed inward and just keep going or growing. Materials like dust, gas, shredded stars fall into a black hole and are heated up millions of degrees in a dense storm of electromagnetic fields. Much of the material remains within the black hole, but some of it is “spit out,” like a great firestorm, and this is what is known as a quasar. These quasars are so bright they outshine galaxies many thousand times over.
The reason the black hole at the center of our Milky Way is called “the gentle giant” is because it is quite inefficient. Though incredibly bright, it only puts out a few hundred times as much energy as the sun, yet it is FOUR MILLION TIMES as massive. Compared to the black hole in M87, our black hole is one thousandth the mass, but it evolves more than a thousand times faster, altering its appearance every five minutes. In observing the black hole in M87, one physicist said, “It was like the great Buddha, just sitting here.” But observing our black hole is a completely different experience with its constant motion and changes.
In my study at home, I have a huge, framed poster of Albert Einstein with this quote from him: “I want to know God’s thoughts. The rest are details.” And yet it is these details out of which new knowledge will come and grow. I think it is marvelously exciting. The psalmist talks about “such knowledge being too wonderful for me.” And indeed, it is.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
What About Mothers?
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
May 8, 2022
Some 40 years ago, when I was pregnant with my first child, I remember this hot July night in Boston, when I had trouble sleeping. I was a month away from delivery, and I just could not get comfortable. Tossing and turning, I watched the hours on the clock tick by, knowing that work in an office with no air conditioning would be made more unbearable with no sleep. At around 5 AM or so, I finally fell asleep, and it was then I had this vivid dream. I dreamed that my husband gave birth for me, and coming to me with this beautiful baby, he was so proud of himself-=--not so much because he had made biological history, but because he thought he had saved me from an awful experience. “Look what I have done for you,” he said to me in my dream. “I have saved you from the agony of giving birth.” But instead of being grateful, I was horrified. Screaming at him, I yelled, “What have you done?” You have stolen from me a piece of the divine.” At that point I suddenly awoke and was grateful indeed to feel my belly still pregnant. Now that dream provoked me, because at that point in my life I did not really believe in God. Oh, I had been raised as a liberal Protestant in the Presbyterian Church, had gone to Sunday School and church my whole life, but in college, I began to think about God very differently, especially after reading thinkers like Freud, Feuerbach, Marx, and Nietzsche. Almost without realizing it, I no longer believed in the God of my childhood. And yet, here was my unconscious telling me that birth was a piece of the divine.
In my case it is simply a fact that pregnancy and childbirth quite literally sent me to seminary, because the experience pushed me to ponder the big questions: Looking at this beautiful infant who came into the world on an August evening, I suddenly found myself amazed that there is something and not nothing. What is creation, I wondered, and where does it come from? What or who is God. The god of my childhood had died, but surely faith did not have to be a childish business. And so, I went to seminary, because, as I told the Director of Admissions, “I wanted to learn HOW to think about God. But I don’t know if I ever would have gone without the experience of having a baby. Motherhood was the push.Motherhood pushes many people, including women in the bible. Women were expected to be mothers---that was their role--- and if they were not, they suffered the humiliation of barrenness---until God opened their wombs, as the biblical text usually put it. Remember Sarah, Abraham’s wife, who in her old age eventually bore Isaac. And then there was Hannah, who was desperate to have a baby, and finally conceived Samuel, who became the prophet to the king. And Elizabeth, who in her old age gave birth to John the Baptist. Then there is our text from Genesis. Rebekah gave birth to twins, Esau and Jacob. Now Rebecca was a schemer. She favored her younger son, Jacob, over the older one, Esau. Jacob too was a schemer, and the truth is, he was a lot brighter than his hotheaded older brother, who would give up his birthright for a bowl of soup. Rebekah undoubtedly realized where the talent lay, and so it was her idea to deceive Isaac into giving the paternal blessing to his younger son, when it should have gone to Esau.
And then there is our story from Mark, which shows us another mother, desperate for the healing of her daughter. Though Jesus had said he was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel, this mother would not take NO for an answer. We don’t know what the girl’s problem was, since in Jesus’ day unclean spirits were often blamed for all kinds of conditions, including epilepsy and mental illnesses. It is important to note that this mother was a foreigner, a Phoenician from Syria. Jesus was traveling through the region of Tyre in Phoenicia just north of upper Galilee, which in Jesus’ day was a predominantly Jewish area until you moved outside the city. We know nothing about this woman, whether she had a husband or what her social status was. We know only that she had a sick daughter. Now women were not allowed to accost males---though she did approah Jesus in someone’s house, which is where reputable women should be. She fell at his feet to make her request, a sign of deference. Now in the 5th chapter of Mark Jesus had already healed a foreigner so the foreign identity of the woman would not be enough to explain Jesus’ refusal. But that she a woman, a stranger to Jesus, would take it upon herself to enter a home and make such a bold request---that was beyond what social convention tolerated. And so, Jesus turned her down, calling her in so many words a dog. Well, she could not afford to take offense at the insult Jesus delivered. She was out to accomplish one task and that was the healing of her daughter. She did not care what Jesus called her. And so, she turned the insult around: Even the dogs eat the children’s crumbs, she said, and for her bold and clever persistence--- the only example in Mark, where Jesus is out maneuvered by anyone, male or femaile---Jesus consents to heal her daughter. That mother did what she had to do. And so do many mothers. They do what they have to do on behalf of their children, no matter the cost or the pain they have to bear. Consider Moses’ mother, who hid him in the bullrushes to save him from Pharoah’s decree that male babies be killed. It was Pharoah’s daughter who found the baby and raised Moses in the palace. His mother acted as a nursemaid, but she did not raise him. That was her loss for the sake of his life. She did what she had to do.
Some years ago, when I was working in a church on Long Island, a woman came to see me. She was a woman in her 60’s, not part of my congregation and at the time, which was about 35 years ago. She told me this story about giving birth to a baby girl when she was 15. This was around 1927 or so, when having a baby out of wedlock was scandalous. “I was going to give her up,” she said, “but my mother convinced me to keep the baby. “Your father and I will help you,” she insisted, “and they did. But when my daughter was around 3, something awful happened. My mother’s brother began to abuse my daughter. I caught him, and I was terrified it would only get worse. I was barely 18 at the time, and I had no idea what to do. I mean this was a time no one dared talk about such things. I couldn’t tell my parents; I couldn’t tell anyone, and so I gave my daughter away; I put her up for adoption to save her from my uncle. She was adopted very quickly, but when my parents found out, they disowned me, and for nearly 20 years they did not speak to me. After my uncle died, I told them the truth, and no one ever mentioned it again, but before my father died, he told me he believed me, because my uncle had apparently abused other little girls. “We never admitted it,” he said, “and we never talked about it.”
But this woman’s daughter, then in her mid 40’s, had managed to track her mother down and wanted a meeting. And the poor mother did not know what to do or what to say. What if my daughter does not think the truth is enough to make up for what I did? The truth does not take away my shame, though at the time I did what I I had to do.
I never learned this story’s ending because I never saw that mother again. But I have not forgotten her, because like so many mothers through the march of time, she did something desperate to protect her child. And that desperation continues---in the suburbs, in the cities, and in Ukraine today, when women are sending their children away to protect them. I don’t think you have to be a mother or a daughter to feel the powerful poignancy of that woman’s story, but I do think there is a reason that mothers and motherhood have such a prominent place in the bible. There is something in the role of motherhood that uniquely shows us what God in Jesus Christ is like, when suffering is taken on for the sake of others. Mothers do what they have to do, even when what they do brings pain and even shame upon themselves.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
May 8, 2022
Some 40 years ago, when I was pregnant with my first child, I remember this hot July night in Boston, when I had trouble sleeping. I was a month away from delivery, and I just could not get comfortable. Tossing and turning, I watched the hours on the clock tick by, knowing that work in an office with no air conditioning would be made more unbearable with no sleep. At around 5 AM or so, I finally fell asleep, and it was then I had this vivid dream. I dreamed that my husband gave birth for me, and coming to me with this beautiful baby, he was so proud of himself-=--not so much because he had made biological history, but because he thought he had saved me from an awful experience. “Look what I have done for you,” he said to me in my dream. “I have saved you from the agony of giving birth.” But instead of being grateful, I was horrified. Screaming at him, I yelled, “What have you done?” You have stolen from me a piece of the divine.” At that point I suddenly awoke and was grateful indeed to feel my belly still pregnant. Now that dream provoked me, because at that point in my life I did not really believe in God. Oh, I had been raised as a liberal Protestant in the Presbyterian Church, had gone to Sunday School and church my whole life, but in college, I began to think about God very differently, especially after reading thinkers like Freud, Feuerbach, Marx, and Nietzsche. Almost without realizing it, I no longer believed in the God of my childhood. And yet, here was my unconscious telling me that birth was a piece of the divine.
In my case it is simply a fact that pregnancy and childbirth quite literally sent me to seminary, because the experience pushed me to ponder the big questions: Looking at this beautiful infant who came into the world on an August evening, I suddenly found myself amazed that there is something and not nothing. What is creation, I wondered, and where does it come from? What or who is God. The god of my childhood had died, but surely faith did not have to be a childish business. And so, I went to seminary, because, as I told the Director of Admissions, “I wanted to learn HOW to think about God. But I don’t know if I ever would have gone without the experience of having a baby. Motherhood was the push.Motherhood pushes many people, including women in the bible. Women were expected to be mothers---that was their role--- and if they were not, they suffered the humiliation of barrenness---until God opened their wombs, as the biblical text usually put it. Remember Sarah, Abraham’s wife, who in her old age eventually bore Isaac. And then there was Hannah, who was desperate to have a baby, and finally conceived Samuel, who became the prophet to the king. And Elizabeth, who in her old age gave birth to John the Baptist. Then there is our text from Genesis. Rebekah gave birth to twins, Esau and Jacob. Now Rebecca was a schemer. She favored her younger son, Jacob, over the older one, Esau. Jacob too was a schemer, and the truth is, he was a lot brighter than his hotheaded older brother, who would give up his birthright for a bowl of soup. Rebekah undoubtedly realized where the talent lay, and so it was her idea to deceive Isaac into giving the paternal blessing to his younger son, when it should have gone to Esau.
And then there is our story from Mark, which shows us another mother, desperate for the healing of her daughter. Though Jesus had said he was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel, this mother would not take NO for an answer. We don’t know what the girl’s problem was, since in Jesus’ day unclean spirits were often blamed for all kinds of conditions, including epilepsy and mental illnesses. It is important to note that this mother was a foreigner, a Phoenician from Syria. Jesus was traveling through the region of Tyre in Phoenicia just north of upper Galilee, which in Jesus’ day was a predominantly Jewish area until you moved outside the city. We know nothing about this woman, whether she had a husband or what her social status was. We know only that she had a sick daughter. Now women were not allowed to accost males---though she did approah Jesus in someone’s house, which is where reputable women should be. She fell at his feet to make her request, a sign of deference. Now in the 5th chapter of Mark Jesus had already healed a foreigner so the foreign identity of the woman would not be enough to explain Jesus’ refusal. But that she a woman, a stranger to Jesus, would take it upon herself to enter a home and make such a bold request---that was beyond what social convention tolerated. And so, Jesus turned her down, calling her in so many words a dog. Well, she could not afford to take offense at the insult Jesus delivered. She was out to accomplish one task and that was the healing of her daughter. She did not care what Jesus called her. And so, she turned the insult around: Even the dogs eat the children’s crumbs, she said, and for her bold and clever persistence--- the only example in Mark, where Jesus is out maneuvered by anyone, male or femaile---Jesus consents to heal her daughter. That mother did what she had to do. And so do many mothers. They do what they have to do on behalf of their children, no matter the cost or the pain they have to bear. Consider Moses’ mother, who hid him in the bullrushes to save him from Pharoah’s decree that male babies be killed. It was Pharoah’s daughter who found the baby and raised Moses in the palace. His mother acted as a nursemaid, but she did not raise him. That was her loss for the sake of his life. She did what she had to do.
Some years ago, when I was working in a church on Long Island, a woman came to see me. She was a woman in her 60’s, not part of my congregation and at the time, which was about 35 years ago. She told me this story about giving birth to a baby girl when she was 15. This was around 1927 or so, when having a baby out of wedlock was scandalous. “I was going to give her up,” she said, “but my mother convinced me to keep the baby. “Your father and I will help you,” she insisted, “and they did. But when my daughter was around 3, something awful happened. My mother’s brother began to abuse my daughter. I caught him, and I was terrified it would only get worse. I was barely 18 at the time, and I had no idea what to do. I mean this was a time no one dared talk about such things. I couldn’t tell my parents; I couldn’t tell anyone, and so I gave my daughter away; I put her up for adoption to save her from my uncle. She was adopted very quickly, but when my parents found out, they disowned me, and for nearly 20 years they did not speak to me. After my uncle died, I told them the truth, and no one ever mentioned it again, but before my father died, he told me he believed me, because my uncle had apparently abused other little girls. “We never admitted it,” he said, “and we never talked about it.”
But this woman’s daughter, then in her mid 40’s, had managed to track her mother down and wanted a meeting. And the poor mother did not know what to do or what to say. What if my daughter does not think the truth is enough to make up for what I did? The truth does not take away my shame, though at the time I did what I I had to do.
