August 7, 2024 Dear Friends, I don’t know if any of you watched the opening ceremony of the Summer Olympics in Paris. I did not, but I did read about the controversy concerning a large table with a woman, wearing a silver crown, flanked by dancing drag queens, interrupted by a scantily clad blue man, emerging from a dinner plate surrounded by fruit. Many people saw this representation as reminiscent of Leonardo de Vinci’s Last Supper, and so great offense was taken. Was the Lord’s Supper being mocked? Many Christians thought so. When I looked at the scene, I did not even think of The Last Supper, so I failed to see what all the fuss was about. But I did ask one of my friends, who is a clergywoman, and she admitted that it did remind her of Da Vinci’s painting, but she did not take offense. To her it was simply artistic license. Many people took the side of the creators, who denied there was any intention to mock or insult. It was supposed to be, according to the creators of the event, a representation of the Greek God Dionysius, god of wine and revelry. (Bacchus was the name of the Roman god for the same.) The bacchanal was indeed a feast, essentially a celebration of hedonism. In France there is a connection to Dionysius because he is the father of Sequana, the goddess of the River Seine upon which the city of Paris sits. Someone else pointed out that Christians were way too quick to take offense. There is a famous painting from the 17th century by the Dutch artist, Jan van Bijlert, showing the Greek gods of Olympus gathered around a long table while in the center is the sun god, Apollo, with his signature halo of light around his head. In other words, Christians, it is not all about you! Indeed, it is not! My own feelings about the matter are that people take offense way too quickly, and we all would do well to take it down a notch or two. An apology, by the way, was delivered, insisting that no offense was intended and expressing regret for any hurt feelings. The Last Supper, the apology said, was not on our minds when we created the scene. In fact, the encouragement of tolerance was the idea. “Yeah, right,” came the response. It was simply not believed that creative and intelligent people would not have raised the specter of Da Vinci’s Last Supper. Didn’t it occur to anyone that some Christians might take offense? Of course, they knew it was offensive, the Christians argued. The offense was their point. And then the Christians went on the attack. Pointing out that the Eucharist is the exact opposite of a bacchanalian feast, they said that while the Eucharist is about self-sacrifice, the bacchanal concerns self indulgence. And we live in a culture where the latter is celebrated, and the former is mocked. The bacchanal, someone wrote, is “an adventure in lust and gluttony,” while the eucharist is about self giving love. And then the complaint laid bare the simple truth that contempt for Christianity is hardly new. Early Christians were accused of atheism, because they denied the polytheism of ancient Rome. And in the third century in Rome there was a snide rebuke of Christians made in plaster showing Christians worshipping a crucified figure with the head of an ass. There is no denying that we live in a post-Christian culture, where the French say drag queens are “au courant.” Apparently, some Christians, at least, do not approve of drag queens. Yet how does their Christian offense strengthen the case for Christianity? Yes, the communion table is about self-sacrifice and the bacchanal is about self-indulgence, but what is gained by insisting that the creators of the scene intended to mock and insult Christianity, when they deny such an intention? Since intentions are notoriously difficult to prove, why enter into the argument? What does it achieve? I fear those who complained ended up looking too self satisfied in their offense, the opposite of what the eucharist communicates. Someone pointed out that the bacchanal is about fun, and fun is simply a part of life. Remember, Jesus was accused of being a drunkard who liked a good party way too much. Fun is not the whole of life, and if fun becomes the final goal, one is left with a diminished human existence. We can see the results all around us. Wealth and power are also pursued and consumed as if such things provide the deepest meaning of life. And again, that leads to a life of diminishment. What Christianity offers is full and abundant life. But we can know and celebrate that truth without taking offense at the Paris Olympics’ opening ceremony, and then appearing too self-righteous in the defense of the faith. Yours in Christ, Sandra The Broken Human Condition
Preached by Sandra Olsen The First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT July 28, 2024 Ephesians 3: 14-21 2 Samuel 11: 1-15 I have a good friend, Seth, who is a rabbi. We first became acquainted when he was the rabbi in the Middletown synagogue, but he moved on, and we have maintained the relationship, which has grown into a substantial friendship. We discuss all kinds of issues, sometimes very difficult ones, most recently the war in Gaza and Israel, and we don’t not always like what the other has to say. But, as he said to me just a few weeks ago, he likes the fact that he can say sometimes very harsh things, but I don’t become angry and take it personally. For example, he told me that the problem with Christianity is that its story is predicated on the murder of a Jew, and the world, including Christians, seem to like dead Jews. A few months ago, we had a discussion about Martin Luther, and he asked me how it was that Christians continue to admire someone, so clearly anti-Jewish. Seth is right about Luther’s anti-Semitism. While in his early career, Luther said positive things about the Jews, because he believed they would convert to Christianity, when it was clear this was not going to happen, he spewed some of the most hateful anti-Jewish filth you can imagine. Much of what he wrote and said is hardly fit to print. He should be expunged as a Christian leader and thinker, Seth insisted, because he is so morally corrupt. What he said is terrible, I agreed, and that is readily acknowledged in Christian circles, but that does not undo his very real achievements. Character is rarely consistent, I argued, and the human condition is one of brokenness. We are sinners, and Protestants, at least the Reformed side of the tradition, defend the doctrine of total depravity, which means that every area of our lives is infected with sin. This does not mean human beings are incapable of good deeds; it simply means that no one can claim goodness except God. Jesus acknowledged that when he asked someone who addressed him as, “Good Teacher,” “Why do you call me good. Only God is good,” he insisted. Seth thinks the doctrine of human depravity lets people off the hook far too easily, as if they cannot help their brokenness. Luther’s anti-Jewishness, by the way, was not his sole big sin. He was responsible for the death of thousands of peasants, when he said they deserved death for their uprising. So, how much sin is too much before a leader is deposed? Well, that is a question that applies to King David. David, the youngest and the smallest of Jesse’s eight sons, was the one chosen by God to be king. And David hardly had an easy time. Initially, he had to deal with the wrath of King Saul, who set out of kill him out of jealousy. Suddenly, God rejected Saul, and not for the best reasons, one of them being that Saul did not kill all the occupants of a conquered city, including women and children. According to the story, God commanded that all should be murdered, and no objects of worth were to be taken. But Saul did not obey that command, and David eventually become king. He was a very successful warrior, expanding the land grab of the Jews. He ruled over a United Kingdom and its land area would never be greater. But now the years have passed, and in our story for today, David is most likely solidly middle aged. His soldiers have gone out to fight, but he remains at home. Perhaps he has seen enough battles; there is no longer the lust for conquest and the blood lust has disappeared. And so, there he is, on his balcony, when he spies the beautiful Bathsheba bathing, and he decides he wants her, and because he is king, he can have what he wants. The text tells us that he sent messengers to get her, a polite way of saying she was abducted. And then raped, because how could she possibly give meaningful consent. The brilliant Dutch painter, Rembrandt, imagines the scene in a different way. I remember the first time I saw the painting in a book. I was completely blown away by the psychological depth of the image. There sits Bathsheba reading a letter, commanding her to come to the king. She is all but naked and she wears this sad, pensive look on her face. What recourse does she have? She must go. If she had refused, what would have happened? Would David have accepted her refusal? We don’t know, but we suspect that kingly power does not approve of rejection. The Hebrew text says, “David took her,” but most English translations are a bit more gentle, “He lay with her.” She becomes pregnant and David connives to have her husband, Uriah, return to his home to sleep with his wife, but as a warrior of great honor and dignity, he will not dessert his men and do something he considers to be shameful while his men face danger. And so, David conspires to have Uriah killed in battle. It is a terrible deed, and David is surely guilty of a great sin. Perhaps none of us here is at all surprised, because we are all past the first blush of youth and are hardly naïve about the human condition and what powerful people are capable of. I remember, however, when I was 19, and there was this graduate student in political science whose parents were powerful in the PA Democratic Party. They had known President Kennedy and his family, and he told me that President Kennedy had been a terrible womanizer. I simply did not believe it; I could not believe it, and when his parents arrived for a visit once and we all had dinner together, his parents confirmed the story. I was heartbroken. At 19, in a world quite different from ours today, I was simply too young and naïve to understand that our heroes are also broken human beings. My father, who worked in the Headquarters of the First Army during the Second World War used to see the generals come in for meetings and there was General Eisenhower with his female driver, Kay. An affair was definitely in the works, and when it became known that he wanted to divorce Mamie and marry Kay, Eisenhower was told by General Marshall that his career would be finished. And so instead, Eisenhower finished the affair. My father told my mother the story, but she never would believe it, until decades later, when the truth emerged after Eisenhower was dead, but not before Mamie was. My mother was outraged that the Press could not wait until after she died. Such is the lust for smut. We want people, especially our heroes, to be morally consistent, but they rarely are. People are weak and strong in different areas of their lives. They can be deceitful in one area yet be upright in other areas. Obviously, if there are too many areas that are infected with self interest and sin, then the character structure all but collapses, and we are left with sociopathic behavior, someone incapable of feeling the sting of conscience. But that is not David, whom we will later see be confronted by the prophet Nathan. David’s story began when he was a shepherd, playing his lyre and composing songs. But then he killed with a slingshot and a stone the philistine Goliath and led an army against Israel’s enemies. “Saul has killed thousands, but David has killed ten thousand”, the crowd sang. And David became powerful and with power comes temptation---the oldest story in the world. Remember the mythic story of the fall, when Eve and Adam had the power to decide if they would eat the fruit they had been commanded not to eat. Temptation came and they ate, and the story continues from there. July 29, 2024
Dear Friends, I had the most wonderful surprise in church on Sunday, which has left me smiling for days. As church was beginning, Tim came up to me and said, “You are going to have a big surprise; look to your left in the back of the church, someone from your past is there.” I told him I do not normally bring my distance glasses into the church, just my reading ones, so I cannot tell who is there. At the end of the service, I walked to the back of the church and saw two people, a man and a woman. The woman hugged me and said, “Sandra, what a joy to see you after all these years. And I loved your sermon.” I scanned the face, unsure who it was, yet asked, “So, where are you living now?” As soon as she said, “Phoenix,” I knew immediately this was Gay Patterson, one of my two best friends from high school, someone I have not seen since 1968, though 6 years ago I found her on a high school website and one of my sons found her number, so I called. She was shocked to hear from me, since 1968 was the last time we had any contact. Gay, Bernadette and I were steadfast friends, very serious conversation partners. We talked all the time about big issues like truth and beauty. We discussed poetry and novels and plays. I went to Frontier Central High School in Hamburg, New York for only my junior and senior years, but almost immediately in the fall of my junior year, the three of us found each other and bonded. (Bernadette, by the way, died of cancer in her mid 30’s.). Gay remarked that no one understood why the three of us hung out together. Bernadette and Gay were really “different,” on the edge, very creative and artsy, and they were mocked, because they did not fit in. I did not fit in either, but as Gay said, “You were respected as the academic star and besides, you wore really nice clothes.” In the late 60’s, that was enough to get one some respect. Most people, I think, thought we were a bit weird, because we just were not interested in a lot of things high school kids pay mind to. We had no interest in school sports, and one time at a pep rally, which I hated, I was reprimanded for reading a book rather than yelling out those silly cheers. “This is a school, is it not?” I asked. “And don’t schools encourage reading? So, why are you reprimanding me, when I am doing what schools are supposed to encourage?” The teacher just shook her head and left me alone. Though Gay and I have had very little contact over the past year--- a few emails now and then--- we both acknowledged the profound influence the friendship among the three of us had. There are years in our growing that leave permanent marks on us, and for me, my last two years of high school and then four years of college at the University of Chicago marked me forever. Because Gay and Bernadette were so different, standing out in ways that could not be so easily ignored, which was why they were often mocked, I found myself drawn to them. They were unlike any friends I had ever had, and I greatly admired their passionate creativity, which mattered to them more than grades or college admissions. Bernadette had a gorgeous voice, and Gay was a poet, who not only wrote poetry, but read it and would bring to us these poems, which she insisted we discuss. I recall her bringing Emily Dickinson’s poem, “Because I Could Not Stop for Death.” What 17 year old wants to discuss death and immortality, but that is what we did. And in our honor’s senior English class, when we discussed Emily Dickinson, the three of us already had much to say. The teacher admitted he would not have chosen that poem for us, but since we brought it up, we would discuss it. Later, he asked us why we had not chosen, Hope Is a Thing With Feathers. Is that not more fitting for 17 year olds, he asked? You decide. Here are the two poems. Because I could not stop for Death-- He kindly stopped for me-- The Carriage held but just Ourselves— And Immortality. We slowly drove—He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility-- We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess—in the Ring-- We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain-- We passed the Setting Sun-- Or rather—He passed us-- The Dews drew quivering and chill-- For only Gossamer, my Gown-- My Tippet—only Tulle-- We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground-- The Roof was scarcely visible-- The Cornice—in the Ground-- Since then—’tis Centuries—and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses’ Heads Were toward Eternity-- "Hope" is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the Gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. Gay, her husband Bill, and I all had lunch together at George’s, and it was absolutely a grace filled time. There were so many memories that came crashing over us, and we laughed and cried. These experiences belong to us as human beings, and one hardly needs to be religious to have them. But when you look through the lens of faith, life does take on a different hue when gratitude intrudes. I find myself immensely grateful for friendships that leave their marks long after the experiences have passed. Because, in a sense, impactful experiences are not over. They keep meeting us again and again as we try to make sense of the marks they have left on our lives. And faith, hope and love do the same thing. They meet us again and again, and we are always being changed by the encounter. Yours in Christ, Sandra JUST ORDINARY PEOPLE