I never learned this story’s ending because I never saw that mother again. But I have not forgotten her, because like so many mothers through the march of time, she did something desperate to protect her child. And that desperation continues---in the suburbs, in the cities, and in Ukraine today, when women are sending their children away to protect them. I don’t think you have to be a mother or a daughter to feel the powerful poignancy of that woman’s story, but I do think there is a reason that mothers and motherhood have such a prominent place in the bible. There is something in the role of motherhood that uniquely shows us what God in Jesus Christ is like, when suffering is taken on for the sake of others. Mothers do what they have to do, even when what they do brings pain and even shame upon themselves.
NO ONE CAN HINDER GOD
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church, Unionville, CT
May 15, 2022
Acts 11: 1-18
This is a rather strange story from the Book of Acts. Peter was in trouble, because he had been consorting with gentiles, and so when he was in Jerusalem, he was asked (rather sternly, we might assume) for an explanation of his behavior. And so, Peter described the scene: A sheet had come down from heaven with all sorts of animals, reptiles and birds of prey, and Peter said he was commanded, “Kill and eat.” Now this would have been completely against the purity laws of Peter’s Jewish upbringing, and so he told God, “No,” not once but three times. “Nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth,” he insisted to God, and then everything was pulled back up to heaven. Three men came and took him along with some other followers to meet Cornelius, and Cornelius and his household were baptized by Peter, because Peter saw that the same Holy Spirit that had fallen on the followers of Jesus had also fallen on Cornelius’ household. And so Peter asked the people who were questioning, him, “Who was I that I could hinder God?” And not having a good answer to that question, his interlocutors were silenced.
As you heard in the introduction to this reading The Book of Acts is really a continuation of Luke’s Gospel, written, it is believed, by the same person, around the year 80 or so. While Luke tells the story of Jesus Christ, Acts tells the story of the gospel’s emergence into the wider world, which is the gentile world. Now Peter is generally credited with working in the Jewish world, while Paul is the great apostle to the gentiles, and indeed in the Pauline Letters, there is some tension between Peter and Paul concerning the inclusion of the gentiles in the covenant. Peter insisted that the gentiles must first become Jews by being circumcised, but Paul said this was completely unnecessary. Yet here in Acts we see quite clearly that Peter is willing to embrace the gentiles, because he understands this to be God’s intention and work, not his. In so many words he said, “Look, this isn’t my idea; this is what God wants, and we can’t hinder God.”
Of course, we human beings have a long history of hindering God, putting roadblocks in front of the divine intention to love and accept all people. There is a lot of hindrance going on in the world today---look at wars in Ukraine and Syria and Yemen, just for starters, and the mess in Palestine and the 18% poverty rate of children in our country. Is this what we think God desires? And what about World War ll, which killed between 70 and 80 million people 50 to 55 million civilians, non-combatants. Who can hinder God? Oh, we do a pretty good job of trying to do just that. And it is not at all clear how God is responding to our attempts at hindrance. Does God have a strategy, which in our limited and imperfect understanding, we simply cannot see?
When we consider the world of Jesus and now Peter, we do know that the tension between Jews and gentiles was palpable. Jesus probably thought his ministry was solely to the house of Israel. Just a few weeks ago, on Mother’s Day, we had a story about Jesus initially refusing to heal the daughter of a Syrophoenician woman, because she was not part of the ingroup, the house of Israel. And when Jesus’ disciples first began their ministry after Jesus’ resurrection, they most likely thought it was solely to the Jews. But something radical happened. The movement expanded way beyond Israel, drawing in the Greek and Roman world until finally Christianity became a religion of the gentiles, not the Jews. But when Peter went to Cornelius’ home and baptized him and his household after seeing the Holy Spirit falling upon them, it is doubtful Peter understood this as a world wide phenomenon. He was seeing it in terms of the individuals he was encountering. And that is the way most of us see things.
It is very difficult and challenging to look at broad historical movements and discern what God is doing in them and through them. To see the hand of God in the scope of history requires TIME, the ability to look back and reflect. Then we can perhaps discern something of God’s activity, even as we also can see the ways human beings have worked to hinder God. And so, is it any wonder that we often move to individual experiences and stories to see what God is intending and doing---as in the story of Cornelius and his household. And this is how Jesus taught. He told stories about individual people and their struggles to help people see and understand what God is up to in the daily living of lives.
You have heard me mention my former church in New Haven, which boasted a stunningly beautiful hand built Fisk organ and a paid choir, many of them educated at Yale’s School of Music. Sometimes a choir member would give a concert at the church, and it was at such an event, I met this woman, a student at the School of Music as well as a friend of the young woman giving the concert. She was African American and had grown up in Alabama, where her parents were both teachers in an African American high school in a small town. “We were pretty poor,” she told me, “because teachers in schools where black students were taught, were poorly paid, but we were a lot better off than others. My grandmother lived with us, and in her younger years, she had done back breaking farm work. She had the voice of an angel, an operatic quality voice, every bit as talented, I think, as someone like Leontine Price.
My grandmother sang in church; she sang at home. She sang everywhere she could, and I learned so much from her, even as I believe my gift of voice came through her. She could have been a star, but in those days, she had no chance at an education. I used to feel so sorry for her, because of all her lost opportunities. But my grandmother was never resentful, never downtrodden, and as my education has taken off, she is so grateful and joyful for all the opportunities that I have. “You see,” she recently told me, “No one can hinder God. They can put roadblocks in God’s path. They can even slow God’s movement down, but God always works around those roadblocks, God always finds a way to move ahead. And as God moves, God takes us along---even if we sometimes kick and scream as we are being taken.”
I don’t think there is a better summary of today’s bible reading than that grandmother’s words. We rarely have the vision and the wisdom to see the arc of God’s movement in the march of time and history. But we can sometimes see God’s movement in small chunks and slices of life, in our own stories and in the stories of others, whose lives cross our paths. No one can hinder God, she said. God just keeps moving and takes us along, even in spite of ourselves.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church, Unionville, CT
May 15, 2022
Acts 11: 1-18
This is a rather strange story from the Book of Acts. Peter was in trouble, because he had been consorting with gentiles, and so when he was in Jerusalem, he was asked (rather sternly, we might assume) for an explanation of his behavior. And so, Peter described the scene: A sheet had come down from heaven with all sorts of animals, reptiles and birds of prey, and Peter said he was commanded, “Kill and eat.” Now this would have been completely against the purity laws of Peter’s Jewish upbringing, and so he told God, “No,” not once but three times. “Nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth,” he insisted to God, and then everything was pulled back up to heaven. Three men came and took him along with some other followers to meet Cornelius, and Cornelius and his household were baptized by Peter, because Peter saw that the same Holy Spirit that had fallen on the followers of Jesus had also fallen on Cornelius’ household. And so Peter asked the people who were questioning, him, “Who was I that I could hinder God?” And not having a good answer to that question, his interlocutors were silenced.
As you heard in the introduction to this reading The Book of Acts is really a continuation of Luke’s Gospel, written, it is believed, by the same person, around the year 80 or so. While Luke tells the story of Jesus Christ, Acts tells the story of the gospel’s emergence into the wider world, which is the gentile world. Now Peter is generally credited with working in the Jewish world, while Paul is the great apostle to the gentiles, and indeed in the Pauline Letters, there is some tension between Peter and Paul concerning the inclusion of the gentiles in the covenant. Peter insisted that the gentiles must first become Jews by being circumcised, but Paul said this was completely unnecessary. Yet here in Acts we see quite clearly that Peter is willing to embrace the gentiles, because he understands this to be God’s intention and work, not his. In so many words he said, “Look, this isn’t my idea; this is what God wants, and we can’t hinder God.”
Of course, we human beings have a long history of hindering God, putting roadblocks in front of the divine intention to love and accept all people. There is a lot of hindrance going on in the world today---look at wars in Ukraine and Syria and Yemen, just for starters, and the mess in Palestine and the 18% poverty rate of children in our country. Is this what we think God desires? And what about World War ll, which killed between 70 and 80 million people 50 to 55 million civilians, non-combatants. Who can hinder God? Oh, we do a pretty good job of trying to do just that. And it is not at all clear how God is responding to our attempts at hindrance. Does God have a strategy, which in our limited and imperfect understanding, we simply cannot see?
When we consider the world of Jesus and now Peter, we do know that the tension between Jews and gentiles was palpable. Jesus probably thought his ministry was solely to the house of Israel. Just a few weeks ago, on Mother’s Day, we had a story about Jesus initially refusing to heal the daughter of a Syrophoenician woman, because she was not part of the ingroup, the house of Israel. And when Jesus’ disciples first began their ministry after Jesus’ resurrection, they most likely thought it was solely to the Jews. But something radical happened. The movement expanded way beyond Israel, drawing in the Greek and Roman world until finally Christianity became a religion of the gentiles, not the Jews. But when Peter went to Cornelius’ home and baptized him and his household after seeing the Holy Spirit falling upon them, it is doubtful Peter understood this as a world wide phenomenon. He was seeing it in terms of the individuals he was encountering. And that is the way most of us see things.
It is very difficult and challenging to look at broad historical movements and discern what God is doing in them and through them. To see the hand of God in the scope of history requires TIME, the ability to look back and reflect. Then we can perhaps discern something of God’s activity, even as we also can see the ways human beings have worked to hinder God. And so, is it any wonder that we often move to individual experiences and stories to see what God is intending and doing---as in the story of Cornelius and his household. And this is how Jesus taught. He told stories about individual people and their struggles to help people see and understand what God is up to in the daily living of lives.
You have heard me mention my former church in New Haven, which boasted a stunningly beautiful hand built Fisk organ and a paid choir, many of them educated at Yale’s School of Music. Sometimes a choir member would give a concert at the church, and it was at such an event, I met this woman, a student at the School of Music as well as a friend of the young woman giving the concert. She was African American and had grown up in Alabama, where her parents were both teachers in an African American high school in a small town. “We were pretty poor,” she told me, “because teachers in schools where black students were taught, were poorly paid, but we were a lot better off than others. My grandmother lived with us, and in her younger years, she had done back breaking farm work. She had the voice of an angel, an operatic quality voice, every bit as talented, I think, as someone like Leontine Price.
My grandmother sang in church; she sang at home. She sang everywhere she could, and I learned so much from her, even as I believe my gift of voice came through her. She could have been a star, but in those days, she had no chance at an education. I used to feel so sorry for her, because of all her lost opportunities. But my grandmother was never resentful, never downtrodden, and as my education has taken off, she is so grateful and joyful for all the opportunities that I have. “You see,” she recently told me, “No one can hinder God. They can put roadblocks in God’s path. They can even slow God’s movement down, but God always works around those roadblocks, God always finds a way to move ahead. And as God moves, God takes us along---even if we sometimes kick and scream as we are being taken.”
I don’t think there is a better summary of today’s bible reading than that grandmother’s words. We rarely have the vision and the wisdom to see the arc of God’s movement in the march of time and history. But we can sometimes see God’s movement in small chunks and slices of life, in our own stories and in the stories of others, whose lives cross our paths. No one can hinder God, she said. God just keeps moving and takes us along, even in spite of ourselves.
“I’M GOING FISHING” OR GETTING BACK TO NORMAL
Preached by Sandra Olsen
May 2, 2022
John 21: 1-19
I’m going fishing: that is what Peter said, and the others agreed, “We’ll go with you.” On the one hand, it might sound like a rather mundane thing to do after all the horror of an execution and the excitement of a resurrection. Just last week they were all holed up in a room, terrified they might be arrested or worse, and what happened: Jesus showed up and said, “Peace be with you,” while blowing on them the Holy Spirit. After all that they go fishing? But, on the other hand, perhaps that is not such a crazy thing to do after all. Maybe what the disciples wanted more than anything else in the world was to get back to normal. But normal is not what they are about to get.
Remember what Jesus had said to Mary Magdalene, when she first recognized him outside the tomb? She wanted to hold on to him, but he told her, “No. I have not yet ascended to my Father.” There would be no holding on, no going back to once was. It was a new day, a new beginning, which would require change. But change is probably the last thing the disciples would have wanted. Normal, they wanted nothing more than to return to normality, and so should we really be surprised, that they decided to go fishing? They were about 80 miles or so from Jerusalem, on the Sea of Tiberius in their home territory of Galilee. Why wouldn’t they want to put some distance between themselves and Jerusalem, where their beloved leader had been tried and executed? So, home they went, probably hoping that home would return them to their normal lives. I can imagine that deep down they were hoping all this would just go away. Jesus can go to God, if that is what God and he want, but please, just leave us alone. We are too tired and too drained to do anything new.
I am sure that many of us have been reading or hearing about the Ukrainian refugees, and indeed, many of them say, “I just want to go home,” and some women and children have returned to Ukraine to be with their husbands and fathers. Others realize home is no more, but in their hearts and minds home is still there, the place that gives them a grounding and a hope that life can and will return someday to normal---even if not now. Without that hope of normalcy many would find coping almost impossible.