Preached by Sandra Olsen at First Church of Christ in Unionville July 21. 2024 Mark 6: 30-44 I don’t know how many of you recall the 1980 movie, Ordinary People, staring Donald Sutherland and Mary Tyler Moore as parents of two teenage boys, who stay out too long in their boat as a storm threatens, and when the boat is capsized and the two boys are hanging on to the boat and each other for dear life, one boy loses his grip and drowns. And the aftermath of that death--- the guilt, the accusations, the anger are what the film is all about. It is powerfully acted, and its beginning has a narrator say, “In this typical town in a comfortable home, three ordinary people are about to live an extraordinary story.” And that is how life often is---ordinary people living extraordinary stories. A few weeks ago, I had lunch with someone, and we were rehashing some of the extraordinary stories she had lived. And I told her,” You should write a book.” “No one would believe it,” was her response.” But again, that is life: ordinary people living extraordinary stories. And this is exactly what we have in today’s gospel. A few weeks ago, we saw Jesus return home and say extraordinary things, which unnerved the townspeople. To them, he was the kid next door, an ordinary person, so they were angry and resentful that he dared to do and say the things he did. Who did he think he was, anyway? Jesus then sent his disciples out into the world to do the work of healing and teaching. And believe me, there was nothing at all extraordinary about these men. They had nothing special that made them stand out, just ordinary workers, salt of the earth types, fishermen and a tax collector. As far as we know, they were not well educated, and they were not particularly knowledgeable about Jewish law, but to Jesus none of that was important. He sent them out into the world to do his work, and it appears that he had every confidence they could do it. Today’s lesson begins with their return, when they told Jesus all they had managed to do. And, of course, they were tired, and so Jesus told them to rest. But word had spread about Jesus and his disciples, and so they could not find the rest they needed. Jesus, as the good shepherd, saw the need all around him and responded to the crowd by teaching, as the text says, “many things.” Now the text tells us that Jesus and his disciples were far away from population centers, where food could be purchased. And so, the disciples suggested to Jesus that he send the crowd to the nearby towns to buy food. But what does Jesus say in response: “You give them something to eat.” They must have thought he was nuts. After all, they could not possibly afford to buy food to feed a large crowd. But Jesus was not nuts. He was expecting them to do something---not pass it off on someone else, which is what we often do or say, when someone asks us to do something really hard, beyond what we think our capacity is. “Why, I cannot possibly do that,” we protest. But Jesus was not nuts, and he was not kidding. Yet he did not leave them completely on their own. He showed them what was possible with five loaves of bread and two fish. Now I suppose one possible interpretation of the story is that it is highly symbolic, with the loaves and fish symbolizing the spiritual food with which Jesus fed the crowd. But the problem with that interpretation is that it places the emphasis on what Jesus did, but I think the story wants to emphasize what the disciples did or were called to do: “You give them something to eat,” is what Jesus said. And it is the disciples who pass out the food to the crowd. The gospel stories are not only about Jesus; they are also about his followers and others who happen to show up--- ordinary people, sometimes doing quite extraordinary things in the ordinary run of their lives. Some years ago, when I had a youth group at my church in Middletown, one of my 7th graders said she thought the miracle was that people took out the food they had and shared it with those who had nothing. “That is the power of Jesus,” she insisted. “He helped people want to be good.” And I liked her interpretation, because notice what she did---she placed the emphasis on the activity of the crowd. They shared what food they had. In other words, it is not just about what Jesus can do; it is about what others can also do in the activity of their normal, ordinary lives. You have heard me say many times that the gospel is a lens we put on to look at life, normal activities, like eating and feeding, or just doing the job we have to do, whether as a teacher, a nurse, a firefighter, a parent, a doctor, a home health aide, or a lawyer---just doing the ordinary stuff of your life and your job. And grace can infuse all those ordinary activities. A couple of weeks ago, I read this article in the Washington Post about the Oakland County, Michigan prosecutor, Karen McDonald, who got convictions against the parents of Ethan Crumbley, who killed four students in Oxford High School. Ethan had written in his journal that his parents had refused to help him, saying he was so distraught he thought he would shoot up his school. Teachers saw all kinds of worrying signs and were convinced he had a gun in his backpack, and so the parents were called in and Ethan was called down to the office. The school wanted the parents to take him home, but they refused, and they also refused to search his backpack in front of school officials, who legally could not search it, though they were fearful of what they would find inside. No one had ever gone after the parents of a school shooter before, and I am not making a judgment on whether or not that is good law. I certainly do not think a 15 year old boy should have been charged as an adult. Karen McDonald, the prosecutor, grew up in a small town of 4000 people in central Michigan. She seemed like a pretty ordinary person. She was not a good student; she was never known as the smart one. She did not attend a fancy, big name college or ivy league university. Her high school performance was so unimpressive that her parents made her sign a contract, saying she would repay them for college, if she did not do well. She graduated from Wayne State Law School in Michigan, not a big name law school. In so many ways she looked like an ordinary lawyer, but she became an extraordinary prosecutor, and she did something no one thought she could do---win convictions against Ethan’s parents. Other prosecutors told her not to try, and even her own team was unconvinced this would work. But she had this passion for justice and a deep feeling for the parents, whose children had died or were wounded in the attack. And she would not, could not, let it go. What she did was not a spiritual miracle in the sense that we normally think of spiritual. But the point of the gospel is to help us realize that the normal stuff of our lives, the daily grind of our routines and jobs are exactly the places where God meets us. They are the places of possibility, where we can change and grow. One of the assistant prosecutors in this case, who was instrumental in the prosecution of Ethan’s father, was sought after by private law firms, who offered him three and four times his state salary. But no, this was his job, and he would do it---more money be damned! There are extraordinary people, who do extraordinary things---Beethoven composing the 9th Symphony when deaf, Michealangelo painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or carving the statue of David, Einstein and the theory of relativity. But most people are not like that. They are ordinary, and yet there are circumstances that call them to do extraordinary things. Jesus’ disciples were ordinary people, doing ordinary jobs, like fishing or collecting taxes. And yet they became avenues of God’s grace. And so can we all be such avenues---ordinary people doing ordinary things that really can become quite extraordinary. July 25, 2024
Dear Friends, Individual Christians, when facing a difficult decision, sometimes ask themselves, “What would Jesus do?” I remember one of my seminary professors saying he thought the question was totally useless, since we often have no idea what Jesus would do. His world was so different from the one we inhabit. Nevertheless, people as well as churches, do ask the question, and sometimes they come up with an answer. Inglewood United Methodist Church’s answer is: House the Homeless. Like many mainline Protestant churches, Inglewood, which is part of Los Angeles, has been suffering from rapidly declining membership. Founded in 1905, it was mostly a white congregation. In the 60’s and 70’s a more diverse population began to move in with a different style of worship, and slowly over the decades, the church’s membership declined. At its peak, Inglewood’s membership boasted over 3000 people, and now it is less than 100. This all goes along with the decline of participation in organized religion. Yet that decline is not the entire story, because the church sits on an incredibly valuable piece of property---- as do many such religious organizations in urban areas. Affordable housing is a big issue all across the country, and nowhere is the situation more dire than in California. The church’s minister, the Rev. Victor Cyrus-Franklin, said the price of housing was impacting the neighborhood. “People cannot afford to live here,” he said. As he was speaking to a reporter, a man named Bill Dorsey, 78 years old, was a few yards away in a corridor that is being used by some homeless people, but also leads right into the church’s chapel. Piles of clothes, tarps, makeshift tents are scattered around, but the church tolerates it, because as someone said, “They have no place to go. Do we think we are too good to be surrounded by the homeless? Would Jesus throw them out?” Early next year the church will begin construction on 60 studio apartments that will replace three empty buildings directly behind its chapel, which until three years ago, were occupied by a school. This is not unique to Inglewood Methodist Church. IKAR, a Jewish congregation in Los Angeles is building a new synagogue, preschool and 60 affordable housing units in an area where the average cost of a home is $1.8 million. There have been zoning changes which have made such projects possible. In Whittier, CA, for example, another Methodist Church is planning on building a 98 unit apartment building. Because of zoning changes, at least 80 Christian, Jewish and Muslim congregations are planning to build affordable housing. Now this does not mean that the congregations have the money to build the apartments. Many of them are struggling to meet the most minimal of their financial obligations but because they often sit on prime real estate, they have been able to turn that advantage into a mission to help people who cannot afford housing. For years Englewood struggled to pay its bills. Most of its money came from renting to a school, which paid $20,000 per month. That money amounted to ¾ of the church’s annual budget, so when the school decided to leave, the church thought it was facing its end. But a new project emerged. The church struck a deal with a developer, BMB Company, which agreed to build and operate 60 studio apartments, which will rent well below market value. The church did not sell the land but created a lease that would operate for 65 years. In exchange the church received a lump sum of money. The minister did not say how much the church received, but people who offer a guess think in terms of millions. How many millions is, as of now, still a guarded secret. At one time the members of Inglewood were managers of stores, banks, schools. They were teachers, doctors, nurses, owners of small businesses. “Our profile has changed,” the minister pointed out, “but we can still make an important impact on our community”. Yes, things change. Life moves in a different direction. What would Jesus do? Some churches answer, “Build affordable housing.” Yours in Christ, Sandra The Temptations and Perils of Power
Preached by Sandra Olsen First Church of Christ, Congregational In Unionville, CT July 14, 2024 Amos 7: 7-15 Mark 6: 14-29 The cross casts a very long shadow, and that is part of the message in today’s reading from Mark. Jesus had sent his disciples into the world to do healing and teaching, and then John is beheaded, which is a warning and reminder that the faithful might receive harsh treatment at the hands of the powerful. We know that Jesus got into a lot of trouble, because he confronted the powerful. He told them things they did not like to hear, not so different from the prophet Amos, who told King Jeroboam and his priest, Amaziah, that God’s judgment would come down very hard on them because they failed to follow God’s law. And John also found himself in trouble because he too confronted power, telling Herod and Herodias that they had sinned in the eyes of God. Herodias had been the wife of Herod’s half brother, and according to Jewish law, (except in the case were there were no children), a man should not marry his sister in law. John did not hold back; he openly named their guilt. We might expect Herod to respond with outrage, but that is not Herod’s initial reaction. He was both “perplexed and intrigued.” He enjoyed listening to John’s words. Herodias, on the other hand, was furious, and she wanted John dead, but Herod protected John until a birthday bash in which he made a public drunken promise to his stepdaughter, Salome, that she could have anything she wanted, and her mother told her to ask for John’s head. And because the promise was publicly made, Herod felt he had no choice but to comply. And so, John the Baptist was executed. Now Herod was powerful in the sense that he could order a lot of people around; he could get people to do his bidding. But like all powerful people, he had an image to protect and that may indeed be one of the most perilous aspects of power. Image can be very fragile, and acting to protect it can lead people to do all kinds of things that are against their better judgment. Herod did not want to be known as a man who broke promises, and so although he did not want John dead, he did not think he could prevent John’s death. His power was limited by his need to protect his image. Power is indeed a peril, but it is also a temptation. Powerful people do not readily renounce their power, and when they do, it is quite an astounding act. We should remember the first President of the United States, George Washington, who could have become king after the War for Independence was won. Many were clamoring for him to do so. But he said, “I did not fight George the Third of Great Britain to become George the First of these colonies.” After the war he gave up his army commission to return to life on his beloved farm. When duty later called, he became President, but only for two terms. He could have continued, but he renounced power, and King George of England said of Washington, “If he gives up such power, he will be the greatest of men.” Consider LBJ, a very powerful President: the civil rights and voting acts, creation of Medicare and Medicaid were extraordinary accomplishments. But then there was the debacle of Viet Nam, and LBJ suffered over his decisions. When the protesters shouted, “Hey, Hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?”, he was deeply wounded. And we know that he refused to seek another term as President. After he had left office and had some time to reflect without the burden of political power, he admitted that as President he never felt he had the power to reconsider his policies in Viet Nam. And if you do not have the power to reconsider and to turn in another direction, what kind of power do you really have? You have lost one of the most essential marks of human control---the power to change one’s mind and one’s direction, which also embraces the power to admit mistakes. Most of us realize the tremendous power and burden that General Eisenhower carried in making his decisions about D-Day. The weather was not very cooperative, and yet there would be, he was told by his meteorologists, a short window of clearing on June 6, and so it was his decision alone when the Allied assault would begin. He wielded tremendous power, but he also carried tremendous anxiety, and when he stood out on the runway in the early morning hours of June 6, the men about to take off could sense his unease. And they tried to comfort him, “Don’t worry, General, we are going to take care of this for you.” Then he returned to his headquarters and wrote out two communiques: one, extolling the bravery of the people, who were moving toward victory and the other admitting it was a failure and taking full responsibility for it. He had power, and he knew at what cost it came. Jesus too had tremendous power. There is no doubt he was a man of charisma and startling spiritual strength. People did not always know what to make of him---neither his enemies nor his family. But there is an aspect of Jesus’ story that we so often ignore, that is, until Holy Week intrudes, and the whole drama plays out---the betrayal and the brutal death on the cross. As terrible and unjust as the death was, it was also necessary---but not because Jesus was the sacrificial offering that God demanded as payment for human sin. We so easily say, “Jesus died for our sins,” which to me means, he died on account of human sin. God did not require the death of Jesus in order to forgive. But human beings require the death to see what we are so often blind to---that power is both peril and temptation, and Jesus is the Christ, the anointed one of God, because he was able to fully renounce power for the sake of love. He subjected himself to the forces of evil and in that willing subjection, God acted to overcome its terrible power. Evil did not and does not speak the final word. Isn’t it ironic that as much as we are impressed by power, as much as we might ascribe the word omnipotent to God, the story of our faith revolves around a savior, who not only taught and healed, but also suffered and died a humiliating death on a cross. There is no getting around this truth. At the end of his life, hanging on a cross, Jesus did not look powerful. The story we have this morning from Mark’s Gospel is a pointer to the fate that lies around the corner. As John met an untimely end, so will Jesus. Of course, we know that the story does not end with a death. Yes, there is a resurrection, but God’s power to raise would be nothing without Jesus’ willingness to renounce power with all its many perils and temptations. July 10, 2024
Dear Friends, In December 1815, the Senate and the House of Commons of North Carolina commissioned a full bodied statue of George Washington by the Venetian sculptor Antonio Canova. It was finally completed in 1820 and installed in the North Carolina State House on December 24, 1821. Sadly, the building and the statue were destroyed by a fire on June 21, 1831. Before the decision to give the commission to Canova was finalized, there had been discussion about how Washington should be presented, and Thomas Jefferson was of the opinion that Washington should be dressed as an ancient Roman commander. “Our American boots and regimentals have a very puny effect,” he insisted. Apparently, Canova agreed, for it was his plan to show Washington seated, as many examples of ancient statuary customarily present ancient figures. A seated statue also made sense, since the ceiling of the rotunda was not high enough to accommodate a standing one. So, Washington was presented seated like the ancient hero, Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus. In his left hand he is holding a tablet, and in his right hand a quill, writing his farewell address to the nation. At his feet lie a baton and a sword. Most of us would have little or no idea who Cincinnatus was, but many of our Founding Fathers were steeped in ancient Roman history, and they knew the identity of Cincinnatus. The Founders looked to Rome as an example of a republic, evidencing republican civic virtues. Cincinnatus was a member of the patrician class, and he was known as someone who opposed the rights of the common citizens. He served as consul in 460 BC and as dictator in 458 BC and again in 439 BC, when his patrician class called on him to suppress the uprising of the plebians. So, why was Cincinnatus, clearly a member of the elite class, opposed to the rights of common citizens, so admired by our Founders? Because Cincinnatus was not in love with power, and he gave it up after his military victory, returning to his farm. This was not unlike George Washington, who after his victory in the Revolutionary War, returned to his beloved home, Mount Vernon, to take up the life of a gentleman farmer. Washington could have become a king, but as he said, “I did not fight King George the Third of England to become King George the First of the colonies.” Europeans were accustomed to kings and emperors holding onto power, and to relinquish it was almost unheard of. John Trumbull, the famous painter, wrote in 1784 about Washington’s resignation from the army, “Tis a conduct so novel, so inconceivable to People, who, far from giving up powers they possess, are willing to convulse the Empire to acquire more.” Indeed, the orderly transfer of power from one President to the next has been the hallmark of American history---until January 6, 2021. After George Washington had completed two presidential terms, the world stage waited and watched to see if he would willingly cede power to another President. The King of England is reported to have said, “If Washington gives his power up, he will be the greatest man alive.” Power can be dangerous to wield; people can so easily become enthralled by the attention and respect that is thrown their way. The President walks into a room, and people stand. His words are quoted, and his opinions sought. Power is seductive and therein lies its terrible danger. So, when someone like Cincinnatus and Washington willingly relinquished it, their stories are remembered. A deep impression is made. We would all do well at this time in our history to read or re-read Shakespeare’s great play, King Lear. Lear’s power blinded him to which of his daughters truly loved him. His youngest, Cordelia, told him she would love him as a daughter should, not more or less, while her two older sisters assured their father of their excessive love, all a lie, designed to wrestle from him power to rule the kingdom. Lear heartbreakingly rejects Cordelia, and the play reveals his blind foolishness that wreaks havoc on him and his kingdom. Cordelia ends up dead and Lear heartbroken. But he did arrive at knowledge as he realized what his blind foolishness had done. “I am a very foolish fond old man, fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; and, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.” Yes, that is one lesson of power---its distorting effect that can blind one to the truth that is plainly before one’s eyes. No wonder the German writer and poet, Goethe said, “Every old man is a King Lear.” As Christians we can take the lessons of our faith and apply it to real life, for the cross does indeed cast a long shadow on all of life--- the personal, the social and the political. We are jolted out of our slumber to remember that the one we call “The Christ,” did not cling to power, but rather renounced it. As the Apostle Paul wrote in his Letter to the Philippians, Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, thought he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. Yours in Christ Sandra Coming Home
Preached by Sandra Olsen First Church of Christ, Congregational In Unionville, CT July 7, 2024 Mark 6: 1-13 When I moved to CT from Long Island in 1991, I had recently changed my ministerial standing from the Unitarian Universalist Association to the United Church of Christ. Leaving the UUA and returning to Christian roots felt like a coming home to me---though I was not raised UCC, but Presbyterian. Each year my former Unitarian church would invite me back to preach, and I would happily go. My colleague at First Church in Middletown never really understood why I would return each year, especially since I had a great many negative feelings toward the Unitarian Universalist denomination. But still, returning to Muttontown felt like going home. Why? Because for a number of years it was my religious home, the place that actually helped me grow and change by supporting me on my journey. I did a lot of thinking and reading while I was there. I also studied at a Roman Catholic seminary, earning a Doctor of Ministry degree, and I did clinical training in chaplaincy at Central Islip Psychiatric Center and Nassau County Medical Center and later served as a chaplain at Stony Brook Hospital. Those were not easy placements for me; I saw suffering on a scale I had never before personally encountered, and my theological perspective began to change as a result. I began to see God in a different way, and Jesus as the Christ took on a deeper meaning for me, the symbol of a suffering and redemptive God. I remember very well a conversation I had with a Unitarian ministerial colleagues about hope. I was telling him about the ravaged lives at the mental hospital---people who had spent 40 or 50 years hearing voices screaming in their ears. What about them? I asked. What can we hope for them? He stood there and shook his head. No, I thought to myself. I am too much of a Christian Universalist to NOT want to hope that there is something more for them. And so, though I increasingly felt out of place in what seemed to me a very secular UUA, I never felt that way about the Muttontown congregation. I was always at home there, because it symbolized for me the very best of the Unitarian Universalist tradition---a real and honest openness to the big questions and a willingness to follow where those questions lead. So, what about this word home? Home means so many different things. To many, home brings images of safety, security and comfort, the place where, as the poet Robert Frost said, “they have to take you in.” Think of the times in your life you longed to go home. Perhaps it was the first day of school, when everything and everyone felt so new and strange, or maybe the first time you went away to overnight camp, or what about a move to a new city, far away from the place you knew and loved as home. When I worked as a chaplain, I heard so many voices, longing to go home. It didn’t seem to matter if they were just not seriously ill or not: home was the place they wanted to be. Two weeks ago, I was visiting Naoma Morgenstein in her nursing home in West Hartford. And there was a woman sitting in the hallway, repeating over and over again, “I want to go home. When are they coming to take me home?” Many years ago, maybe about 20, I was in Bar Harbor, walking along the shore, when I met this old fisherman, who was sitting on one of the benches. We struck up a conversation, and he told me how he grew up in Bar Harbor and then went off to war in World War ll—at age 17. He was in the South Pacific, and it was a horrible experience, brutal beyond imagination. He told me he lost his best friend there, and he almost died of grief. The only thing that kept me going, he told me, was my memory of home. I had these images in my mind, the swing in my backyard, hanging from this big oak tree. I pictured the green shutters on my house, and the front porch, where my buddy and I used to make plans for the long summer days. And of course, this beautiful harbor, beckoning me home. All these memories of home kept me going. I don't know how people make it in life, if they don't have a home to remember and return to.” I used to wonder the same thing when I worked at a church in New Haven, where I dealt with a lot of homeless people. I remember very well this one man named Stanley, who in the wintertime would come in to ask me for dollars so he could stay at Dunkin Donuts, which required him to buy something every two hours in order to remain there. I would give him enough money to get him through the night and sometimes, when it was very cold, even the day. He would bring me his receipts, though I told him he did not need to. No, he insisted, he wanted to be true to his word. I asked him once about home---did he have any good memories of a home from his past. He said that he lost his parents in a car crash, when he was 7 and then his aunt and uncle very reluctantly took him andhis two sisters in. But when he was 17, they told him he had to leave. I “So,” he told me, “I was kicked out of the only home I knew after my parents died. That was very, very hard. And I never felt at home anyplace after that. I never understood why they kicked me out. I didn’t cause any trouble and I was a pretty good student. They just did not want me. And so after a while I didn’t even remember that place as a home.” So, here we have a story in Mark about home. By this point in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus has been making quite a stir with his teaching and healing. In chapter two Mark reported that Jesus had gone home, where he healed a paralytic by forgiving his sins, which, of course, scandalized the priests and the scribes, for they insisted that only God could forgive sins! And then on the Sabbath he and his disciples walked through grain fields and picked grain to eat, much to the consternation of the religious leaders, because picking grain in their minds was tantamount to work, and no work was to be done on the Sabbath. He then entered the synagogue and healed a man with a withered hand. In the 5th chapter Jesus healed the Gerasene demoniac by sending the demons into a herd of swine, which then ran off the edge of a cliff and was drowned. So, Jesus was causing quite a stir. And now in chapter 6 we are told that he went home again. But did he find acceptance, comfort, safety and rest? No, because he was not the same person the townspeople remembered. He went to the synagogue and astounded people with his teaching. “Where did this man get all this,” they wanted to know? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands? Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses, and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” In other words, isn’t this the kid next door? And they took offense at him. He wasn’t the person they remembered. He wasn’t the person they expected him to be. He had grown and changed; he had a mission, and he could no longer be put into the same old familiar categories that had defined him all those years of his growing up. Thomas Wolfe wrote a famous novel: You Can't Go Home Again, whose truth points to why Jesus said, "A prophet is not without honor, except in his own country." In Nazareth, Jesus was just the boy next door, the carpenter's kid, not a prophet, certainly not the enfleshment of God's Word. No wonder he could work no miracles in his hometown. There are times in life when we do go home---back to places, where memories are stored, helping us to remember from where we came. But when we return, we are not the same as when we left, and sometimes that difference can feel like a loss. Yet home---for better or worse---is always with us. And it was for Jesus as well. July 4, 2024