My son, Aaron, who lives in New York City, has a Ukrainian Jewish girlfriend, who immigrated to New York with her grandparents and parents, when she was 5 years old. You might recall that many Jews left Russia in the 80’s, because Jews in Russia and Russian held territories like Ukraine, were not treated well. Polina’s first language was Russian, and she still speaks it with her parents, since she is more fluent in Russian than in Ukrainian. I asked her once what it was like being an immigrant, and she said that because she was so young, she adjusted pretty quickly. She immediately began Kindergarten, and though she could not speak a word of English, she learned. She made friends, who were fascinated by her Russian, though some children accused her of making up sounds, because they could not believe this was a real language.
Her parents and grandparents struggled more, as we might expect, but they tried to make life normal by living in a Russian and a Ukrainian neighborhood in Queens, where they could buy traditional foods and speak Russian. But Polina said it didn’t take her long before she did not want to speak Russian, which at first upset her parents, until they realized that it would be easier for them to learn English, if they spoke it with Polina. They were enrolled in English classes, and though they would speak Russian to people in the neighborhood, they spoke English with Polina, until some years later when her parents felt their English was good enough so they could return to the normality of speaking their native tongue. You know, Polina told me, when your whole life becomes completely new, you need some things that feel like your old life, because that helps you to feel normal. And feeling normal gets you through.
And I think something like that happened to the disciples. For them fishing was the most normal thing in the world; that is what they had done before they met Jesus, and so after all the drama, fishing is what they wanted to return to. And look what happened: they came up empty, but that too, was normal. Some days the fishing was good; other days it was a big disappointment. And then there was Jesus, though they did not recognize him. He told them to put their nets in on the right side, and this time, they came up full, way beyond what was normal, which is a way of saying there will be no going back to what once was. Life would now be new and different.
Peter immediately jumped into the water, after putting his clothes on, which to me seems a bit strange, but that’s Peter, all heart, very little head. He is the one whom Jesus questions, “Do you love me more than these?” And Peter affirms his love for Jesus three times. This is a way of undoing Peter’s three time denial of Jesus in the courtyard after which the cock crowed and Peter wept out of shame. Jesus then commands Peter to feed and tend his sheep, which reminds us that love is more than a feeling. It is an action. Caring for others is the mark of true discipleship.
And then Jesus said something that was not very easy to hear. He told Peter that when he was young, he went and did what we want. It was your way. But now things have changed, and you too have changed. You will go places you would rather avoid, and you will deal with people you would prefer to ignore. It won’t be easy, and it won’t be pretty. You will have enemies, and you will be tested in ways that now you cannot foresee. But this is what it means to be my disciple, and if you love me, you will feed and tend my sheep and deal with people and places you would prefer to avoid.
And this is what Peter did. The man who denied Jesus three times ends up witnessing to the risen Christ with his life. Peter was crucified in Rome upside down, because he did not believe he was worthy to be crucified upright as Jesus was. The year was around 64, during the reign of mad Emperor Nero. John’s gospel was written somewhere between the years 90 and 100, so at least three decades after Peter’s death, and there is much poetic license in John’s gospel. It is not all straight history but it was written, as the gospel attests, that “we might believe,” that we might see the risen Christ in our lives. John’s gospel reminds us that Jesus sometimes shows up in the most ordinary of moments, while fishing and cooking breakfast on the beach, which means that Jesus can do the same for us, showing up in the mundane. The question is: Do we notice
Preached by Sandra Olsen
May 2, 2022
John 21: 1-19
I’m going fishing: that is what Peter said, and the others agreed, “We’ll go with you.” On the one hand, it might sound like a rather mundane thing to do after all the horror of an execution and the excitement of a resurrection. Just last week they were all holed up in a room, terrified they might be arrested or worse, and what happened: Jesus showed up and said, “Peace be with you,” while blowing on them the Holy Spirit. After all that they go fishing? But, on the other hand, perhaps that is not such a crazy thing to do after all. Maybe what the disciples wanted more than anything else in the world was to get back to normal. But normal is not what they are about to get.
Remember what Jesus had said to Mary Magdalene, when she first recognized him outside the tomb? She wanted to hold on to him, but he told her, “No. I have not yet ascended to my Father.” There would be no holding on, no going back to once was. It was a new day, a new beginning, which would require change. But change is probably the last thing the disciples would have wanted. Normal, they wanted nothing more than to return to normality, and so should we really be surprised, that they decided to go fishing? They were about 80 miles or so from Jerusalem, on the Sea of Tiberius in their home territory of Galilee. Why wouldn’t they want to put some distance between themselves and Jerusalem, where their beloved leader had been tried and executed? So, home they went, probably hoping that home would return them to their normal lives. I can imagine that deep down they were hoping all this would just go away. Jesus can go to God, if that is what God and he want, but please, just leave us alone. We are too tired and too drained to do anything new.
I am sure that many of us have been reading or hearing about the Ukrainian refugees, and indeed, many of them say, “I just want to go home,” and some women and children have returned to Ukraine to be with their husbands and fathers. Others realize home is no more, but in their hearts and minds home is still there, the place that gives them a grounding and a hope that life can and will return someday to normal---even if not now. Without that hope of normalcy many would find coping almost impossible.
My son, Aaron, who lives in New York City, has a Ukrainian Jewish girlfriend, who immigrated to New York with her grandparents and parents, when she was 5 years old. You might recall that many Jews left Russia in the 80’s, because Jews in Russia and Russian held territories like Ukraine, were not treated well. Polina’s first language was Russian, and she still speaks it with her parents, since she is more fluent in Russian than in Ukrainian. I asked her once what it was like being an immigrant, and she said that because she was so young, she adjusted pretty quickly. She immediately began Kindergarten, and though she could not speak a word of English, she learned. She made friends, who were fascinated by her Russian, though some children accused her of making up sounds, because they could not believe this was a real language.
Her parents and grandparents struggled more, as we might expect, but they tried to make life normal by living in a Russian and a Ukrainian neighborhood in Queens, where they could buy traditional foods and speak Russian. But Polina said it didn’t take her long before she did not want to speak Russian, which at first upset her parents, until they realized that it would be easier for them to learn English, if they spoke it with Polina. They were enrolled in English classes, and though they would speak Russian to people in the neighborhood, they spoke English with Polina, until some years later when her parents felt their English was good enough so they could return to the normality of speaking their native tongue. You know, Polina told me, when your whole life becomes completely new, you need some things that feel like your old life, because that helps you to feel normal. And feeling normal gets you through.
And I think something like that happened to the disciples. For them fishing was the most normal thing in the world; that is what they had done before they met Jesus, and so after all the drama, fishing is what they wanted to return to. And look what happened: they came up empty, but that too, was normal. Some days the fishing was good; other days it was a big disappointment. And then there was Jesus, though they did not recognize him. He told them to put their nets in on the right side, and this time, they came up full, way beyond what was normal, which is a way of saying there will be no going back to what once was. Life would now be new and different.
Peter immediately jumped into the water, after putting his clothes on, which to me seems a bit strange, but that’s Peter, all heart, very little head. He is the one whom Jesus questions, “Do you love me more than these?” And Peter affirms his love for Jesus three times. This is a way of undoing Peter’s three time denial of Jesus in the courtyard after which the cock crowed and Peter wept out of shame. Jesus then commands Peter to feed and tend his sheep, which reminds us that love is more than a feeling. It is an action. Caring for others is the mark of true discipleship.
And then Jesus said something that was not very easy to hear. He told Peter that when he was young, he went and did what we want. It was your way. But now things have changed, and you too have changed. You will go places you would rather avoid, and you will deal with people you would prefer to ignore. It won’t be easy, and it won’t be pretty. You will have enemies, and you will be tested in ways that now you cannot foresee. But this is what it means to be my disciple, and if you love me, you will feed and tend my sheep and deal with people and places you would prefer to avoid.
And this is what Peter did. The man who denied Jesus three times ends up witnessing to the risen Christ with his life. Peter was crucified in Rome upside down, because he did not believe he was worthy to be crucified upright as Jesus was. The year was around 64, during the reign of mad Emperor Nero. John’s gospel was written somewhere between the years 90 and 100, so at least three decades after Peter’s death, and there is much poetic license in John’s gospel. It is not all straight history but it was written, as the gospel attests, that “we might believe,” that we might see the risen Christ in our lives. John’s gospel reminds us that Jesus sometimes shows up in the most ordinary of moments, while fishing and cooking breakfast on the beach, which means that Jesus can do the same for us, showing up in the mundane. The question is: Do we notice
May 4, 2022
Dear Friends,
Mother’s Day is this Sunday, so I thought I would write about five heroic moms in New England’s history. Perhaps the image of mothers in former times is that they were expected to be quiet and submissive to their husbands, or if unmarried to some other male adult, like a father, brother, or uncle. But, as the saying goes, life happens, and women often took upon themselves roles of courage and heroism.
We all know how Ben Franklin left Boston to begin a new life in Philadelphia, but his sister in law, Ann Smith Franklin, also left Boston for a new life. Ann was married to James Franklin, Ben’s brother, but the two brothers did not get along very well. James was jailed in Boston for printing scandalous libel, which translated as criticism of the Puritans. James and Ann took their printing press and moved to Newport, Rhode Island, where they began publishing the Rhode Island Almanack. James died, leaving Ann with five children to support. When her printing business failed to bring in adequate money, she petitioned the General Assembly for a contract, allowing her to print the colony’s laws. She was hired! Not only did she raise alone three of her five children to adulthood, but she also established The Newport Mercury, which was published until her son’s death in 1762. Ann died in 1763 and her obituary described her as a woman of “economy and industry, who supported herself and her family and brought up her children in a genteel manner.”
Prudence Cummings Wright was a mother of five children when her husband marched off to defend Boston after the Battle of Lexington and Concord. With so many men gone to war, Prudence, like many other women, was left alone to cope with raising children and ensuring the family had adequate resources to survive. When she learned that British spies were passing on information through her town of Pepperell, she organized a militia with other women from the town. They dressed in men’s clothing and used farm implements for weapons, since the men had taken the muskets. The women would wait in the night for the spies, and when the horses approached, Prudence confronted them, dragging them off their horses and taking them to the tavern for questioning. One such encounter yielded her brother in law, who remained a committed loyalist to the Crown. The punishment was usually banishment from the colony. At a Town Meeting on March 19, 1777, the town of Pepperell voted to pay Prudence and her band of women for their service.
Mary Patten was a pregnant woman when she faced a crew of mutinous men and then took command of the ship. Mary came from a wealthy Boston family and learned navigation and sailing from her husband, Joshua. In 1856 she (only 19 years old) and her husband were sailing from New York to San Francisco, when Joshua became very ill. Mary navigated the ship while trying to nurse her husband back to health. The crew did not trust Mary’s skill and they tried to mutiny, but Mary was able to convince them that she knew what she was doing. She commanded the ship all the way to San Francisco, where she became an instant celebrity. Sadly, Joshua only lived a few more months and Mary died at the tender age of 24.
Toy Len Goon was born in 1891 in China, Guangdong Province. She did back breaking farm work until the age of 10, when she began to work as a servant for a wealthy merchant family. She married Dogan Goon upon his return to China after he had been working in Portland, Maine. The two of them immigrated to Portland, but in 1917 Dogan was arrested as an illegal resident. To avoid deportation, he agreed to serve in World War l. After the war, Toy Len and her husband worked hard in the laundry business in Portland, which they managed to establish on their own. The couple eventually had eight children, and after Dogan died, leaving Toy with eight children to support from age 3 to 16, she managed the laundry business and made sure her children were all educated. In 1957 the local newspaper reported that her son Carroll was a doctor, Richard, a businessman, Edward a research chemist, Albert, a lawyer, Josephine, a mother, Arthur, a navy veteran, studying to be an electrical engineer, Doris, a court reporter, and Janet a college student. In 1952 Toy Len was named Maine Mother of the Year.
Margaret Rudkin was a wealthy housewife, who lived in a Tudor mansion with her three sons and husband in Fairfield, CT. But when the stock market crashed in 1929 and her husband suffered an accident, she had to find a way to make a living. She began by selling apples and turkeys, but then turned to baking stone whole wheat bread. In August, 1937 she sold her first batch of Pepperidge Farm bread to her local grocery store. Eventually she moved her bakery from her kitchen into her garage and started baking white bread using unbleached flower. A specialty food store in New York ordered 35 loaves, and very soon more stores heard about the bread. Reader’s Digest did a story on her bread, and finally in 1940 Margaret moved her bakery to Norwalk, CT. She sold the bakery to Campbell Soup and became that company’s first female director.
So, as you can see from these short sketches, New England mothers have been accomplishing some pretty amazing feats throughout history. There is a well known saying about necessity being the mother of invention, and in these particular lives, we certainly see what women can do, when faced with challenges. As we celebrate mothers this Sunday and give thanks for the mothers in our lives, let us also remember the creativity and hard work of many mothers, who have gone before us. In so many ways, we stand on the shoulders of their achievements.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Mother’s Day is this Sunday, so I thought I would write about five heroic moms in New England’s history. Perhaps the image of mothers in former times is that they were expected to be quiet and submissive to their husbands, or if unmarried to some other male adult, like a father, brother, or uncle. But, as the saying goes, life happens, and women often took upon themselves roles of courage and heroism.