Dear Friends, I know people who cannot bear to be far away from water. My sister says she must live within driving distance of the ocean. Her partner has a townhouse seven miles from Cape May, New Jersey, so that fills the bill very nicely. Every day she loves to go walking on the bay side, so she gets her water “fix.” I have another friend, who owns a home on the Cape, within walking distance of the ocean. She spends May through September there and is completely rejuvenated by the time she returns to Middletown in the fall. One of my college roommates has a summer home in Michigan on Lake Elk, and though she does not care very much for swimming, simply looking at the lake brings her deep joy and pleasure. “I cannot be depressed,” she claims, “if I simply allow myself the time to gaze at the water. It brings me calm and peace.” The marine biologist, Wallace J. Nichols, wrote a book called, Blue Mind in which he reflected on the meditative state that water inspires. In fact, research confirms that being in or near the water relieves stress and boosts creativity. The sight of water actually has an impact on the brain. Well, life on our planet began in the soupy waters of creation, and our lives began in the watery womb of our mothers’ bodies. No wonder we feel a deep kinship with water. People often love pictures and paintings of water. The Impressionist painter, Claude Monet, painted these giant canvases of water lilies, and people remark that it is the lilies in the water that give them such enjoyment and calm. Lilies by themselves would not be nearly as pleasing. And when people were asked about their “happy places,” many described a place on a lake, a pond, a river or the ocean. These were “soul soothing” places. There is scientific research that confirms the restorative power of water. Just two minutes of looking at water outdoors actually activates the parasympathetic nervous system which leads to a lowering of blood pressure and the heart rate. Someone offered the conjecture that since survival depends on water, and our ancestors had to be attuned to the presence of water, we carry that affinity deep within our DNA. Living near water improves well being. People report being less anxious and depressed, and it might be that living near blue spaces is more advantageous than living near green spaces. A study of heart patients indicated that those who were recuperating from heart surgery were helped by viewing an open water scene in a picture or a painting. They had lower anxiety levels and needed less pain mediation than those who were showed other paintings or pictures of an abstract design or blank white sheet of paper or even forest and flower scenes. And another study suggested that people who viewed an aquarium before oral surgery were more relaxed than those who had been hypnotized. Today is July 4, and many people across the landscape of our nation will be celebrating it near bodies of water. I don’t know how many people will bother to reflect on the story of our nation and its very shaky beginnings, which are, quite frankly, being shaken once more. All of us would do well to be inspired by the beauty of our landscape and its many lovely bodies of water, reminding us that just as the land and water need to be cared for and defended, so too does the democratic common good. We can take nothing for granted---land, water or democracy. Yours in Christ, Sandra THE HIGH AND THE LOWLY
Preached by: Sandra Olsen at First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT June 30, 2024 Mark 5: 21-43 A week or so ago, I read this article---I think it was in the New York Times written by a journalist, who loved to interview the high and the mighty, you know, the movers and shakers of societies: business tycoons, in charge of billions; political leaders, making decisions about war and peace; people influential in the arts and movie industry, inventers on the cusp of major breakthroughs, like Artificial Intelligence. I did not note the name of the person, writing the article, but he did say he was part of the elite---parents were well known writers and journalists and he also attended the Dalton School in New York, an elite private school attended by the very wealthy as well as poor kids, who are given full scholarships. As I was reading, I thought to myself he was way too impressed by success and power, and I wondered how it was you could trust what these high and mighty individuals say, since they all have their image to protect. If you could speak to anyone, who would that be? I considered Anthony Blinken, the Secretary of State, who has been flying all over the world, trying to keep this fire or that one from becoming a world-wide conflagration. And then there are those who are dead, like Nelson Mandela, Dorothy Day and Omar Bradley, General of the First Army during World War ll. Bradley interested me, because my father told me that on D-Day as the troops on the beach were being pummeled by machine gun fire, Bradley had a terrible time making the decision to bomb the Germans, because the Allied Troops on the beach would also be killed. His perspective would be fascinating, but then I thought: If I really want to know about D-Day, I would prefer to speak with the common soldiers on the ground, the ones who hit the beach and then fought like hell. Well, in today’s lesson from Mark we have a story about both the high and the lowly. The gospel begins with Jairus, a leader of the synagogue, who comes to Jesus and begs for his daughter to be healed. Although a powerful leader, notice that he does not presume that his high position means that Jesus must honor his request. He kneels, a sign of deep humility, not something a person of his position would normally do---especially to one, like Jesus, who is a peasant. But obviously, Jesus’ reputation as a healer precedes him. Jairus believes that Jesus can heal his sick daughter by laying his hands on her. So Jesus agrees to go to Jairus’ home. A daughter in ancient Israel had less status than a son, but in this story, status does not belong to the girl; it belongs to her father. He is the one making the request. Now there is an interruption, and this technique is unique to Mark, who sometimes begins one story and then interrupts it with another. In this case it is a woman, and unlike Jairus, she is unnamed. She is, in other words, so socially unimportant compared to Jairus that she is not even given the dignity of a name. Furthermore, she is sick; she is bleeding, and women were considered unclean while menstruating, sexually unavailable and forbidden to enter into the synagogue or temple. They were not supposed to prepare food for other people or touch other people’s food. If, like this woman, they continued to have an issue of blood, they were perpetually deemed unclean. So, she was essentially cut off from the life of the community, like a leper, a pariah, unable to partake of normal life’s activities. For 12 years she had been suffering, and she had spent all she had trying to be made well. Unlike Jairus, she did not directly approach Jesus to ask for healing. She touched his cloak with the hope and faith that touch would be enough. And the story tells us that Jesus felt the power go from him. His disciples thought he was nuts, since there were many people pushing against him. But Jesus knew what he knew, and the woman, who felt the healing in her body, trembling with fear, admitted that she touched him. She too went down on her knees before Jesus. Though grateful, she was also humble. And notice what Jesus said, “Daughter, your faith has made you well”. Though this woman remains unnamed, Jesus calls her daughter. He was not angry because she dared to touch him---something a conventional Jewish woman would never have dared to do. But she was desperate, and desperate people will sometimes act outside the boundaries of convention. Though he was on his way to a leader’s house, and so delayed, Jesus did not resent the woman for seeking and then taking what she so desperately needed. He did not condemn what some would see as her pushiness. Instead, he extolled her faith and called her daughter. And then Jesus continues to Jairus’ home, where his 12 year old daughter is believed to have already died. Notice the number 12 is applied to both situations; the woman had been bleeding for twelve years. The number 12 in ancient Israel symbolized wholeness and completion, like the 12 tribes of Israel. As they arrive near Jairus’ home, professional mourners are already crying, but Jesus tells the father, “Do not fear, but believe.” And he enters the girl’s room, takes her by the hand and tells her to rise up. And she does. Jesus orders the parents to keep the story quiet, and then he tells them to give the girl something to eat. Food---ordinary life is restored. So, we have these two stories put together, one about a man of status, who humbly asks Jesus for his daughter’s healing and another story about a low status woman, on the outside of normal life. The girl and the woman are both restored to normal life. We all understand that a good part of the horror of sickness is how it so easily and completely can destroy normal life. Sick people don’t eat normally; they are sometimes too weak to get out of bed, too tired to read and converse. To be restored to normal life is the gift, though much of the time we take our normalcy for granted, until we lose it. And in this case, both the high and the lowly want the same thing--- normal life. I remember when Jane Oliver, my husband’s sister in law was dying in a nursing home----She really wanted to die at home, but my brother in law could not manage it--- she said one day, “I just want to go home and sit next to my piano.” She was a church musician. Music had been her life, normal life. Some years ago, when I worked in a hospital, there was this gifted neurosurgeon, who was able to perform a delicate operation that was all but impossible for anyone else. It was microsurgery---that is, using a microscope on neurons, also involving in this case the optic nerve. And the quandary facing this doctor, who was beginning to suffer from palsy and soon would no longer be able to operate--- was who the last recipient of his surgical skill would be. Would he help save the sight of a ten year old boy, or that of a 55 year old scientist, whose work was groundbreaking? Now, I don’t know why someone else could not have done the surgery, if properly instructed, but the story I heard was this was the choice. And so, the case was discussed and argued about by the ethics committee in the hospital. It was the neurosurgeon’s decision; the ethics committee was only advisory. My boss, who taught ethics in the medical school and was also a Roman Catholic priest, attended the ethics meeting. And he told the chaplains that the case in the mind of many people seemed to come down to a question about who was more worthy of help: the high and mighty, the super successful scientist, or a child, whose life was more potential than accomplishment. In fact, one of the doctors on the committee, who was arguing for the scientist said to the neurosurgeon, “Well, you will feel pretty bad, if this boy turns out to be a criminal.” Someone else shot back, “He may turn out to be another Beethoven,” to which the doctor said, “You don’t need to see to compose.” Such are the arguments when elitism rears its head. Well, the neurosurgeon chose the child, the one with no status, no proven record of anything. What the child had on his side was potential, and that was enough for the doctor. In our gospel lesson Jesus did not choose between helping the high and the lowly. He helped both---though the one of low status, the nameless woman, living outside the boundaries of normal society, took bold initiative, touched the cloak and was healed. And for the boldness of her faith, she was called by Jesus, “Daughter.” June 26, 2024