We all know how Ben Franklin left Boston to begin a new life in Philadelphia, but his sister in law, Ann Smith Franklin, also left Boston for a new life. Ann was married to James Franklin, Ben’s brother, but the two brothers did not get along very well. James was jailed in Boston for printing scandalous libel, which translated as criticism of the Puritans. James and Ann took their printing press and moved to Newport, Rhode Island, where they began publishing the Rhode Island Almanack. James died, leaving Ann with five children to support. When her printing business failed to bring in adequate money, she petitioned the General Assembly for a contract, allowing her to print the colony’s laws. She was hired! Not only did she raise alone three of her five children to adulthood, but she also established The Newport Mercury, which was published until her son’s death in 1762. Ann died in 1763 and her obituary described her as a woman of “economy and industry, who supported herself and her family and brought up her children in a genteel manner.”
Prudence Cummings Wright was a mother of five children when her husband marched off to defend Boston after the Battle of Lexington and Concord. With so many men gone to war, Prudence, like many other women, was left alone to cope with raising children and ensuring the family had adequate resources to survive. When she learned that British spies were passing on information through her town of Pepperell, she organized a militia with other women from the town. They dressed in men’s clothing and used farm implements for weapons, since the men had taken the muskets. The women would wait in the night for the spies, and when the horses approached, Prudence confronted them, dragging them off their horses and taking them to the tavern for questioning. One such encounter yielded her brother in law, who remained a committed loyalist to the Crown. The punishment was usually banishment from the colony. At a Town Meeting on March 19, 1777, the town of Pepperell voted to pay Prudence and her band of women for their service.
Mary Patten was a pregnant woman when she faced a crew of mutinous men and then took command of the ship. Mary came from a wealthy Boston family and learned navigation and sailing from her husband, Joshua. In 1856 she (only 19 years old) and her husband were sailing from New York to San Francisco, when Joshua became very ill. Mary navigated the ship while trying to nurse her husband back to health. The crew did not trust Mary’s skill and they tried to mutiny, but Mary was able to convince them that she knew what she was doing. She commanded the ship all the way to San Francisco, where she became an instant celebrity. Sadly, Joshua only lived a few more months and Mary died at the tender age of 24.
Toy Len Goon was born in 1891 in China, Guangdong Province. She did back breaking farm work until the age of 10, when she began to work as a servant for a wealthy merchant family. She married Dogan Goon upon his return to China after he had been working in Portland, Maine. The two of them immigrated to Portland, but in 1917 Dogan was arrested as an illegal resident. To avoid deportation, he agreed to serve in World War l. After the war, Toy Len and her husband worked hard in the laundry business in Portland, which they managed to establish on their own. The couple eventually had eight children, and after Dogan died, leaving Toy with eight children to support from age 3 to 16, she managed the laundry business and made sure her children were all educated. In 1957 the local newspaper reported that her son Carroll was a doctor, Richard, a businessman, Edward a research chemist, Albert, a lawyer, Josephine, a mother, Arthur, a navy veteran, studying to be an electrical engineer, Doris, a court reporter, and Janet a college student. In 1952 Toy Len was named Maine Mother of the Year.
Margaret Rudkin was a wealthy housewife, who lived in a Tudor mansion with her three sons and husband in Fairfield, CT. But when the stock market crashed in 1929 and her husband suffered an accident, she had to find a way to make a living. She began by selling apples and turkeys, but then turned to baking stone whole wheat bread. In August, 1937 she sold her first batch of Pepperidge Farm bread to her local grocery store. Eventually she moved her bakery from her kitchen into her garage and started baking white bread using unbleached flower. A specialty food store in New York ordered 35 loaves, and very soon more stores heard about the bread. Reader’s Digest did a story on her bread, and finally in 1940 Margaret moved her bakery to Norwalk, CT. She sold the bakery to Campbell Soup and became that company’s first female director.
So, as you can see from these short sketches, New England mothers have been accomplishing some pretty amazing feats throughout history. There is a well known saying about necessity being the mother of invention, and in these particular lives, we certainly see what women can do, when faced with challenges. As we celebrate mothers this Sunday and give thanks for the mothers in our lives, let us also remember the creativity and hard work of many mothers, who have gone before us. In so many ways, we stand on the shoulders of their achievements.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Faith and Doubt
Preached by The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen at
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
April 24, 2022
On April 9, 1945, which was the Sunday after Easter, the German Lutheran pastor and theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, was conducting a worship service for a small group of men being held in the concentration camp at Flossenburg, Germany. He had been imprisoned for two years, and just a few days before, he had been transported to this new location. Bonhoeffer read the scriptures and preached a sermon, directly related to the meaning of their imprisonment and the hope that God would use it for a new beginning. Suddenly the door flung open. “Prisoner Bonhoeffer, come with us.” Everyone, including Bonhoeffer, knew exactly what this meant. Drawing one of his friends aside, he said, “This is the end, but for me, the beginning of new life.”
The only account of his death came from the prison doctor, who said that after the verdict was read, Bonhoeffer kneeled on the floor and prayed fervently. “I was deeply moved by the way this man prayed, so devout and certain that God heard his prayer. At the place of execution he once again said a short prayer, climbed the steps to the gallows, brave and composed. In the almost 50 years of my service as a doctor, I have never seen anyone approach death so submissive to God.”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer is certainly one of the 20th century’s heroes of the Christian faith. Having grown up in an aristocratic and highly educated German family, he shocked his parents when he told them he was interested in studying theology. The family, after all, was not at all religious. His father was a famous psychiatrist and professor; his brothers studied law and science, but his parents believed strongly that their children should follow their interests, and so, even though they had strong misgivings about the church, they encouraged their son. He was an outstanding student, wrote two doctoral dissertations, and undoubtedly would have had a brilliant academic career---had the war not come.
Germany had a state church, and so when Hitler came to power, all Lutheran clergy, whose paychecks were signed by the state, were required to take an oath of loyalty to Hitler. Many, of course, did so willingly, while others signed with great misgivings, and still others would not sign at all. Bonhoeffer not only refused to sign, but he also helped to establish a resistance seminary at which he taught until it was closed by the Gestapo in 1937. Considering the taking of this oath to be an act of heresy, he said there is only one head of the church and that is Jesus Christ. There can be no pledge of absolute loyalty to anyone or anything except Christ. As a committed pacifist, he argued that the duty of the church is to stand with the victims, to work and pray for peace, and to love the neighbor as well as the enemy.
By 1941 Bonhoeffer had joined the anti-Nazi movement through the German military intelligence, which was seeking to overthrow Hitler. At first, he did no more than bring messages back and forth between Germany and England. But finally, all participants in the plot---even those like Bonhoeffer, whose role was not directly violent---were asked to agree that if the opportunity should come, they would be willing to end Hitler’s life. Now this constituted a terrible religious crisis for Bonhoeffer, who did not believe God ever commanded murder or assassination, not even the murder of a murderer. He despised what Hitler represented, but he also believed that Hitler was loved by God just as much as he was. He did not know what he should do, and all his prayers brought him no final answer.
On one cold afternoon in 1943 the conspirators met in a tiny room. All stood in a circle, while a gun was passed around, and if you could accept the gun, you were in the plot. If not, you were out. “There is no shame here,” one of the men said. “There are religious men among us whose conscience may not permit their participation in assassination.” Bonhoeffer stood in the circle and watched as the gun made its way toward him. One man took it; then the next and the next; someone stepped out, and the gun traveled to the next man. Soon it will come to me, Bonhoeffer thought, and still, I do not know what I will do, what I must do, what it is God would have me do. When the gun came to him, he put out his hand and took it. “God,” he prayed, “if this is your will, I need your mercy. If this is not your will, I need your mercy. Every moment of my life, I need your mercy.”
Consider that prayer and what it means for us in the context of our lives today as well as in the context of our Gospel reading. We live in an age, where many people claim that certitude is strength, while ambiguity and uncertainty are dismissed as weakness and confusion. The common assumption is that uncertainty and ambiguity lead to inaction and confusion, and so many people, across our globe, are drawn to religions and politics, which offer certainty, the knowing assurance of God’s will. Consider again Bonhoeffer’s words: “If this is your will, I need your mercy; if this is not your will, I need your mercy. Every moment of my life, I need your mercy.”
It was not the certainty of knowing God’s will, which led Bonhoeffer to act, for he realized that neither he nor any other human being could claim that certainty for his or her own. Rather, it was the conviction of the universal need for mercy, which finally gave him the courage to act, to take upon himself the responsibility for his decision. He picked up the gun, not seeking God’s approval, but acknowledging his need for mercy.
He had been part of the active resistance for four years, having been drawn in by his brother in law, who was a lawyer and took a stand against the Nazis based on his strong commitment to justice. His brother in law, in an attempt to get him to join the resistance, actually showed him pictures of Nazi atrocities. Bonhoeffer was horrified, but he still struggled, because his resistance to the Nazis and the German state was not so much about justice as it was about faithfulness. Faithfulness to Jesus Christ meant that no Christian could claim final loyalty to Hitler. But what form the resistance should take was never completely settled in his mind. He acted and decided without complete assurance that his actions and decisions conformed to God’s will. He lived with doubt, and he never expected faith to remove all doubt.
And this is why Thomas is so important. His story is in the gospel for a reason, reminding us how varied human personalities are and how those varieties bring different perspectives to life’s sundry situations. Thomas was no pushover; he had questions. He wanted to see for himself. That was the kind of person he was. That was how his heart and mind worked. While he did receive the gift of certainty---he saw and was invited to touch--- it is obvious that those who will follow will be unable to receive the same assurance he did. We cannot see and touch. Doubt for many of us will have its place, sometimes humbling us as we are reminded that we do not know as much as we think we know.
Martin Luther, the Protestant Reformer, defied Rome, declaring, “My conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and will not recant.” He also said, “It is neither right nor prudent to go against conscience.” Luther did not believe that conscience was infallible any more than Bonhoeffer thought it was, but they both believed it was a strong guide, as imperfect as it is. God can and does speak through conscience, but we cannot hear and understand infallibly. Bonhoeffer’s conscience was committed to pacifism, and yet he acted against it. But consider the possibility that living with a clean conscience may not be the ultimate religious goal. Bonhoeffer’s life and death remind us that God calls us to act not with certainty but with faith—not faith in the rightness of our actions and the purity of our conscience, but faith in the love and mercy of God. If that is where our faith is placed, we can live with doubt; we can live without absolute certainty. And that is faith.
Preached by The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen at
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
April 24, 2022
On April 9, 1945, which was the Sunday after Easter, the German Lutheran pastor and theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, was conducting a worship service for a small group of men being held in the concentration camp at Flossenburg, Germany. He had been imprisoned for two years, and just a few days before, he had been transported to this new location. Bonhoeffer read the scriptures and preached a sermon, directly related to the meaning of their imprisonment and the hope that God would use it for a new beginning. Suddenly the door flung open. “Prisoner Bonhoeffer, come with us.” Everyone, including Bonhoeffer, knew exactly what this meant. Drawing one of his friends aside, he said, “This is the end, but for me, the beginning of new life.”
The only account of his death came from the prison doctor, who said that after the verdict was read, Bonhoeffer kneeled on the floor and prayed fervently. “I was deeply moved by the way this man prayed, so devout and certain that God heard his prayer. At the place of execution he once again said a short prayer, climbed the steps to the gallows, brave and composed. In the almost 50 years of my service as a doctor, I have never seen anyone approach death so submissive to God.”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer is certainly one of the 20th century’s heroes of the Christian faith. Having grown up in an aristocratic and highly educated German family, he shocked his parents when he told them he was interested in studying theology. The family, after all, was not at all religious. His father was a famous psychiatrist and professor; his brothers studied law and science, but his parents believed strongly that their children should follow their interests, and so, even though they had strong misgivings about the church, they encouraged their son. He was an outstanding student, wrote two doctoral dissertations, and undoubtedly would have had a brilliant academic career---had the war not come.
Germany had a state church, and so when Hitler came to power, all Lutheran clergy, whose paychecks were signed by the state, were required to take an oath of loyalty to Hitler. Many, of course, did so willingly, while others signed with great misgivings, and still others would not sign at all. Bonhoeffer not only refused to sign, but he also helped to establish a resistance seminary at which he taught until it was closed by the Gestapo in 1937. Considering the taking of this oath to be an act of heresy, he said there is only one head of the church and that is Jesus Christ. There can be no pledge of absolute loyalty to anyone or anything except Christ. As a committed pacifist, he argued that the duty of the church is to stand with the victims, to work and pray for peace, and to love the neighbor as well as the enemy.
By 1941 Bonhoeffer had joined the anti-Nazi movement through the German military intelligence, which was seeking to overthrow Hitler. At first, he did no more than bring messages back and forth between Germany and England. But finally, all participants in the plot---even those like Bonhoeffer, whose role was not directly violent---were asked to agree that if the opportunity should come, they would be willing to end Hitler’s life. Now this constituted a terrible religious crisis for Bonhoeffer, who did not believe God ever commanded murder or assassination, not even the murder of a murderer. He despised what Hitler represented, but he also believed that Hitler was loved by God just as much as he was. He did not know what he should do, and all his prayers brought him no final answer.
On one cold afternoon in 1943 the conspirators met in a tiny room. All stood in a circle, while a gun was passed around, and if you could accept the gun, you were in the plot. If not, you were out. “There is no shame here,” one of the men said. “There are religious men among us whose conscience may not permit their participation in assassination.” Bonhoeffer stood in the circle and watched as the gun made its way toward him. One man took it; then the next and the next; someone stepped out, and the gun traveled to the next man. Soon it will come to me, Bonhoeffer thought, and still, I do not know what I will do, what I must do, what it is God would have me do. When the gun came to him, he put out his hand and took it. “God,” he prayed, “if this is your will, I need your mercy. If this is not your will, I need your mercy. Every moment of my life, I need your mercy.”
Consider that prayer and what it means for us in the context of our lives today as well as in the context of our Gospel reading. We live in an age, where many people claim that certitude is strength, while ambiguity and uncertainty are dismissed as weakness and confusion. The common assumption is that uncertainty and ambiguity lead to inaction and confusion, and so many people, across our globe, are drawn to religions and politics, which offer certainty, the knowing assurance of God’s will. Consider again Bonhoeffer’s words: “If this is your will, I need your mercy; if this is not your will, I need your mercy. Every moment of my life, I need your mercy.”
It was not the certainty of knowing God’s will, which led Bonhoeffer to act, for he realized that neither he nor any other human being could claim that certainty for his or her own. Rather, it was the conviction of the universal need for mercy, which finally gave him the courage to act, to take upon himself the responsibility for his decision. He picked up the gun, not seeking God’s approval, but acknowledging his need for mercy.
He had been part of the active resistance for four years, having been drawn in by his brother in law, who was a lawyer and took a stand against the Nazis based on his strong commitment to justice. His brother in law, in an attempt to get him to join the resistance, actually showed him pictures of Nazi atrocities. Bonhoeffer was horrified, but he still struggled, because his resistance to the Nazis and the German state was not so much about justice as it was about faithfulness. Faithfulness to Jesus Christ meant that no Christian could claim final loyalty to Hitler. But what form the resistance should take was never completely settled in his mind. He acted and decided without complete assurance that his actions and decisions conformed to God’s will. He lived with doubt, and he never expected faith to remove all doubt.
And this is why Thomas is so important. His story is in the gospel for a reason, reminding us how varied human personalities are and how those varieties bring different perspectives to life’s sundry situations. Thomas was no pushover; he had questions. He wanted to see for himself. That was the kind of person he was. That was how his heart and mind worked. While he did receive the gift of certainty---he saw and was invited to touch--- it is obvious that those who will follow will be unable to receive the same assurance he did. We cannot see and touch. Doubt for many of us will have its place, sometimes humbling us as we are reminded that we do not know as much as we think we know.
Martin Luther, the Protestant Reformer, defied Rome, declaring, “My conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and will not recant.” He also said, “It is neither right nor prudent to go against conscience.” Luther did not believe that conscience was infallible any more than Bonhoeffer thought it was, but they both believed it was a strong guide, as imperfect as it is. God can and does speak through conscience, but we cannot hear and understand infallibly. Bonhoeffer’s conscience was committed to pacifism, and yet he acted against it. But consider the possibility that living with a clean conscience may not be the ultimate religious goal. Bonhoeffer’s life and death remind us that God calls us to act not with certainty but with faith—not faith in the rightness of our actions and the purity of our conscience, but faith in the love and mercy of God. If that is where our faith is placed, we can live with doubt; we can live without absolute certainty. And that is faith.
April 26, 2022
Dear Friends,
About five years ago or so, my husband and I spent a week in Padua, Italy. Padua is famous for the Arena Chapel, which boasts of Giotto’s famous frescoes on the church walls. It is also home to a university, founded in 1222 by students and faculty from Bologna, who wanted a place where thought and ideas could be freely debated. It the 16th and 17th centuries it became a workshop of ideas, where such giants as Copernicus and Galileo taught. Galileo said the earth was NOT the center of the universe, a teaching he was forced to recant by the Church on pain of death, but he realized that eventually truth would win out, which it did. Padua also became a center for medical study, though once again the Church tried to prevent autopsies, though this method was the preferred way people could understand the workings of the human body. Autopsies were performed on tables whose tops could be overturned and the body deposited below as soon as a signal was given that a Church official was about to make an entrance!
I found myself thinking about Padua lately, when I came across an article about the discovery of “other worlds.” We know that our universe is full of other worlds, orbiting their own suns. While men like Galileo and Copernicus assumed this to be the case, now we know, because of what telescopes have allowed us to see. About 30 years ago astronomers began to detect signs of worlds beyond our own solar system, and as the decades have marched on and telescopes have become more sophisticated, the number of other worlds we know about has expanded. Now, according to NASA the current number is 5,005, but still counting! Exoplanets, as they are called, can be much smaller than Mercury or double the size of Jupiter. They can be cold or hot, rocky, or gaseous. There are planets close to our sun, around 4 light years away, and others that are thousands of light years away. And now astronomers confidently claim that our Milky Way has more planets than stars!
But all this knowledge and research has not yielded life on another planet. We human beings so far have not found any company! There have been planets discovered around the size of Earth with conditions that should be right for water, but so far no evidence of life. It is possible, astronomers claim, that another 5000 worlds could be discovered, but that does not mean that life would be there. We may remain all alone.
Astronomers are both delighted and confused by these exoplanets. There is an abundance of Jupiter like planets---giant and incredibly hot, circling their stars in a matter of days. This fact has confused astronomers, who, for the longest time had a theory of planet formation, which could not account for such huge gaseous planets, sidling up to their suns. Theories must eventually give way to truth, which is exactly what Galileo counted on. There are seven planets around a star named TRAPPIST-1 about 40 light years away from our Earth. But their sun is only the size of Jupiter, and a year on the planet that is the farthest out, only lasts 20 days. Three of these planets could possibly have life, and it is hoped that the James Webb Space Telescope will be able to detect certain molecules that could suggest life.
But so far scientists are concluding that an Earth-like planet is very rare. No comparable world with a chemically rich atmosphere and temperatures allowing water to stick around rather than boiling way has yet been discovered. Even if 20,000 planets are discovered, there is no guarantee that life will be there. The question is: Is life in the universe common or not? So far the answer seems to be NOT
Our Psalms are filled with praises to a God, who is celebrated as the author of creation. And the Book of Job, which is an argument with God about human suffering, also celebrates the work of a creative God whom human beings can neither control nor understand. And the more we learn about this incredible creation, the more awestruck we can become. As the Psalms sing, “Oh, how majestic are the works of God.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
About five years ago or so, my husband and I spent a week in Padua, Italy. Padua is famous for the Arena Chapel, which boasts of Giotto’s famous frescoes on the church walls. It is also home to a university, founded in 1222 by students and faculty from Bologna, who wanted a place where thought and ideas could be freely debated. It the 16th and 17th centuries it became a workshop of ideas, where such giants as Copernicus and Galileo taught. Galileo said the earth was NOT the center of the universe, a teaching he was forced to recant by the Church on pain of death, but he realized that eventually truth would win out, which it did. Padua also became a center for medical study, though once again the Church tried to prevent autopsies, though this method was the preferred way people could understand the workings of the human body. Autopsies were performed on tables whose tops could be overturned and the body deposited below as soon as a signal was given that a Church official was about to make an entrance!
I found myself thinking about Padua lately, when I came across an article about the discovery of “other worlds.” We know that our universe is full of other worlds, orbiting their own suns. While men like Galileo and Copernicus assumed this to be the case, now we know, because of what telescopes have allowed us to see. About 30 years ago astronomers began to detect signs of worlds beyond our own solar system, and as the decades have marched on and telescopes have become more sophisticated, the number of other worlds we know about has expanded. Now, according to NASA the current number is 5,005, but still counting! Exoplanets, as they are called, can be much smaller than Mercury or double the size of Jupiter. They can be cold or hot, rocky, or gaseous. There are planets close to our sun, around 4 light years away, and others that are thousands of light years away. And now astronomers confidently claim that our Milky Way has more planets than stars!
But all this knowledge and research has not yielded life on another planet. We human beings so far have not found any company! There have been planets discovered around the size of Earth with conditions that should be right for water, but so far no evidence of life. It is possible, astronomers claim, that another 5000 worlds could be discovered, but that does not mean that life would be there. We may remain all alone.
Astronomers are both delighted and confused by these exoplanets. There is an abundance of Jupiter like planets---giant and incredibly hot, circling their stars in a matter of days. This fact has confused astronomers, who, for the longest time had a theory of planet formation, which could not account for such huge gaseous planets, sidling up to their suns. Theories must eventually give way to truth, which is exactly what Galileo counted on. There are seven planets around a star named TRAPPIST-1 about 40 light years away from our Earth. But their sun is only the size of Jupiter, and a year on the planet that is the farthest out, only lasts 20 days. Three of these planets could possibly have life, and it is hoped that the James Webb Space Telescope will be able to detect certain molecules that could suggest life.
But so far scientists are concluding that an Earth-like planet is very rare. No comparable world with a chemically rich atmosphere and temperatures allowing water to stick around rather than boiling way has yet been discovered. Even if 20,000 planets are discovered, there is no guarantee that life will be there. The question is: Is life in the universe common or not? So far the answer seems to be NOT
Our Psalms are filled with praises to a God, who is celebrated as the author of creation. And the Book of Job, which is an argument with God about human suffering, also celebrates the work of a creative God whom human beings can neither control nor understand. And the more we learn about this incredible creation, the more awestruck we can become. As the Psalms sing, “Oh, how majestic are the works of God.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
April 19, 2022
Dear Friends,
My reflection letter this week is not my own words. Instead, I am enclosing an opinion piece from the Washington Post by Michael Gerson. I found it very, very moving, and I hope it moves you as well, while challenging you to think and move more deeply into the mystery of faith, which always must confront the issue of evil.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
OPINION PIECE FROM THE WASHINGTON POST, APRIL 18, 2022
BY: MICHAEL GERSON
This is a horrible and sacred story I hesitate to use. But it is being reenacted in our time.
In “Night,” Elie Wiesel describes the execution by hanging of two Jewish men and a boy, conducted before the entire camp at Auschwitz. “The men died quickly,” Wiesel wrote, “but the death struggle of the boy lasted half an hour. ‘Where is God? Where is he?’ a man behind me asked. As the boy, after a long time, was still in agony on the rope, I heard the man cry again, ‘Where is God now?’ and I heard a voice within me answer, ‘Here he is — he is hanging here on this gallows.”
Think of the last few weeks in Ukraine — the children killed at a train station in Kramatorsk, the streets of Bucha scattered with tortured corpses, the gathered cries of Mariupol. The world seems bound on some hideous wheel, destined to repeat its worst crimes. It wasn’t enough to stain European history with the Holocaust and the gulags. Now, there are new leaders pursuing their cause through human sacrifice.
For many, I suspect, this mass of suffering overshadowed their Passover, Ramadan or Easter celebrations. We consume the media reports of terrible events. We long for unlikely justice. But none of this touches the human need for explanation amid tragedy. Where is God?
The boy on the gallows is not a Christian story. But it has Christian resonance. It is not only that God is on the side of the victim, though he surely is. It is that the founder of this faith was also the victim of a slow execution. And if God was somehow uniquely present in this person, it was God who subjected himself to a full dose of human malice.
The cross measured the depth of the divine descent. The faithless friends. The bloody sweat. The thorny crown. The nails. The beam. The cry of thirst. The call upon a vanished God: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” It is the strangest portion of an unlikely story: The godforsaken Christ. The godforsaken God.
The Christian faith does not set out a philosophy explaining the problem of evil. It responds, instead, with a person. It answers an experience of pain with an experience of pain. It offers the fellowship of suffering. In the process, it gives permission for grief, outrage, even despair. Yet it also raises the prospect of a dramatic reversal. A hope on the far side of anguish. A homecoming on the far side of death. An assurance that the violent will not inherit the earth.
We see the same struggles not only in world historic events but also in the course of nearly every life. In the death of a child from a lingering disease, in a cruel cancer diagnosis, in the self-crucifixion of depression. Every minute is someone’s last minute. Even the bravest and loveliest decay to dust.
There are immoral responses to this tragic state of affairs: to live in smug indifference, or to feed endlessly on our own bitterness. Yet there are also moral reactions. We can live in revolt against a cruel and meaningless world, adopting the existentialists’ hopeless heroism and embracing goodness and justice in a doomed enterprise. Or we can live in the hope that there is a deeper meaning, even if we do not fully comprehend it.
This kind of faith — shared by many faiths — is not an opiate or a self-help manual. It is not a call to look on the bright side. It is certainly not the sanctification of our political predispositions. Rather, it calls the bluff of our deepest beliefs. If we want mercy, we should be merciful. If we demand justice, we must be just. If we hate murder, we should examine our own consuming rage. If we seek deliverance, we should be the source of someone else’s deliverance.
This holds true on the largest matters of state action. Our friends in Ukraine give their lives willingly. Russian forces take lives randomly, show no mercy or remorse, and plan to expand the scope and scale of their murder. There has seldom been a clearer moral case for collective action to deliver a nation-state from evil. Failure would be a source of danger and of shame. A similar moral framework applies on a smaller scale. Humans live in a democracy of vulnerability. We are alike in our susceptibility to pain and loss. We are equal in our capacity for hope and heroism.
This is the message of the cross and the empty tomb. God is on the side of the boy on the gallows and the man on the cross. Even amid horror, some vital purpose is making itself known. Against all my doubts, I choose to believe in a God with scars.