Dear Friends, Most of you know that Willie Mays died last week, June 18, at age 93. There was something heroic about Willie Mays, and even I knew about him. When I was quite young and my father was a Yankee fan, I knew the names of the great ones: Mickey Mantle, Bobbie Richardson, Roger Maris and Yogi Berra. I also knew about Willie Mays. Though he played for the Giants and not the Yankees, my father greatly admired Willie Mays, especially Mays’ ability to steal bases. My father would be watching a game with Willie on a base, and then I would hear my father say, “There he goes. He is going to make it.” And Mays did. I think my father liked the idea of base stealing---doing something that required guts and judgment. So, as a kid, all I knew about Willie was that he was a base stealer. Neither did I realize Mays was probably the greatest all around baseball player in the history of the game nor did I know about the famous catch made in a World Series Game in the year 1954. Reading a description of the famous catch is awe-inspiring. Mays turned his back on the baseball and raced at top speed toward the stadium wall. Reaching out in front of his body, back still turned, running like the wind, he caught the ball. People say he had some internal and powerful instinctive inner guidance, a capacity for “optical acceleration cancellation,” meaning the ability to know exactly when a struck object will begin to decelerate. As Mays ran toward the ball, he knew what no one else did: He knew he would catch it. It was all part of his “situational intelligence”, the ability to anticipate what is going to happen when. Someone called it “a fleeing form of prophesy.” It stirs people, allowing them to be witnesses of something truly great. Most Americans who watched him play had no real appreciation for the brutal racism that made life so hard for Mays. In people’s minds it was Jackie Robinson, who paved the way for other black players, and for the record, Robinson was sometimes critical of Mays, who was fairly quiet about the racism that plagued the nation and black athletes. People liked to see the images of Mays playing stickball with kids in Harlem and elsewhere. These were comforting, homegrown images that allowed people to feel that life was normal back then without facing the hard truth that there was much that was out of whack. C. Thi Nguyen, a philosopher, wrote that the value of sports is that it reminds us that chasing the goals---whether hitting a ball or running for a touchdown, or spinning on the ice or doing a triple axle---creates new paths of agency and aspiration, and that is good for human beings. That is how we move on, how we achieve. But there is something else that we can see in those who are really at the top of their game. On the one hand, the achievement can look so simple, so calm and serene, as if failure is impossible, and yet the work to achieve it is hard driving. That double pursuit—inwardly serene and outwardly hard driving is, as someone said, “the epitome of grace in every human endeavor.” It is what makes achievement admirable and celebratory. I think it was Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor, writer, and Noble Peace Prize winner, who said, “God made human beings, because God loves a good story.” And indeed, human lives evidence a great variety of stories. There are the great ones, as evidenced in the life of Willie Mays, but there are other stories that may never be known by the wider human community, but God sees and knows them. And we can imagine that some of them make God smile and laugh while others may break the divine heart. Yours in Christ, Sandra The Storms of Life
Preached by: Sandra Olsen First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT June 23, 2024 Mark 4: 35-41 This is the time of year the National Weather Service becomes very concerned about storms---hurricanes to be precise. We are approaching the hurricane season, and since storms are increasing in their ferocity, no wonder there is concerns Remember Hurricane Harvey in 2017 that devasted the Gulf Coast, with interstates in Houston, Texas becoming raging rapids. Puerto Rico lost a great deal of its infrastructure in that storm and then Irma arrived shortly after that, first turning its fury on the Caribbean and then on Florida. Recovery and repair are ongoing and so are the fearful memories. Human beings have been naming storms for quite some time. In the 19th century, for example, storms were named after saints of the Roman Catholic Church, like Santa Ana that struck Puerto Rico in 1925. The World Meteorological Organization began officially naming Atlantic storms in 1953, first using only female names until 1979, when male names were added. Naming storms may help reduce confusion, especially if they rapidly follow one another, but there is probably a psychological reason for doing so. Naming is a way of gaining some kind of control over a force, giving us a sense of power, when truthfully our power is very limited. The word, hurricane, for example, is derived from the Spanish word huracan, which was probably inspired by the Mayan storm god by the same name. Ancient people would often give names to the mysterious forces of nature, which they could neither control nor understand. But naming them somehow offered a degree of comfort, when direct control was impossible. We don’t know if the fisherman of Galilee named the storms that could whip out of the Valley of Doves on the western shore. I have been to that part of the world, and I will tell you that the Sea of Galilee can be very rough with storms seeming to come out of nowhere, so I can well imagine the disciples’ fear as they sat in the boat with Jesus in the stern. Jesus had been teaching and healing, and suddenly when evening came, he wanted to go to the other side of the lake. Most likely he was exhausted from all the crowds, for he fell asleep in the back of the boat. And that is when the storm suddenly came up, and the terrified disciples awoke him, accusing him of not caring if they perished. And he rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace,” and everything became calm. Now the use of the word rebuke is interesting, because this is the same word Jesus used when he healed people possessed by demons. He rebuked the demons, commanding them to leave the person. And the demons obeyed, as did the wind. To the sea, he did not utter a rebuke, but he commanded “Peace! Be still! “ And calm and peace ensued. Now the Israelites were not a seafaring people, and in their scriptures the sea takes on a menacing quality, symbolizing chaos and even evil. In the creation story from Genesis, we see God creating order out of the chaos, bringing light to shatter the darkness and separating the waters from the land. This is a metaphor for God gaining control over chaos and the natural evil that can result when chaos rules----as we witness when hurricanes batter our shores and cities. Now the story that Mark tells is not simply about a storm on the Sea of Galilee. It is about the storms of life, which all human beings face. The storms differ, depending upon circumstances, including historical ones, but make no mistake---storms cannot be avoided. Mark, the oldest of the four gospels, written around the year 70, was composed at the end of the Jewish-Roman War between 66 and 70. Rome defeated the Jews, destroyed the Temple and crucified the rebels. There were crosses all along the highways in parts of Galilee. The message Rome sent was hardly subtle. But Mark has a different story to tell. Yes, there will be many storms in life, and there are many different ways to face them. Mark shows us a Jesus who who does not carry a sword or lead an army. He is not going to fight as Roman soldiers do, yet he exerts a kind of authority and power that brings peace and calm. And the disciples are startled by this outcome, and they want to know: Who is this man that even the wind and water obey him? Remember that the wind and water symbolize the chaos and the awesome power of life’s many storms that can batter and harm us. And so, is it any wonder that we are afraid---just as the disciples were afraid. After Jesus calmed the storm, he asked them, “Why are you afraid. Have you still no faith?” It was an unnecessary question, because, of course, Jesus knew why they were afraid. He surely knew that fear hovers over human beings and sometimes grabs them by the heart and soul, sending them into spasms of terror. He spent so much time telling people not to be afraid, not to be anxious precisely because that is how human beings often are---anxious and afraid. And yes, faith can help calm the fear and the anxiety, but let’s face it, there are times when the faith is there right along with all the fear. If Jesus did not know this at the beginning of his ministry, he certainly knew it by its end. Why else did he scream out from the cross, My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? But at least he addressed, “My God.” A few months ago, I went to Yale New Haven Hospital to visit someone, but when I arrived she was out of the room for tests. So, I ended up speaking to her roommate, a woman in her 70’s in the hospital for some heart concerns. She told me how she had lost a granddaughter in a car accident almost a year ago. “I always considered myself a faithful Catholic,” she said, “and I must admit that I was shocked how little my faith helped me get through it all. I remember thinking to myself how disappointing God was. But the more I pondered, the more I realized I did not know what I should expect from this God of mine. I mean I did not expect God to have magically intervened to save Sarah from the drunk driver who hit her head on. I didn’t expect God to save me from the pain of losing her. Pain is the price we pay for love. Yet still I felt disappointed in God, but even with all my disappointment, I kept slogging along; I kept going to church and I kept praying, even though I had no idea what good it was doing. And I wasn’t shy about telling God directly in my prayers, “You are such a disappointment to me. I would have expected more from you, but I don’t know what that more is or should be.” But you know something: I did get through it all---the loss of my granddaughter and my deep disappointment with God. But I learned something I did not know before. I learned that faith can take an awful lot into itself---anger, fear, doubt, disappointment. It can take it all in, because believe me, I had it all, but yet faith survived. Faith can withstand the onslaughts and so can God.” When Jesus was in the boat with his disciples, I suspect that he did not yet realize how severe the onslaughts would or could become. He seemed harsh with his disciples and their fear and what he saw as their lack of faith, but then he had not yet faced the final fear of his life---the fear of God’s abandonment. And once he faced that, he too knew that faith can survive even its worst fear. June 18, 2024
Dear Friends, I found myself very moved by the recent memorials of the Normandy Landing. I listened, rapt by many of the speeches, including that of President Biden, King Charles of Great Britain and his son, William, who read war letters from men who landed on Normandy on June 6, 1944. Princess Ann, Charles’ sister, also spoke movingly of the landing and the obligation of memory. President Macron of France paid homage to the 20,000 civilians, who died in the bombings that knocked out German fortifications. And then there was the sight of the old men, most in wheelchairs, gathering to remember the past and to pay respect and honor to comrades who never returned home. Only the most stoned hearted would not be moved. My own father landed on Utah Beach, but it was a month later in July. He wrote to my mother, telling her that the locals were in swimming. There was some evidence of the battle that took place there, but the war had moved beyond the beaches, and the fight to free Europe from the grip of Nazi power was in full force. My father was not in battle; he was in the First Army, commanded by General Omar Bradley, and my father’s job was to work on the supply line. He worked in Headquarters, so he used to see the different generals, who would come in for meetings. He liked Bradley, who was known as the soldier’s soldier, very much, and he had admiration for Eisenhower, but he could not stand General Patton, who loved war and would push people beyond their limits. Some of those men broke, never to be healed. A week after the June 6th memorials, I came across an article on page 2 in the New York Times, written by Catherine Porter, called A Veteran Who Wouldn’t Return to Normandy. She was covering France for the Times, and she began by saying how emotional she felt about all the Normandy commemorative events. She could not stop thinking about Jim Bennett, her husband’s grandfather, who landed on Juno Beach on June 6, 1944. Jim was a veteran of the Canadian artillery, in charge of 100 men, who operated tanks whose tread marks can still be seen today on the sidewalks of Courseulles-sur-Mer. From Normandy Jim went to the city of Caen and was so bogged down in the awful fighting there that he said you could actually see molten lead drip from buildings because of all the incessant bombing. Jim would never speak of the war. The one story he told was about victory in Europe day, when he took a horse from a barn and road it along the beach to remind himself that life was more than war and death. He never returned to Normandy. “My life there was sheer hell,” he said. “I have no desire to return.” But Catherine wondered if returning might have helped him. Normandy left him with deep wounds, and he just let them be. No use stirring up what could not be undone or fixed. But there was so much gratitude expressed by people who had no direct memory of the war. She came across a 47 year old teacher from a nearby primary school who had brought her class to the events. She had grown up near Juno Beach, and over the years she saw men, some very old, trying to find the exact spot where they landed so many decades before and sometimes witnessed the death of a friend. “They carry so much pain and grief,” she said. “And so, there is a duty to remember.” And then she cried. In fact, Catherine said that every French person she met on the beaches cried. Some of them remembered stories from their own families, but others cried out of sheer gratitude. What would Jim have done with all this emotion? Catherine did not know, but she recognized that Jim kept a lot locked up inside. Perhaps that was the best way he could deal with it. On June 6 Catherine went to the American Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer where 9388 soldiers lay. One veteran told her he saw his former comrades waving at him. Again, she thought of Jim and whether or not all this display would have helped him. Would it have been a balm for his hurt heart and spirit, or would it have opened old wounds? She could not answer her own question. I can understand someone like Jim, because my own father was like him. He rarely talked about the war, except to tell funny stories, and the few serious ones he told made him deeply sad and withdrawn. Like Jim, my father would never return to Europe, and he never saw combat. He never had to see the bodies strewn across the battle fields. “But, my mother told me, “your father worked in Headquarters, and all the news came across his desk. He saw the numbers of the fatalities, and he had to report them to his commanding officer. He often felt sick when he made his report.” And so, like Jim, he would never return. My mother always wanted to see London and Paris, and so after my father died, when Aaron spent his junior year abroad in London and Caitlin later in Paris, she came with my husband and me to visit them. We all went to Normandy, and my mother cried, thinking of all those who died there. She remembered a 17 year old neighbor, who insisted on joining the Army a few months before the war ended in May, 1944. He died a few days before the war’s end. He was an only child, and his death broke his parents’ hearts. “They were never the same,” my mother said. War is a terrible thing. We all know this as we see images of the devastation in Gaza and Ukraine. This is not what God intends for the people and the creation, but this is what we human beings decide to do. One of the great rabbis of the 20th century, Herman Joshua Heschel, once said, “Faith only begins when we feel sorry for God.” When we consider the ravages of war, we can imagine how God “feels,” and then we can feel sorrow for the divine, who suffers from us, with us and for us. Yours in Christ, Sandra Sprouting Seeds