Dear Friends,
My reflection letter this week is not my own words. Instead, I am enclosing an opinion piece from the Washington Post by Michael Gerson. I found it very, very moving, and I hope it moves you as well, while challenging you to think and move more deeply into the mystery of faith, which always must confront the issue of evil.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
OPINION PIECE FROM THE WASHINGTON POST, APRIL 18, 2022
BY: MICHAEL GERSON
This is a horrible and sacred story I hesitate to use. But it is being reenacted in our time.
In “Night,” Elie Wiesel describes the execution by hanging of two Jewish men and a boy, conducted before the entire camp at Auschwitz. “The men died quickly,” Wiesel wrote, “but the death struggle of the boy lasted half an hour. ‘Where is God? Where is he?’ a man behind me asked. As the boy, after a long time, was still in agony on the rope, I heard the man cry again, ‘Where is God now?’ and I heard a voice within me answer, ‘Here he is — he is hanging here on this gallows.”
Think of the last few weeks in Ukraine — the children killed at a train station in Kramatorsk, the streets of Bucha scattered with tortured corpses, the gathered cries of Mariupol. The world seems bound on some hideous wheel, destined to repeat its worst crimes. It wasn’t enough to stain European history with the Holocaust and the gulags. Now, there are new leaders pursuing their cause through human sacrifice.
For many, I suspect, this mass of suffering overshadowed their Passover, Ramadan or Easter celebrations. We consume the media reports of terrible events. We long for unlikely justice. But none of this touches the human need for explanation amid tragedy. Where is God?
The boy on the gallows is not a Christian story. But it has Christian resonance. It is not only that God is on the side of the victim, though he surely is. It is that the founder of this faith was also the victim of a slow execution. And if God was somehow uniquely present in this person, it was God who subjected himself to a full dose of human malice.
The cross measured the depth of the divine descent. The faithless friends. The bloody sweat. The thorny crown. The nails. The beam. The cry of thirst. The call upon a vanished God: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” It is the strangest portion of an unlikely story: The godforsaken Christ. The godforsaken God.
The Christian faith does not set out a philosophy explaining the problem of evil. It responds, instead, with a person. It answers an experience of pain with an experience of pain. It offers the fellowship of suffering. In the process, it gives permission for grief, outrage, even despair. Yet it also raises the prospect of a dramatic reversal. A hope on the far side of anguish. A homecoming on the far side of death. An assurance that the violent will not inherit the earth.
We see the same struggles not only in world historic events but also in the course of nearly every life. In the death of a child from a lingering disease, in a cruel cancer diagnosis, in the self-crucifixion of depression. Every minute is someone’s last minute. Even the bravest and loveliest decay to dust.
There are immoral responses to this tragic state of affairs: to live in smug indifference, or to feed endlessly on our own bitterness. Yet there are also moral reactions. We can live in revolt against a cruel and meaningless world, adopting the existentialists’ hopeless heroism and embracing goodness and justice in a doomed enterprise. Or we can live in the hope that there is a deeper meaning, even if we do not fully comprehend it.
This kind of faith — shared by many faiths — is not an opiate or a self-help manual. It is not a call to look on the bright side. It is certainly not the sanctification of our political predispositions. Rather, it calls the bluff of our deepest beliefs. If we want mercy, we should be merciful. If we demand justice, we must be just. If we hate murder, we should examine our own consuming rage. If we seek deliverance, we should be the source of someone else’s deliverance.
This holds true on the largest matters of state action. Our friends in Ukraine give their lives willingly. Russian forces take lives randomly, show no mercy or remorse, and plan to expand the scope and scale of their murder. There has seldom been a clearer moral case for collective action to deliver a nation-state from evil. Failure would be a source of danger and of shame. A similar moral framework applies on a smaller scale. Humans live in a democracy of vulnerability. We are alike in our susceptibility to pain and loss. We are equal in our capacity for hope and heroism.
This is the message of the cross and the empty tomb. God is on the side of the boy on the gallows and the man on the cross. Even amid horror, some vital purpose is making itself known. Against all my doubts, I choose to believe in a God with scars.
THE PART ABOUT THE ANGEL?
Preached by Sandra Olsen,
Maundy Thursday, April 14, 2022
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
I always hated it when my beeper went off because it usually signified a crisis. And so, when I heard my beeper on Maundy Thursday of 1990, my heart leapt to my throat. I called a number I did not recognize, which I hoped was a good sign. The message was from a doctor from the high risk pregnancy unit, who wanted to see me IMMEDIATELY. “Look,” he said, I understand that you have been talking to Linda so and so, an Aids patient. She’s dying and she knows it, and I want to do an immediate C section, but she says no go. If I don’t get that baby out now, not only will we lose the mother, but also the baby. Can’t you talk some sense into her?
Sense: a rather strange one to use for someone who had lived the last 10 years of her life as a street walker, and now at 26 years of age, was going to die. What did sense have to do with it? Linda had grown up in an abusive home; at fourteen she ran away from a father who had impregnated her, and then beat her to a bloody pulp for getting pregnant. Her life was a series of wrecks no human being should ever have to endure, let alone recover from. Linda did not recover, and eventually she came down with Aids.
She was not an easy person to be with. I did not like her any more than she liked me. As far as she was concerned, I was next to useless, BUT according to her, not as useless as God. At least, she said to me one day, you show up now and then, which is more than God does.
The ironic thing about Linda was that as much as she denied God, she couldn’t get God out of her life. Sometimes she cursed God; and other days she just lamented that God never helped her. According to Linda not only did God abandon her, but He also abandoned her three kids, all of whom were in foster care. The social worker told me that two of the children suffered from serious neurological damage due to her crack addiction and the oldest child was blind, probably due to fetal alcohol syndrome. I may be guilty, Linda confessed, but my kids didn’t do a thing but be born. Got no use for a God who visits the sins of the parents on the children. Where’s the justice in that? I told her I didn’t think it had anything to do with justice. It is just the way things are. God does not stop the blood from flowing if you slice your hand open with a knife, I said. “So why do you believe in God, if God can’t help?” she wanted to know. Because I’ve got no place else to go, I answered.
One of the nurses told me that Linda liked that answer, though of course she would never have told me that. I guess she preferred God being a place rather than a person. Since practically everyone in her life had used or abused her, and since she spent a good part of her life homeless, place came to mean more to her than person. Well as you can see, Linda was not stupid. She was smart, smart enough to figure out that as a pregnant Aids patient, she was entitled to a lot better care than if she were simply an Aids afflicted street walker. For the first time in a few years, she actually had a place to live, a place she called home. At least I’m not going to die homeless, she told the social worker.
Linda was a lightning rod of controversy. One of her doctors, the one who beeped me, wanted to do immediate surgery on a baby of 32 weeks gestation---40 weeks is full term. Linda was going down hill fast, and the baby was showing serious signs of distress. Another doctor thought that the primary responsibility was to the mother not to the baby. We have to keep her alive as long as we can, he insisted. Her baby is not the primary patient. And so, the two argued, and argued, and as things became even more critical, the two doctors argued even more.
Sometime in mid afternoon on Maundy Thursday, Linda asked to see me. She pulled a Bible out from under the bed sheets. Do you know the part about Jesus, when he prays that he won’t have to die? You mean the Garden of Gethsemane? I said. It’s right before he goes to the cross, I said. She looked up at me and asked, “What about the part with the angel?” The angel? “Yeh, the part when the angel comes and helps Jesus.” In that moment I had no recollection of any angel. Linda handed me a Bible and said, “Could you find the angel part for me?” I heard someone read it on the radio this morning, but I don’t know where it is. You must know. I need the part where the angel helps Jesus.” Desperation was choking her voice. Quickly flipping to the Gethsemane scenes in Matthew and Mark, I confirmed to myself that there was no angel there. And then I turned to Luke. Ah yes, here it is. Read it, she commanded, the part where the angel comes. “Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, Father if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will, but yours be done. Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.”
I stopped reading, and the whole world seemed to stop with me. Linda broke the silence: Do you believe that, the part about the angel helping him? Fixing her gaze on me, she did not give me much time to form either my thoughts or my words. I had been educated to be suspicious of angels, those winged creatures, who speak God’s truth and bring God’s help. My education had been a journey into critical biblical scholarship, which tells us that it is probable that the angel was not part of Luke’s original Gospel, since important early manuscripts lack those sentences. Besides, I had been taught to reason, and angels were outside the realm of reason. Nonetheless, I looked Linda straight in the eye, and with no audible or visible hesitation, answered, “Yes, I believe.” “Oh,” she said. “I thought that maybe you were the kind of person who doesn’t believe in angels.”
That was the last time I ever spoke with Linda. That night she consented to undergo an emergency C-section from which she never regained consciousness. She died three days later after delivering a baby girl, who later proved to be free of the Aids virus. I can recall exactly the words the doctor used to communicate that good news. “We always think of the placenta as a bloody sieve,” he said, ”but it turns out in some cases it’s more impervious than we give it credit for.” Impervious, of course, means unable to pass or get through. The placenta does prevent some things, including viruses, from getting through to the baby. But something did get through to Linda and her baby. An angel, an angel that I did not even remember was there, an angel that most of us have a very hard time believing in, an angel that even the early Lucan manuscripts left out, and Matthew and Mark make no mention of. Impervious is a fitting description of the human condition. We are often impervious, impervious to God, impervious to grace, impervious to an angel. How ironic that in the last few hours of this poor battered woman’s life, she opened herself up to something that most of us could miss and dismiss. Who believes in angels, anyway? Perhaps those who are so broken that they have no place to wander except to the cross and from there to the tomb, where they hear the question posed by the angels, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” Why indeed?
Preached by Sandra Olsen,
Maundy Thursday, April 14, 2022
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
I always hated it when my beeper went off because it usually signified a crisis. And so, when I heard my beeper on Maundy Thursday of 1990, my heart leapt to my throat. I called a number I did not recognize, which I hoped was a good sign. The message was from a doctor from the high risk pregnancy unit, who wanted to see me IMMEDIATELY. “Look,” he said, I understand that you have been talking to Linda so and so, an Aids patient. She’s dying and she knows it, and I want to do an immediate C section, but she says no go. If I don’t get that baby out now, not only will we lose the mother, but also the baby. Can’t you talk some sense into her?
Sense: a rather strange one to use for someone who had lived the last 10 years of her life as a street walker, and now at 26 years of age, was going to die. What did sense have to do with it? Linda had grown up in an abusive home; at fourteen she ran away from a father who had impregnated her, and then beat her to a bloody pulp for getting pregnant. Her life was a series of wrecks no human being should ever have to endure, let alone recover from. Linda did not recover, and eventually she came down with Aids.
She was not an easy person to be with. I did not like her any more than she liked me. As far as she was concerned, I was next to useless, BUT according to her, not as useless as God. At least, she said to me one day, you show up now and then, which is more than God does.
The ironic thing about Linda was that as much as she denied God, she couldn’t get God out of her life. Sometimes she cursed God; and other days she just lamented that God never helped her. According to Linda not only did God abandon her, but He also abandoned her three kids, all of whom were in foster care. The social worker told me that two of the children suffered from serious neurological damage due to her crack addiction and the oldest child was blind, probably due to fetal alcohol syndrome. I may be guilty, Linda confessed, but my kids didn’t do a thing but be born. Got no use for a God who visits the sins of the parents on the children. Where’s the justice in that? I told her I didn’t think it had anything to do with justice. It is just the way things are. God does not stop the blood from flowing if you slice your hand open with a knife, I said. “So why do you believe in God, if God can’t help?” she wanted to know. Because I’ve got no place else to go, I answered.
One of the nurses told me that Linda liked that answer, though of course she would never have told me that. I guess she preferred God being a place rather than a person. Since practically everyone in her life had used or abused her, and since she spent a good part of her life homeless, place came to mean more to her than person. Well as you can see, Linda was not stupid. She was smart, smart enough to figure out that as a pregnant Aids patient, she was entitled to a lot better care than if she were simply an Aids afflicted street walker. For the first time in a few years, she actually had a place to live, a place she called home. At least I’m not going to die homeless, she told the social worker.
Linda was a lightning rod of controversy. One of her doctors, the one who beeped me, wanted to do immediate surgery on a baby of 32 weeks gestation---40 weeks is full term. Linda was going down hill fast, and the baby was showing serious signs of distress. Another doctor thought that the primary responsibility was to the mother not to the baby. We have to keep her alive as long as we can, he insisted. Her baby is not the primary patient. And so, the two argued, and argued, and as things became even more critical, the two doctors argued even more.
Sometime in mid afternoon on Maundy Thursday, Linda asked to see me. She pulled a Bible out from under the bed sheets. Do you know the part about Jesus, when he prays that he won’t have to die? You mean the Garden of Gethsemane? I said. It’s right before he goes to the cross, I said. She looked up at me and asked, “What about the part with the angel?” The angel? “Yeh, the part when the angel comes and helps Jesus.” In that moment I had no recollection of any angel. Linda handed me a Bible and said, “Could you find the angel part for me?” I heard someone read it on the radio this morning, but I don’t know where it is. You must know. I need the part where the angel helps Jesus.” Desperation was choking her voice. Quickly flipping to the Gethsemane scenes in Matthew and Mark, I confirmed to myself that there was no angel there. And then I turned to Luke. Ah yes, here it is. Read it, she commanded, the part where the angel comes. “Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, Father if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will, but yours be done. Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.”