Preached by Sandra Olsen First Church in Unionville, CT June 16, 2024 I Samuel 15:35-16: Mark 4:26-35 When I was in college there was this gentleman, who was the head librarian in the rare books collection. I use the word gentleman very deliberately, because he always dressed impeccably, beautifully tailored suits with a bow tie and freshly polished shoes. He was very well spoken with an aristocratic accident, and though none of the students really knew him, his presence did stand out as someone who was most likely eccentric. I worked in the library for 10 hours a week, and one day one of the head librarians shed some light on this gentleman’s history. His grandfather had been a librarian at the famous library in Louvain, Belgium, when during World War l, Germany, to the horror of other nations, attacked the library and burned it. Manuscripts, one of a kind, were irretrievably lost, and when the head of the library made the announcement, he broke down in tears and could not continue. His grandson was born in 1929, 11 years after the Great War ended, but he grew up hearing from his grandfather that the loss of books and manuscripts---the loss of knowledge---is just as devastating to the world as the loss of human life. That was a lesson his grandson never forgot. The seed was planted, and he not only earned a PhD in classics, but he also went on to work in a number of great university libraries, in rare books, protecting what he understood to be precious knowledge. His grandfather had planted a seed, and indeed, it sprouted, giving full and abundant life. Now the people of Jesus’ day were familiar with seeds. They lived in an agricultural society, where most people grew their own food. Of course, some made their living from fishing or from herding sheep and goats. Others were carpenters and bartered the work of their hands for food. But they all understood seeds and the important part farmers had to play in planting and watering and caring for the seeds. God may indeed be the one who would bring the seed to full harvest, but God does not work, unaided. Yes, the “earth produces of itself,” the text says, but we are reminded that there is a deep mystery in the ground that humans do not fully understand or control. And then the text makes an interesting turn to the mustard seed. Although the mustard seed is small, it is not the smallest of seeds. Not that this detail really matters, but what is important to understand is that the mustard shrub was often considered a nuisance, like a large weed that threatens to overtake a garden and so needs to be pulled up and disposed of. True, the mustard seeds were used medicinally, but in general the shrubs they produced were considered intruders in most gardens. But Jesus is here talking not about any garden, but about God’s kingdom and what it might look like. While the first part of the parable, reminds us that the growth of God’s kingdom is not completely under human control, with the introduction of the mustard seed, something else is suggested. Does the mustard seed symbolize the tiny developing Christian community that was growing in the midst of the Roman Empire and will one day overtake the power of Rome? Or, will it be pulled up and disposed of as Rome was accustomed to doing to those who threatened its power? Mark, the oldest of the four gospels, was written around the year 70, the same year the Romans destroyed the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. With that destruction many thought that Judaism was dead. Even many Jews thought so, and perhaps the writer of Mark’s gospel did as well, thinking that the new Christian community would replace Jewish life. But no, something new developed. While the Temple priesthood and the sacrificial system built around the Temple disappeared, it was replaced by the Pharisees, who kept Judaism alive by focusing attention on the study of Jewish scriptures and law. New seeds were planted and both Christianity and Judaism grew up alongside each other. It was not what anyone expected. But then the realm of God is wider and deeper than any of us can imagine. We don’t see as God does. And that is essentially the lesson from our story from Samuel, when the shepherd boy, David, is chosen by God to be the future king. He was not the biggest or the strongest. But then Saul had been strong and good looking, and he did not turn out so well. And so, God reminded Samuel as Samuel was considering Jesse’s sons: “Do not look on his appearance or the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” And so, Samuel went through all seven of Jesse’s sons, but still no promise of a king. We can imagine Samuel’s frustration. “Are all your sons here?” he wanted to know. And Jesse told him there was one more, the youngest, who was out in the fields, tending the sheep. Bring him in, came the command. And this was the one---the youngest, the smallest, the one who was doing the dirty, low status job of caring for the sheep---this was the one God had chosen. David would be the seed that would help Israel to blossom and grow. I began by telling you about a man, who became a librarian of rare books, because of a seed that was planted by his grandfather, who witnessed the partial destruction of one of the world’s great libraries in Louvain, Belgium. When the Germans invaded neutral Belgium in August, 1914, they would eventually attack Louvain, executing over 200 of its citizens, burning 230,000 books, 950 manuscripts and 800 rare books printed with metal type used between 1455 and 1501. Remember what his grandfather had told him: “Saving knowledge is as precious as saving a human life.” In 1986 this librarian would leave his beloved job as a rare books librarian to become a teacher in a high school on the south side of Chicago, a tough job in a tough neighborhood. “I have preserved the life of many books,” he is reported to have said. “I have preserved knowledge, a sacred duty, I believe. And now, I will try to do the same with young lives that are at risk.” No one thought he would succeed; no one thought he would stay. But he did. He came to his job as a high school teacher, decked out in his three piece suit and newly polished shoes. But he came with something else as well: the seed had been planted that saving lives, as he saved knowledge, was a sacred duty. And the students, who initially laughed at his appearance, came to feel his commitment and his care for them, and against all odds, he taught and when he finally retired, his students, both present and past, gave him a standing ovation. Now this is not God’s kingdom, but surely such work has a place in it. And so does our work, our little seeds, sprouting here and there, all to the glory of God. June 14, 2024
Dear Friends, I recently came across a very engaging article in the journal, America, which is a Jesuit publication. The Jesuits (of the Roman Catholic Church) can always be relied upon to present some serious thinking about a variety of topics and issues. The question put forth was: Do you have to believe in God to go to Church? The writer, by the way, was not a Jesuit priest, but a laywoman named Emma Camp. The author said she used to think belief in God was a necessity, but she has changed her mind. She shared a bit of her own spiritual and religious journey. Like many young people she stopped attending church by the time she was in high school. She had a rather eclectic background, from her grandparents’ Southern Baptist roots, to a progressive Protestant church her parents attended, Mass now and then with her mother, who did not quite leave behind her Roman Catholic background. Emma notes that when people stopped attending church, they also began spending more and more time alone. Losing church was not just about losing God, it was also about losing community. Emma admitted that she always appreciated the ethical teaching she received from Christianity, but she just could not buy the God thing. She wanted to believe, but she could not make herself believe that there was a God, who loved humankind and worked to save the world from the ravages of human arrogance and sin. While in college, as a English major, she found her way into some of the great writings of the Christian tradition, including St. Augustine, Thomas Aquinas and Julian of Norwich. She read and she pondered. There was a major shift in her life when she wrote what turned out to be a controversial opinion piece in the New York Times about student self-censorship in the classroom. In an instant she became a celebrity with both praise and a great deal of cruel condemnation that turned her into a self-obsessed maniac. She tried to put it all aside, but couldn’t. And then she began to pray. She asked for help because she needed it. There was no magic solution; God did not suddenly intervene, but when she graduated from college and moved to Washington, D.C., she began to attend an Anglo-Catholic parish. It wasn’t that her issues with believing in God were solved; it was simply that she did not care so much that they weren’t. What she found was real community. After the Mass she found himself talking to elderly people as well as people with toddlers---not the people he would have normally found at the local bar or the concerts she liked to attend. She wrote, “A religious community forces you to become the kind of person who shows up.” She also wrote, “For me the moral element is one of the biggest reasons I joined a church instead of a soccer club. I want to feel accountable to something other than my own conscience, and the hour and a half of weekly contemplation provided in church is difficult to replicate anywhere else.” She has been a steady church attendee for over two years now, but she readily admits that she has not developed a rock solid faith. “I only believe in God 30% of the time--- on a good day,” she admits. But she keeps coming back. And she says that as counterintuitive as it might seem, she suggests that agnostics and atheists give church a try. Even if you do not find God, she says, you just might find a community that can help you live a life beyond yourself and your own self-concerns. My own opinion is that she is on to something. I wonder how many people in the secular world might consider her advice. Yours in Christ, Sandra OUT OF HIS/YOUR MIND
Preached by Sandra Olsen First Church, Unionville, CT June 6, 2021 Mark 3: 20-35 When I was growing up, I remember my father complaining about people, whom he designated as nuts or crazy. When I was very little, 4 or 5, I figured out that these were simply people my father did not like, but as I became a bit older, I realized he also applied it to people he did like, including my mother’s family, and so I came to the realization that sometimes he called people nuts or crazy when he did not like their opinions on a variety of topics, especially their political opinions. Well, when I was about 10, my mother went to visit a relative in a state mental hospital, and when she came home, she was very upset. “Poor Matilda,” she said, “is out of her mind.” “I told you not to go,” my father said. “She’s nuts.” And then my mother, who hardly ever raised her voice, blasted my father, “Don’t you dare call her nuts. That is what you call a lot of people, but Matilda is not nuts. She is ill, out of her mind, and I will not hear you insult her by designating her as nuts!” I have never forgotten that exchange not only because of my mother’s unaccustomed expression of anger, but also it was really the first time, I had a hint of how serious mental illness is and how terrible it is when people dismiss them as nuts. Apparently, my mother had wanted my father to accompany her to Gowanda, but he refused, probably because he did not want to be around people whom he considered “nuts.” Mental illness is serious, which I personally witnessed when I worked in a state mental hospital on Long Island in the mid 1980’s. De-institutionalization of the mentally ill was in full swing by then. Many had already been released into their communities, where they were supposed to receive community support and supervision, but the funds were never made adequately available, and we are yet living with the consequences. When I worked at Central Islip it was filled with people, who could not be released, because they were simply too elderly and too institutionalized to learn how to live in the outside world. I had never seen such wrecked human lives. They lived before there was much in the way of psychotropic medication, and so their lives were filled with voices screaming in their ears until in some cases they were lobotomized, which as awful as it sounds, was a relief for them. So, all these memories race through my mind, when I read this passage from Mark. It was not only Jesus’ enemies who thought he was out of his mind, but also his family---his mother, brothers and sisters believed he was not right in his head. Neither Matthew nor Luke, who use so much of Mark’s material, include this particular example of Jesus’ family complaining about him, perhaps because such behavior doesn’t make his family look too good. Mark, on the other hand, does not hold back and is very tough on the people closest to Jesus, including his family and disciples. We are only in the third chapter of Mark and already Jesus has made enemies. Actions like healing the sick or picking grain on the Sabbath were deemed an undermining of the Law, and the Law was what gave Jewish life its form and substance. He also dared to pronounce God’s forgiveness of sins, something the scribes and priests said only God could do. As for his family, they expected him to live within certain boundaries of Jewish life. As far as we know, he was unmarried and content to stay that way---though there are people, who conjecture that at one time he was married with a family, and something unexpected and tragic must have happened, which pushed him in a radical direction. But that is speculation. We make nice about Jesus by pointing to him as a great moral leader, but the simple truth is that many of his stories are an insult to our morality. He told a story about a man, who found a treasure in a field, reburied it, and then sold everything he possessed in order to buy the field from the owner, who had no idea there was a treasure there. And what about the parable Jesus told where all the workers were paid the same amount of money---whether they worked for an hour or a whole day. These are not the rules we live by now, and they were not the rules people lived by then, which helps to explain why people said, “he is out of his mind.” If you choose to follow a radical course in life, you do run the risk of people considering you to be “out of your mind.” Many years ago, before I was in seminary, I took a class at Harvard Divinity School with the famous Harvey Cox, who told a story about some neighbors, who actually had their 23 year old son kidnapped to be de-programmed. It’s not like he was a Moonie, or anything like that. No, he was part of an Episcopal Church, and he wanted to quit medical school to become a missionary in Africa. He was released after he agreed he would not quit but would become a medical missionary. Who in this case was really out of his mind---the son or the parents? Some of you may recall a few years ago, when at Christmas time we did a pageant about Saint Francis and his making of a live creche. Francis came from great wealth, but he was in a war that left him severely traumatized and depressed. He finally emerged from his depression as a follower of Christ and spent his life begging for a living and establishing convents and monasteries. He spoke with birds and other creatures, so many people, including his wealthy family thought him out of his mind. Yet the church finally declared him a saint. And then there is one of my heroines, Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Workers Movement. She fervently believed that whatever we do to the least of these, we do to Christ. And she lived that way in a poor worker’s house in New York. If you were her daughter, it was hardly an easy life, and we can imagine the resentment. Anything nice she was given was often stolen or destroyed. Many people, including the Harvard psychiatrist, Robert Coles, thought she was a saint, but I doubt her daughter did. How would you have liked to be part of Jesus’ family? He obviously did not put his family first. In fact, he said his real family had nothing to do with bloodline. It is about doing God’s will. Such a statement would not sit well with most families. Out of his mind: that is what people said he was. He was out of his mind with a burning love for God and God’s realm of justice and mercy. Flannery O’Connor, a faithful Roman Catholic and masterful short story writer, once said: “Know the truth, and the truth shall make you odd.” Odd, and even out of your mind. June 7, 2024
Dear Friends, We have just come through the Pentecost season and in the liturgical calendar, we are now in “Ordinary Time,” which extends to the first Sunday of Advent. But before we completely put Pentecost behind us, I want to tell you about a story I recently came across about the historically significant year 1492. We learned it as the year Columbus sailed into the “New World” and the year the Jews were expelled from Spain. But it is also the year a man by the name of Antonio de Nebrija entered the court of Queen Isabella of Spain and handed her what he claimed was the key to her dreams of establishing a great Spanish Empire. “I have a weapon here,” he said, handing her a sheaf of papers, which was the first grammar book of the Spanish language. “This is stronger than guns or gunpowder.” Queen Isabella told Antonio de Nebrija, “I know the Spanish language quite well. I have no need of this book.” “But your Highness,” he replied, “language is the greatest tool of empire.” And that is essentially the story of Pentecost: the power of language, people understanding the truth being spoken in his or her own tongue. When we consider that there are now 21 Spanish speaking countries in the world today, 500 years after Queen Isabella, and then, also consider that Germany in the 30’s and 40’s had laws about language as did South Africa from the 40’s to the 90’s, not to mention laws in our own country and Canada directed against the languages of the indigenous people, we can certainly understand what Antonio de Nebrija meant. The power of language was brought home to me very recently on my trip to Ireland. I will confess my ignorance here: I had no idea that the Irish language is actually a living language. I thought it was dead and that everyone in Ireland spoke English. Well, just about everyone in Ireland does speak English, but the signs in the airport, on the road, in shops and transportation centers also post in Irish. And people do speak Irish, though admittedly until very recently it was mainly older people who did so. But now there is a resurgence of interest in Irish and there are even some schools whose instruction is in Irish, at least until high school. Why the change? It became apparent to people that the Irish language was in danger of dying out---just as many indigenous people here have been insisting on the same reality. Language exerts power, and when a dominant culture decides to impose its language on those of lesser power, the results can look like and feel like oppression. There is no denying that it is important to be able to speak the dominant language in a society, since without that ability access to the engines of cultural and economic power are compromised. But it is also important to understand that when people are denied their right to use their own language, as Jews in Germany were denied the right to speak Yiddish and the Irish were told to speak only English as were the Native Americans in our own country, the experience of that denial leaves a wound of festering resentment. The message is heard: “Your language is inferior, and you are too.” To counter this, small language centers are popping up for the purpose of teaching the Irish language. And adults, who have no intention of speaking it all the time, are yet bothering to learn it. It is a way of celebrating their identity and history. History is not always pleasant to contemplate and learn. As Americans we have our own issue with our painful past of slavery and racism. And in Ireland I heard a great deal about “The Troubles,” when Northern Ireland became a hotbed of violence as loyalists to Britain and those who wanted a free Ireland openly fought each other in the streets. And then there was Potato Famine of 1845 to 1849, when the blight on the potato harvest led to the starvation of over one million people and another million immigrated to our shores---including the ancestors of two of our recent Presidents, John F. Kennedy and Barack Obama. Why did the English government fail to send relief? Some would accuse the English of genocide. When Queen Victoria wanted to visit Ireland during the blight, her advisors told her it was not safe. “But surely,” she insisted, “seeing their Queen will uplift them in their time of woe.” No, not if you are starving. What was needed was food, not the sight of a Queen in all the finery of her royalty. But sometimes we only see and hear what we want to see and hear---then as now. Pentecost reminds us that language is power and how we remember and tell the stories are a manifestation of that power. As we leave the season of Pentecost behind and move into Ordinary Time, let us remember that the story of the gospel, which is also the story of our lives with everything included--- the ugly, the beautiful and the mundane, continues. And how we hear, remember and tell it matters; it matters profoundly. Yours in Christ, Sandra May 15, 2024
Dear Friends, This is commencement season, and many speeches will be given to graduating high school and college classes. Last year my oldest grandchild, Siena, graduated from high school, and her high school principal gave the speech about how their lives will be impacted by artificial intelligence and other technological breakthroughs that their parents (and grandparents) can barely imagine. What he said was true and worth hearing, but I did not find it inspiring. I cannot recall any of the speeches at my children’s graduations, except for Caitlin, who graduated from Wooster College in Ohio. That speech was about friendship and how deep and enduring friendships shape and change lives. It was not only worth hearing, but also uplifting and inspiring. In June The Sunday New York Times always prints snippets from college and university speeches, and I look forward to reading them. Most of them are very good, and they display a whole range of emotions and subjects. Though many speeches display humor, there is usually a deep seriousness to them that sometimes says things that are not so easy to hear. Graduates are told that yes, life is full of possibilities as an unknown future beckons, but so too does life hand out disappointment, defeat and failure, and how those are faced and handled will most likely have more to say about life’s satisfaction quotient than the successes and victories that are piled up. What many speeches try to get at is the importance of character---how character grows and develops over time and what goes into making a good and strong character. All of you know who Mr. Rogers was, a Presbyterian minister, whose ministry consisted of hosting a children’s program that talked about feelings and all kinds of other subjects. Some people think he was a saint, and maybe he was, but I am no expert on sainthood. But I do believe he was a great man, a kind and compassionate man, one of deep and abiding character. In 2002, he gave the commencement address at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire from which he graduated in 1950. His speech was not only for the new graduates, but also for anyone, who was and is willing to take the time and reflect. This is the end of his speech, and it is beautiful. Mr. Rogers said: “I’m very much interested in choices, and what it is, and who it is, that enable us human beings to make the choices we make all through our lives. What choices lead to ethnic cleansing? What choices lead to healing? What choices lead to the destruction of the environment, the erosion of the Sabbath, suicide bombings, or teenagers shooting teachers. What choices encourage heroism in the midst of chaos? I have a lot of framed things in my office, which people have given to me through the years. And on my walls are Greek, and Hebrew, and Russian, and Chinese. And beside my chair, is a French sentence from Saint-Exupery’s Little Prince. It reads, “L’essential est invisible pour les yeux.” What is essential is invisible to the eye. Well, what is essential about you? And who are those who have helped you become the person you are? Anyone who has ever graduated from a college, anyone who has ever been able to sustain a good work, has had at least one person, and often many, who have believed in him or her. We just don’t get to be competent human beings without a lot of different investments from others. I’d like to give you all an invisible gift. A gift of a silent minute to think about those who have helped you become who you are today. Some of them may be here right now. Some may be far away. Some, like my astronomy professor, may even be in Heaven. But wherever they are, if they’ve loved you, and encouraged you, and wanted what was best in life for you, they’re right inside yourself. And I feel that you deserve quiet time, on this special occasion, to devote some thought to them. So, let’s just take a minute, in honor of those that have cared about us all along the way. One silent minute. Whomever you’ve been thinking about, imagine how grateful they must be, that during your silent times, you remember how important they are to you. It’s not the honors and the prizes, and the fancy outsides of life which ultimately nourish our souls. It’s the knowing that we can be trusted. That we never have to fear the truth. That the bedrock of our lives, from which we make our choices, is very good stuff.” So, I encourage you to do what Mr. Rogers had those graduates do. Think about those people who have made a difference in your life, people who have nourished your soul. And then ask yourself: What is the bedrock of my life, and how does it help me make good choices that serve life and love. Yours in Christ, Sandra On Mothers: Reflections and Letters
Preached by: Sandra Olsen First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT May 12, 2024 Mark 7: 24-30 It would be hard NOT to admire this mother in Mark’s gospel. She is all in for her afflicted daughter, who probably suffered from something like epilepsy or schizophrenia. We can well imagine that this mother suffered ridicule or even cruelty from people, who interpreted demon possession as a curse from God, visited upon people, who were deemed guilty of some religious or moral infraction. But this mother did not care about any of that. She was totally focused on her daughter, and she did things that were completely beyond the conventions of her day. First of all, she was a gentile, living in the region of Tyre, northwest of Galilee, a region despised by the Jews. Now why Jesus would go there is a mystery, but since the text tells us he wanted to escape notice, perhaps he thought that in gentile territory, he would be ignored. But not so; this gentile mother intrudes into the house. She was not invited but enters on her own, which would have been considered more than rudeness. It was a complete breakdown of the normal rules of social interaction. But then notice what she did: Not thinking of herself as someone among the high and the mighty, she knelt down, a profound act of humility, and begged Jesus to heal her daughter. What follows is shocking, because we see Jesus behave as most first century Jews would have behaved. He told her his ministry is not for people like her, but only for the people of Israel and that throwing food to the dogs is not what he should do. Yes, he called her a dog, a common term Jews used when referring to gentiles, that is, people who were not Jewish. But she cared nothing about the insult, and simply turned it around, telling Jesus that even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the children’s plate. And notice what Jesus said: for saying this, the demon has left your child. Her cleverness and persistence were rewarded, and we can wonder what would have happened to the child of a mother, who was far less assertive and persistent. There is no other example in the New Testament, where someone is shown outmaneuvering and outsmarting Jesus. He changed his mind because of something this woman did and said. And we can admire her for that. We have no other information about her mothering skills, so we cannot claim her to be a perfect mother. And isn’t this how mothering is? Who really believes there are perfect mothers, but we should know that even imperfect ones do make an impact. A few years ago, one of my colleagues lost her mother, unexpectedly, and she found herself shocked by how grief stricken she was. Her mother was 86 and the daughter was 63, so she wondered why she was not better prepared for her loss. She attended this grief group for people, who had lost their mothers, and though it was open to both men and women, the group was made up of only women. The age range was wide from the 20’s until the latter 70’s. One of the activities these women did was read a book of letters written by well known writers to their mothers. And then, because so much regret had been expressed by many of the women, so much that had been left unsaid, they were challenged to write their own letters to their deceased mothers. So, I am going to read a mixture of letters, some from the book, including letters from sons and others from the daughters, who gathered to grieve. The first letter is written by Wilfred Owen, one of the English poets of the First World War. He only wrote five poems in his young lifetime, but that was enough to make his name immortal among the poets. Dec. 31, 1917 Wilfred Owen: My own dear Mother, I am thinking about you as I write this, for you are the one who can truly hear my words. I thought about last year, when I was lying awake in a windy tent in the middle of an awful encampment, I thought of the very strange look on all faces in that camp, an incomprehensible look I had never seen before. It was not despair or terror, for it was a blindfold look and without expression, like a dead rabbit’s. It will never be painted, and no actor will ever seize it. And to describe it, I think I must go back and be with them. I have not told you what I am thinking tonight, but I know, you know, as only my mother can. Your Wilfred Edna St. Vincent Millay, a poet, who graduated from Vassar College and then shortly afterwards in January, 1921, sailed for Paris. This letter was written on June 15, 1921 Dearly Beloved, It is nearly six months, since I saw you, a long time. Mother, do you know, almost all people love their mothers, but I have never met anybody in my life, I think, who loved her mother