I stopped reading, and the whole world seemed to stop with me. Linda broke the silence: Do you believe that, the part about the angel helping him? Fixing her gaze on me, she did not give me much time to form either my thoughts or my words. I had been educated to be suspicious of angels, those winged creatures, who speak God’s truth and bring God’s help. My education had been a journey into critical biblical scholarship, which tells us that it is probable that the angel was not part of Luke’s original Gospel, since important early manuscripts lack those sentences. Besides, I had been taught to reason, and angels were outside the realm of reason. Nonetheless, I looked Linda straight in the eye, and with no audible or visible hesitation, answered, “Yes, I believe.” “Oh,” she said. “I thought that maybe you were the kind of person who doesn’t believe in angels.”
That was the last time I ever spoke with Linda. That night she consented to undergo an emergency C-section from which she never regained consciousness. She died three days later after delivering a baby girl, who later proved to be free of the Aids virus. I can recall exactly the words the doctor used to communicate that good news. “We always think of the placenta as a bloody sieve,” he said, ”but it turns out in some cases it’s more impervious than we give it credit for.” Impervious, of course, means unable to pass or get through. The placenta does prevent some things, including viruses, from getting through to the baby. But something did get through to Linda and her baby. An angel, an angel that I did not even remember was there, an angel that most of us have a very hard time believing in, an angel that even the early Lucan manuscripts left out, and Matthew and Mark make no mention of. Impervious is a fitting description of the human condition. We are often impervious, impervious to God, impervious to grace, impervious to an angel. How ironic that in the last few hours of this poor battered woman’s life, she opened herself up to something that most of us could miss and dismiss. Who believes in angels, anyway? Perhaps those who are so broken that they have no place to wander except to the cross and from there to the tomb, where they hear the question posed by the angels, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” Why indeed?
TURNING POINTS
Easter Sunday, April 17, 2022
First Church of Christ, Unionville, CT
Preached By: The Rev. Dr. Sandra L. Olsen
John 20:1-18
Exactly 50 years ago today, on April 17, 1972, a turning point for women happened. That was the first year women were allowed to compete in the Boston Marathon. Eight women ran that year, and Nina Kuscsik was the first woman to finish, but all eight women completed the 26.2 mile course. In 1966 Roberta Gibb had wanted to run, but she could not get an official number, so she hid in the bushes and jumped out when the race began. The following year, Kathrine Switzer registered as K.V. Switzer, and was in the lineup to begin the race, when an official noticed she was a woman. He tried to pull off her bib number and remove her from the race, but Kathrine’s boyfriend pushed the man to the ground and Kathrine ran, finishing the race in four hours 20 minutes. It was indeed a turning point.
Well, that first Easter so long ago in a corner of the world near Jerusalem, was also a turning point---a turning point in history. And like the Boston Marathon it also involved running, at least according to John’s gospel. Mary Magdalene does not figure very much in John’s gospel, and despite what you have heard about her, Mary Magdalene was NOT a prostitute or the woman caught in adultery in John 8. That was something the Church, run by males, I might add, decided in the year 591, but the injustice done to Mary Magdalene is a subject is for another sermon. So here we have Mary on this first Easter morning on her way to the tomb. It was still dark, John’s gospel claims, though Matthew, Mark and Luke all make a point of saying the sun was rising and there was morning light. But for the Gospel of John, dark isn’t about the time of day. It means opposition to God’s promise of new life. It’s being without hope, filled with fear and anxiety. The darkness of John’s gospel can happen when you are sitting in the blaring light of an emergency room, waiting for the doctor to come out and tell you something you cannot bear to hear. And when you finally hear it, the dark becomes even darker.
And that is the kind of darkness Mary Magdalene was in. She was devastated because her beloved friend and teacher was dead. She was alone, which
might lead us to wonder how she thought she was going to gain entrance to the tomb with a stone in front of it. Women were the ones, who washed the dead body and anointed it with oils and spices. Perhaps she planned to meet other women there; we don’t know. But when she saw that the stone had been rolled away, she immediately ran to Peter and the other disciple whom Jesus loved, often called John, and told them Jesus’ body was gone. The text does not tell us that she entered the tomb and carefully assessed the situation. No, she ran, perhaps in fear and panic, and then Peter and John also ran to the tomb. We have a copy of a famous painting on the cover of the bulletin---Peter and John racing to the tomb.
John outran Peter, but though he looked in, he did not enter. Rather he let Peter be the first to enter. They saw the linen wrappings and the covering for the head, neatly wrapped, lying by itself---most likely an indication that graverobbers had not taken the body, since why would robbers take the time to wrap the linens into a neat pile? And then John and Peter went home. But this time, however, they did not run. They apparently believed something, though we are not sure what it was they believed. Maybe they simply believed what Mary said---the body was gone. No one said anything about Jesus being alive or resurrected.
But Mary did not leave with the disciples. She remained, weeping at the tomb, because she did not know where her beloved Jesus was. She even mistook Jesus for the gardener, and it was only when he called her name, when she felt the intimate connection that she recognized him. She would have held on to him, or clung to him as some translations read, but he would not let her. There would be no holding on, no returning to what once was. After this she went to the disciples and told them that she had seen Jesus. Notice that although there has been a lot of running in the text, when she goes to the disciples the word used is went, not ran.
The Bible is really a lens we use to look at the human condition and God. John Calvin, the Protestant reformer, used to say the bible contains two kinds of knowledge: knowledge of self and knowledge of God. And what we initially see in this story is human beings in a kind of tizzy. We have no acclamation of joy---Jesus is risen--- but rather we see struggle and weeping. The two disciples ran toward the tomb as Mary had run to the disciples’ home, telling them that Jesus’ body had been taken away. There is initially chaos, or maybe it was panic and then deep sadness as Mary gave into her grief. The text mentions Mary’s weeping four times. And isn’t this how life sometimes is? We can panic when we do not understand what is happening or why, as Mary initially did. Fear, in fact, can morph into panic. Sometimes we run away from the panic and at other times we run toward it, because we are trying, like the disciples, to understand what has happened. And we run with our hearts pounding and our stomachs, twisted into knots. And then, like Mary, we may find ourselves weeping because we feel bereft, alone, and helpless.
A week ago or so I came across an article, entitled, Resurrection, and I thought it might offer some new perspectives on the resurrection stories in the Bible. It told the story of black people in the state of Mississippi in the 60’s, as they tried to register to vote. Freedom Riders tried to help with the registration, and three of them, James Chaney, Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman were cold bloodily murdered in 1964, one of the murderers, a Baptist preacher by the name of Edward Ray Killen, who was finally convicted on three counts of manslaughter and sentenced to 60 years in jail, where he died in 2018.
Well, this one night people were at a church meeting, when suddenly the KKK showed up with cans of gasoline to burn the church to the ground and terrorize the people. And they succeeded. People were in a complete panic, and this one young man, in his early 20’s, remembers running through the darkness. “Panic took hold of me because I knew what could happen if I were caught,” he said. “And I was terrified for my parents. I remember my father yelling, “Run, Allen, run.” And so, I ran. I ran for my life. At first, I ran to help my father, who had been shoved hard to the ground. But he pushed me away, ordering me to run. When I arrived home, I just sat in the dark, too terrified to move. A few hours later my parents arrived. We all were safe, and we cried together, out of fear, out of relief, out of anger. Our church was gone, and we knew there would be no successful voter registration---at least not that year. Two other Black churches were also burned, and I can still remember the pastor’s Easter sermon that year. It began as Easter sermons always did in many black churches: But early Sunday morning he got up with all power in his hands. He repeated that line over and over again, and the congregation joined in: But early Sunday morning he got up with all power in his hands. And we all understood that the power God had given to Jesus would also be given to us. We believed, and when President Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act of 1965, we felt the power. When my parents and I successfully registered to vote, we did not walk to that place of registration. We ran. And after we had successfully registered, we wept. And the first time we voted, we ran again, and we wept again. We knew that the power Jesus had been given was also given to us.
And there you have it: the resurrection of Jesus Christ should not be reduced to what happened to a tortured and crucified body over 2000 years ago. It isn’t simply about an empty tomb; it is about full life. On this earth. Consider this: the resurrected Jesus never once described his three days in the tomb. He did not talk about his descent into hell, as the Apostle’s Creed confesses. He never once mentioned heaven, or what it felt like to be resurrected. No, his concern was about the work on this earth that required action and commitment. The sick cried out for healing, the orphaned and the widowed needed help as did others, who could not so easily care for themselves. Nations needed to learn the art of peace rather than the folly of war. The resurrection of Jesus points to the promise of new life, the possibility that the old order, where power is asserted to gain more power, is finally overturned and a new order is initiated. Jesus told Mary to tell the other disciples that he would be ascending to his Father; he would be going to God. His work on earth was finished, but there was still work for the followers of Jesus to do, then and now. So, let us try to do it.
Easter Sunday, April 17, 2022
First Church of Christ, Unionville, CT
Preached By: The Rev. Dr. Sandra L. Olsen
John 20:1-18
Exactly 50 years ago today, on April 17, 1972, a turning point for women happened. That was the first year women were allowed to compete in the Boston Marathon. Eight women ran that year, and Nina Kuscsik was the first woman to finish, but all eight women completed the 26.2 mile course. In 1966 Roberta Gibb had wanted to run, but she could not get an official number, so she hid in the bushes and jumped out when the race began. The following year, Kathrine Switzer registered as K.V. Switzer, and was in the lineup to begin the race, when an official noticed she was a woman. He tried to pull off her bib number and remove her from the race, but Kathrine’s boyfriend pushed the man to the ground and Kathrine ran, finishing the race in four hours 20 minutes. It was indeed a turning point.
Well, that first Easter so long ago in a corner of the world near Jerusalem, was also a turning point---a turning point in history. And like the Boston Marathon it also involved running, at least according to John’s gospel. Mary Magdalene does not figure very much in John’s gospel, and despite what you have heard about her, Mary Magdalene was NOT a prostitute or the woman caught in adultery in John 8. That was something the Church, run by males, I might add, decided in the year 591, but the injustice done to Mary Magdalene is a subject is for another sermon. So here we have Mary on this first Easter morning on her way to the tomb. It was still dark, John’s gospel claims, though Matthew, Mark and Luke all make a point of saying the sun was rising and there was morning light. But for the Gospel of John, dark isn’t about the time of day. It means opposition to God’s promise of new life. It’s being without hope, filled with fear and anxiety. The darkness of John’s gospel can happen when you are sitting in the blaring light of an emergency room, waiting for the doctor to come out and tell you something you cannot bear to hear. And when you finally hear it, the dark becomes even darker.
And that is the kind of darkness Mary Magdalene was in. She was devastated because her beloved friend and teacher was dead. She was alone, which
might lead us to wonder how she thought she was going to gain entrance to the tomb with a stone in front of it. Women were the ones, who washed the dead body and anointed it with oils and spices. Perhaps she planned to meet other women there; we don’t know. But when she saw that the stone had been rolled away, she immediately ran to Peter and the other disciple whom Jesus loved, often called John, and told them Jesus’ body was gone. The text does not tell us that she entered the tomb and carefully assessed the situation. No, she ran, perhaps in fear and panic, and then Peter and John also ran to the tomb. We have a copy of a famous painting on the cover of the bulletin---Peter and John racing to the tomb.
John outran Peter, but though he looked in, he did not enter. Rather he let Peter be the first to enter. They saw the linen wrappings and the covering for the head, neatly wrapped, lying by itself---most likely an indication that graverobbers had not taken the body, since why would robbers take the time to wrap the linens into a neat pile? And then John and Peter went home. But this time, however, they did not run. They apparently believed something, though we are not sure what it was they believed. Maybe they simply believed what Mary said---the body was gone. No one said anything about Jesus being alive or resurrected.
But Mary did not leave with the disciples. She remained, weeping at the tomb, because she did not know where her beloved Jesus was. She even mistook Jesus for the gardener, and it was only when he called her name, when she felt the intimate connection that she recognized him. She would have held on to him, or clung to him as some translations read, but he would not let her. There would be no holding on, no returning to what once was. After this she went to the disciples and told them that she had seen Jesus. Notice that although there has been a lot of running in the text, when she goes to the disciples the word used is went, not ran.
The Bible is really a lens we use to look at the human condition and God. John Calvin, the Protestant reformer, used to say the bible contains two kinds of knowledge: knowledge of self and knowledge of God. And what we initially see in this story is human beings in a kind of tizzy. We have no acclamation of joy---Jesus is risen--- but rather we see struggle and weeping. The two disciples ran toward the tomb as Mary had run to the disciples’ home, telling them that Jesus’ body had been taken away. There is initially chaos, or maybe it was panic and then deep sadness as Mary gave into her grief. The text mentions Mary’s weeping four times. And isn’t this how life sometimes is? We can panic when we do not understand what is happening or why, as Mary initially did. Fear, in fact, can morph into panic. Sometimes we run away from the panic and at other times we run toward it, because we are trying, like the disciples, to understand what has happened. And we run with our hearts pounding and our stomachs, twisted into knots. And then, like Mary, we may find ourselves weeping because we feel bereft, alone, and helpless.
A week ago or so I came across an article, entitled, Resurrection, and I thought it might offer some new perspectives on the resurrection stories in the Bible. It told the story of black people in the state of Mississippi in the 60’s, as they tried to register to vote. Freedom Riders tried to help with the registration, and three of them, James Chaney, Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman were cold bloodily murdered in 1964, one of the murderers, a Baptist preacher by the name of Edward Ray Killen, who was finally convicted on three counts of manslaughter and sentenced to 60 years in jail, where he died in 2018.
Well, this one night people were at a church meeting, when suddenly the KKK showed up with cans of gasoline to burn the church to the ground and terrorize the people. And they succeeded. People were in a complete panic, and this one young man, in his early 20’s, remembers running through the darkness. “Panic took hold of me because I knew what could happen if I were caught,” he said. “And I was terrified for my parents. I remember my father yelling, “Run, Allen, run.” And so, I ran. I ran for my life. At first, I ran to help my father, who had been shoved hard to the ground. But he pushed me away, ordering me to run. When I arrived home, I just sat in the dark, too terrified to move. A few hours later my parents arrived. We all were safe, and we cried together, out of fear, out of relief, out of anger. Our church was gone, and we knew there would be no successful voter registration---at least not that year. Two other Black churches were also burned, and I can still remember the pastor’s Easter sermon that year. It began as Easter sermons always did in many black churches: But early Sunday morning he got up with all power in his hands. He repeated that line over and over again, and the congregation joined in: But early Sunday morning he got up with all power in his hands. And we all understood that the power God had given to Jesus would also be given to us. We believed, and when President Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act of 1965, we felt the power. When my parents and I successfully registered to vote, we did not walk to that place of registration. We ran. And after we had successfully registered, we wept. And the first time we voted, we ran again, and we wept again. We knew that the power Jesus had been given was also given to us.
And there you have it: the resurrection of Jesus Christ should not be reduced to what happened to a tortured and crucified body over 2000 years ago. It isn’t simply about an empty tomb; it is about full life. On this earth. Consider this: the resurrected Jesus never once described his three days in the tomb. He did not talk about his descent into hell, as the Apostle’s Creed confesses. He never once mentioned heaven, or what it felt like to be resurrected. No, his concern was about the work on this earth that required action and commitment. The sick cried out for healing, the orphaned and the widowed needed help as did others, who could not so easily care for themselves. Nations needed to learn the art of peace rather than the folly of war. The resurrection of Jesus points to the promise of new life, the possibility that the old order, where power is asserted to gain more power, is finally overturned and a new order is initiated. Jesus told Mary to tell the other disciples that he would be ascending to his Father; he would be going to God. His work on earth was finished, but there was still work for the followers of Jesus to do, then and now. So, let us try to do it.
THE IRONY OF IT ALL!
Palm/Passion Sunday
Preached by The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
April 10, 2022
Luke 19: 28-40
Mark 15: 1-39
Today is both Palm and Passion Sunday. Our story begins with a parade---the waving of leafy branches, and cries of “Hosanna, Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” And it will end with a Roman centurion, an enemy of the Jews, standing at the foot of the cross, confessing, “Truly, this man was God’s Son.” The irony of it all: from a parade to a crucifixion, from a crucifixion to the confession of Jesus as God’s Son by a centurion, who helped put him to death.
There’s irony in Jesus riding from the Mount of Olives into Jerusalem on a colt, the foal of a donkey, which had never before been ridden. Why a young colt? Well, the Old Testament prophet Zechariah said this was how the Messiah would enter Jerusalem---on a foal of a donkey. And if there was one thing Israel understood about donkeys, it is that they are nothing like mighty war horses. You see Roman soldiers were constantly parading through the streets of Jerusalem, seated on magnificent horses, bred for strength and calm in battle. These rides through the city streets were a constant humiliation and reminder to the Jews that it was Rome, not Israel, who held the power. But no, Israel’s Messiah would not imitate Roman strength. Though the Messiah was expected to lead a mighty battle and be victorious, he would not initiate the charge with a war house, but rather with a donkey! What irony!
So, this Jesus, whom many were hoping was the Messiah, rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, and was greeted with cheers and shouts. Hosanna, the crowd yelled, and that term is not another word for Hooray. It is a petition meaning, “Save us, we pray.” So, this parade was not like our Memorial Day Parades, but rather more like the march from Selma to Montgomery during the Civil Rights Movement, when political change was being demanded and the marchers were facing an enemy, who could violently turn on them in an instant.
But though the people wanted political change, Jesus did not initiate it in the expected way. There would be no battle, as some of his followers wanted or even expected. Some people think that Judas might have been a Zealot in favor of armed rebellion against Rome and was hoping that he could push Jesus into action by betraying him. But, if this is what Judas wanted, this is certainly not what he got.
How ironic that Jesus, whom some desperately wanted to see as a great warrior king, like David, instead showed softness and compassion by weeping over the city of Jerusalem, because it was blind to what really makes for peace. Then, rather than attacking Roman soldiers, he attacked the Temple, throwing out the moneychangers and those selling animals for sacrifice. This really got him into trouble with the Jewish authorities, who wanted him dead. But they could not figure out how to do it, since he had such a strong following among the crowd. And then after expelling the moneychangers, he went about doing what he had always done: teaching. Consider the irony of moving toward his horrible torture and death in Jerusalem, but nonetheless insisting on teaching about the nature of authority, the paying of taxes, and the resurrection of the dead. And when he finally stood before Pilate and was asked, “Are you the King of the Jews,” Jesus simply answered, “You have said so.” That is all he would say to Pilate, and so Pilate, not wishing to get involved in this mess, sent him to Herod.
Remember, Herod was both a king and a Jew, and since Jesus was from Galilee, he was under Herod’s jurisdiction. Now this sending of Jesus to Herod is found ONLY in Luke. And Luke tells us that Herod was curious about Jesus and was glad to have a chance to question him, hoping to learn something. But Jesus would say nothing. How ironic that Jesus, a master of words, whose stories and parables held the rapt attention of crowds, should now become strangely quiet. And so, Herod, along with the chief priests and scribes, mocked and accused Jesus. Herod felt he had no choice but to send Jesus back to Pilate. And then we find another interesting comment, unique to Luke. “That same day Herod and Pilate became friends with each other. Before this they had been enemies.” How ironic that these two men, whose moral compass was pretty much out of whack, should become friends after their dealings with Jesus. Is it because the enemy of my enemy is my friend, or is something else going on here? Does being in the presence of Jesus completely overturn the old order?
Pilate could find nothing in Jesus, worthy of death, but we know the story---how a man of violence, Barabbas, who had murdered Roman soldiers and would probably murder again, was released, while Jesus, who had never done or counseled violence against anyone, including the Roman state, was the one condemned to die. The irony of it all!
A passer-by, Simon of Cyrene, was compelled by the Roman soldiers to carry Jesus’ cross. Consider the name Simon, ironically the same first name as Simon Peter, the disciple, who denied and deserted Jesus, and along with the other disciples was nowhere in sight. Ironically it was a stranger, who was forced to carry the cross for Jesus. Luke says he came from the country, but Cyrene was a small town in Egypt, populated by Jews, who had gone there to escape persecution in Palestine by the Romans. The irony of it all: that Simon should arrive in Palestine from a haven for Jews in Egypt just in time to carry the cross of one who would be executed as the King of the Jews.
No Jew would ever have expected a crucified Messiah. And that is the greatest irony of all. The righteous one, the blessed one, the chosen one of God is also the one who died a cursed death. The Jews believed that death by crucifixion was not only horribly painful, but also shameful, a humiliation, a curse by God. Though we began by reading Luke’s account of Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem, we will end with the reading of Jesus death from Mark’s gospel. Mark is stark. There are no words of forgiveness, no offering of his spirit to God. Jesus died with a loud cry, following a question, which is also an accusation: “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
And after all this---after the pain, the humiliation, the question, and the accusation, the temple curtain is torn from top to bottom, and ironically what has been hidden is revealed. The Temple curtain separated the inner sanctuary, where God was
Palm/Passion Sunday
Preached by The Rev. Dr. Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
April 10, 2022
Luke 19: 28-40
Mark 15: 1-39
Today is both Palm and Passion Sunday. Our story begins with a parade---the waving of leafy branches, and cries of “Hosanna, Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” And it will end with a Roman centurion, an enemy of the Jews, standing at the foot of the cross, confessing, “Truly, this man was God’s Son.” The irony of it all: from a parade to a crucifixion, from a crucifixion to the confession of Jesus as God’s Son by a centurion, who helped put him to death.
There’s irony in Jesus riding from the Mount of Olives into Jerusalem on a colt, the foal of a donkey, which had never before been ridden. Why a young colt? Well, the Old Testament prophet Zechariah said this was how the Messiah would enter Jerusalem---on a foal of a donkey. And if there was one thing Israel understood about donkeys, it is that they are nothing like mighty war horses. You see Roman soldiers were constantly parading through the streets of Jerusalem, seated on magnificent horses, bred for strength and calm in battle. These rides through the city streets were a constant humiliation and reminder to the Jews that it was Rome, not Israel, who held the power. But no, Israel’s Messiah would not imitate Roman strength. Though the Messiah was expected to lead a mighty battle and be victorious, he would not initiate the charge with a war house, but rather with a donkey! What irony!
So, this Jesus, whom many were hoping was the Messiah, rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, and was greeted with cheers and shouts. Hosanna, the crowd yelled, and that term is not another word for Hooray. It is a petition meaning, “Save us, we pray.” So, this parade was not like our Memorial Day Parades, but rather more like the march from Selma to Montgomery during the Civil Rights Movement, when political change was being demanded and the marchers were facing an enemy, who could violently turn on them in an instant.
But though the people wanted political change, Jesus did not initiate it in the expected way. There would be no battle, as some of his followers wanted or even expected. Some people think that Judas might have been a Zealot in favor of armed rebellion against Rome and was hoping that he could push Jesus into action by betraying him. But, if this is what Judas wanted, this is certainly not what he got.
How ironic that Jesus, whom some desperately wanted to see as a great warrior king, like David, instead showed softness and compassion by weeping over the city of Jerusalem, because it was blind to what really makes for peace. Then, rather than attacking Roman soldiers, he attacked the Temple, throwing out the moneychangers and those selling animals for sacrifice. This really got him into trouble with the Jewish authorities, who wanted him dead. But they could not figure out how to do it, since he had such a strong following among the crowd. And then after expelling the moneychangers, he went about doing what he had always done: teaching. Consider the irony of moving toward his horrible torture and death in Jerusalem, but nonetheless insisting on teaching about the nature of authority, the paying of taxes, and the resurrection of the dead. And when he finally stood before Pilate and was asked, “Are you the King of the Jews,” Jesus simply answered, “You have said so.” That is all he would say to Pilate, and so Pilate, not wishing to get involved in this mess, sent him to Herod.
Remember, Herod was both a king and a Jew, and since Jesus was from Galilee, he was under Herod’s jurisdiction. Now this sending of Jesus to Herod is found ONLY in Luke. And Luke tells us that Herod was curious about Jesus and was glad to have a chance to question him, hoping to learn something. But Jesus would say nothing. How ironic that Jesus, a master of words, whose stories and parables held the rapt attention of crowds, should now become strangely quiet. And so, Herod, along with the chief priests and scribes, mocked and accused Jesus. Herod felt he had no choice but to send Jesus back to Pilate. And then we find another interesting comment, unique to Luke. “That same day Herod and Pilate became friends with each other. Before this they had been enemies.” How ironic that these two men, whose moral compass was pretty much out of whack, should become friends after their dealings with Jesus. Is it because the enemy of my enemy is my friend, or is something else going on here? Does being in the presence of Jesus completely overturn the old order?
Pilate could find nothing in Jesus, worthy of death, but we know the story---how a man of violence, Barabbas, who had murdered Roman soldiers and would probably murder again, was released, while Jesus, who had never done or counseled violence against anyone, including the Roman state, was the one condemned to die. The irony of it all!
A passer-by, Simon of Cyrene, was compelled by the Roman soldiers to carry Jesus’ cross. Consider the name Simon, ironically the same first name as Simon Peter, the disciple, who denied and deserted Jesus, and along with the other disciples was nowhere in sight. Ironically it was a stranger, who was forced to carry the cross for Jesus. Luke says he came from the country, but Cyrene was a small town in Egypt, populated by Jews, who had gone there to escape persecution in Palestine by the Romans. The irony of it all: that Simon should arrive in Palestine from a haven for Jews in Egypt just in time to carry the cross of one who would be executed as the King of the Jews.
No Jew would ever have expected a crucified Messiah. And that is the greatest irony of all. The righteous one, the blessed one, the chosen one of God is also the one who died a cursed death. The Jews believed that death by crucifixion was not only horribly painful, but also shameful, a humiliation, a curse by God. Though we began by reading Luke’s account of Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem, we will end with the reading of Jesus death from Mark’s gospel. Mark is stark. There are no words of forgiveness, no offering of his spirit to God. Jesus died with a loud cry, following a question, which is also an accusation: “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
And after all this---after the pain, the humiliation, the question, and the accusation, the temple curtain is torn from top to bottom, and ironically what has been hidden is revealed. The Temple curtain separated the inner sanctuary, where God was