as much as I love you. I don’t believe there ever was anybody who did, quite so much, and quite in so many wonderful ways. I was telling somebody yesterday that the reason I am a poet is entirely because you wanted me to be and intended I should be, even from the very first. You brought me up in the tradition of poetry, and everything I did you encouraged. I cannot remember once in my life when you were not interested in what I was working on, or even suggested I should put it aside for something else. Some parents of children that are different have so much to reproach themselves with. But not you, Great Spirit. If I didn’t keep calling you mother in this letter, people reading it would think I was writing to my sweetheart. And they would be right. Your most obedient humble servant and devoted daughter, Vincent Ernest Hemingway, whom many consider one of the greatest American writers, awarded the Noble Prize for Literature in 1954, had a very difficult relationship with his mother, who was an artist, a painter. She disapproved of his first novel, The Sun Also Rises, calling its success a dreadful honor and one of the filthiest of the year. Dear Mother, I did not answer you when you wrote about The Sun as I could not help being angry and it is very foolish to write angry letters, and more than foolish to do so to one’s mother. It is quite natural for you not to like the book, and I regret your reading any book that causes you pain or disgust. On the other hand, I am in no way ashamed of the book, except in as I may have failed in accurately portraying the people I wrote of. I am sure the book is unpleasant. But it is not all unpleasant and I am sure is no more unpleasant than the real inner lives of some of our best Oak Park families. You must remember that in such a book all the worst of the people’s lives is displayed while at home in Oak Park the loveliness is on display while the ugliness is hidden behind closed doors. Besides, Mother, you as an artist, know that a writer should not be forced to defend his choice of a subject but should be criticized on how he has treated his subject. The people I wrote of were entirely burned out, hollow and smashed, and that is the way I have attempted to show them. You may never like anything I write, and then suddenly you might like something very much. But you must believe that I am sincere in what I write. Dad has been very loyal and while you, Mother, have not been loyal at all, I absolutely understand that it is because you believed you owed it to yourself to correct me in a path which seemed to you disastrous. I am sure that in the course of my life, you will find much cause to feel that I have disgraced you, if you believe everything you hear. On the other hand, with a little shot of loyalty as anesthetic, you may be able to get through all the disreputability and find in the end I have not disgraced you at all. Anyhow, best love to you both. Ernie. From a 25 year old woman, whose mother was suddenly killed in a car crash: Dear Mother, Overwhelming anger is what I now feel, but not at you, though I suspect you think I only had anger for you. But that is so untrue. You were always so hard on me, always picking on me, and yes, that did make me angry, though even as a child, I did understand you wanted me to be the best I could be. But you did not know how to say that or show that except through your overbearing criticism. But really, that is not why I am angry. I am angry at Fate or whatever we want to call it when bad things happen that should not. If you had left the house a few minutes later, you would not have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, when that jerk hit you head on. But what makes me really angry is that fate has grabbed our future, stolen it from me and you. There will be no mother daughter relationship now. We will have no chance to remake or redo anything. We will have no chance to grow and change in our understanding of each other. No chance to grow wise. I will always be your angry 25 year old daughter. But that is not how I will remain. And you will never know that, my dear mother. Never, ever. In Love, Renee. From a 63 year old woman, whose 86 year old mother suddenly died of a stroke: Dear Mother, I am too old to be this stupid, too old to be this wacked out. I try to imagine what you would say to me now. You would not approve, I am sure. You always held up strength and you despised stupidity above all. And you called emotions that were too raw, stupid. You always distrusted emotions that were too raw. Stop wallowing in them, you would command. And until I was a teenager, I thought I had to obey your commands. And now, Mother, at age 63, I am trying to hear your words to me. And that is what is stupid. I am too old for such nonsense, but really, Mother, it does not feel like nonsense to me. Your daughter So, what is the connection between these letters and the story in Mark’s gospel? They all are the stuff of life, the guts of life and that is how and where Jesus met people, and that is how and where Jesus meets us---in the pulse of life. May 8, 2024
Dear Friends, Tuesday, May 7th was the 200 year anniversary of the first performance of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, performed in Vienna on May 7, 1824. Beethoven had been deaf for a number of years, but he insisted on sitting on the stage to assist with the conducting of the music. At the Symphony’s end, he did not realize the music had ended, and so he continued to beat the music’s time. Someone gently went up to him and turned him around, so he could see the standing ovation he was receiving. The crowd was overwhelmed with emotion as they realized the man who had composed this marvelous piece of music was deaf! Some consider the 9th Symphony to be the greatest symphony ever written. It was the first time a symphony used a chorus, which sang Schiller’s Ode to Joy, written in the summer of 1785 by Friedrich Schiller. Symphony Hall, channel 78 on Sirius XM, a classical music station, is what I listen to in the car, and it often asks its listeners to vote on their favorite music---sometimes concertos or symphonies, or solo piano pieces. And when the vote is for symphonies, Beethoven’s 9th comes up Number 1---time and time again. A few years ago, Beethoven and Mozart were removed as the choices since these composers always dominate the top 78 list. This year the contest is on once again with symphonies, and the winners will be played over Memorial Day week-end. I am betting on another win for Beethoven’s 9th. The 9th evolved over a period of 30 years. When Beethoven was 22, he had planned to compose music for Schiller’s Ode to Joy, because he was so moved by the power of the poem’s vision of a united humanity. But he did not do anything with the idea, though he wrote about his desire in his notebooks. Then in 1817 the London Philharmonic commissioned him to write two symphonies with the intent that he would come to London to conduct them. But he never made it to London. Still the 9th was completed in 1823, and it expresses a profound belief in the universal brotherhood/sisterhood of humanity. Though Beethoven was no political activist, he cared deeply about the principles of freedom and human rights. There is a line in the chorus that sings, “All men become brothers.” (Excuse the sexism.) It is a stirring call for freedom and dignity, though we are painfully reminded how many people, including Jews, persons of color, women and many other minorities have been denied basic human rights. The chorus in the 9th states a hope, not yet a reality. The irony should not be lost on us that at the Berlin Olympics of 1936 Beethoven’s 9th was played as the Nazi’s were engineering their plan for domination that would result in the slaughter of 6 million Jews and the death of 75 million people world wide, 40 million of them civilians. In 1989 once again in Berlin after the Berlin Wall came down, the 9th was played, conducted by Leonard Bernstein, who changed The Ode to Joy to the Ode to Freedom. There are many anniversaries this week celebrating this great piece of music, and as the world agonizes over what is happening in Ukraine, Israel, Gaza and elsewhere, we all can be inspired by the genius of Beethoven, who suffered deafness and yet composed one of the greatest works of music the world has ever heard. I once heard a musician say, “If there is anything better than beautiful music, God has kept it for Godself.” Yours in Christ, Sandra Friedrich Schiller’s Ode to Joy Joy! A spark of fire from heaven, Daughter from Elysium, Drunk with fire we dare to enter, Holy One, inside your shrine. Your magic power binds together, What we by custom wrench apart, All men will emerge as brothers, Where you rest your gentle wings. If you've mastered that great challenge: Giving friendship to a friend, If you've earned a steadfast woman, Celebrate your joy with us! Join if in the whole wide world there's Just one soul to call your own! He who's failed must steal away, shedding tears as he departs. All creation drinks with pleasure, Drinks at Mother Nature's breast; All the just, and all the evil, Follow down her rosy path. Kisses she bestowed, and grape wine, Friendship true, proved e'en in death; Every worm knows nature's pleasure, Every cherub meets his God. Gladly, like the planets flying True to heaven's mighty plan, Brothers, run your course now, Happy as a knight in victory. Be embracéd, all you millions, Share this kiss with all the world! Way above the stars, brothers, There must live a loving father. Do you kneel down low, you millions? Do you see your maker, world? Search for Him above the stars, Above the stars he must be living. The Gift of Friendship: I Have Called You Friends
Preached by: Sandra Olsen The First Church of Christ, Unionville, CT May 5, 2024 John 15: 9-17 Though I have not done any weddings since I arrived here in July, 2017, I used to do about 4 a year, especially when I was working at First Church in New Haven, which boasts one of the most beautiful churches in CT as well as the hand built Fisk organ, whose sounds are beyond beautiful. When I would speak to couples about their impending marriage, I would always ask them questions about their relationship---where they met, what drew them to each other and what they found to be particularly noteworthy about their relationship. And many, if not most couples, would comment that they were friends. I remember this one couple, young, around 27 or 28, and the woman said, she expected her husband to be her best friend, which meant unflinching loyalty, “even when I am wrong”, she said. Now her last comment really struck me hard because the history of the idea of friendship, especially as understood in the Greek world, would exclude that last point. Being a good friend does suggest support and empathy, but when your friend is wrong---or at least, when you believe he or she is wrong, what is your obligation then? Christianity says very little about friendship. In the Jewish scriptures we have a portrayal of a deep and abiding friendship between David, who will become king and King Saul’s son, Jonathan, but in the New Testament very few words are uttered about friendship, an exception being the words that Jesus uses when speaking to his disciples. He no longer calls them servants, but now he calls them friends, because he claims that he has shared with them everything God has told him. They are his friends not because he likes them or enjoys their company, but because they share with him a passion for God and God’s kingdom. They are co-creators with Jesus, making God’s truth and love known in a world desperately in need of good news. Their shared vision and mutual love of God are what makes them friends. Greek thinkers were far more systematic than Jesus, and the philosopher, Aristotle, who lived 350 years before Jesus, pondered the meaning of friendship. And our understanding of friendship owes much to his insights. He said there are different kinds of friendship: a friendship of utility, when people become friends, because they are mutually helpful and beneficial, like a support group, when people come together for a particular shared purpose, like grief or giving up smoking or alcohol. And then there is the friendship of enjoyment, when people become friends, because of a mutual interest in tennis or hiking or poetry. The highest form of friendship, Aristotle claimed, is the friendship based on character, when people are drawn to each other because there is a mutual love of the good, and they understand that this mutual love of the good can and will help them grow into better human beings. This is not so unlike what we see in John’s gospel, when Jesus calls his disciples his friends, because they are engaged in a mutual enterprise of kingdom building---that is, making known and apparent the love and mercy of God. Aristotle did not believe that persons of unequal ability or status could truly be friends in this latter sense. Character friendship, he believed, was between equals, so, living in the sexist world he did, he discounted character friendships between men and women as well as between people of vastly different educational and cultural experiences. He would not have imagined that people coming from two very different worlds would be able to forge a friendship based on the mutual love of the good. If they do not understand the good in the same way, how can they truly love and serve it? If people lack a common understanding of certain words and experiences, how can they forge a path ahead? Character friendships are in the business of growing character---that is, traits that are mutually recognized and celebrated as good. Agreement is assumed. One of my sons, Aaron, did a PhD in infectious disease at Albert Einstein School of Medicine in New York, where there were a number of Jewish persons, including orthodox Jews. He knew of an orthodox woman, Susanna, who was in the medical school, studying to become a doctor. She initially refused to examine male bodies, since once she was licensed as a physician, she told her professors, she would only be doctoring females. That is what orthodox doctors do, she insisted. Men treat men and women treat women. What you do after graduation, they told her, is your business, but you will not receive a medical degree from this institution unless you work on both males and females. She was furious, but she could do nothing except conform. She expected, however, that her best friend, also orthodox and a student in the PhD program with my son, would give her the sympathy she thought she so rightly deserved. But that is not what she received. “Grow up,” her friend told Susanna. “This is the real world, and to become a doctor means that your knowledge and experience rest on certain standards, and what you think in this case, no matter how painful to you, is irrelevant. It was the end of their friendship, my son told me, a friendship that had been forged since they were 7 years old. Sarah, who worked in Aaron’s lab, was heart sick. She could not believe she was rejected for speaking what she understood to be the truth. She believed she was being and doing what a true friend should be and do--- speaking not what her friend wanted to hear, but what she needed to hear. On the day of the medical school graduation, which was held at Lincoln Center, Sarah was there, and when Susanna saw her, she wanted to know WHY. Why she was there and why she had said what she did. Because I am your friend, Sarah said, and I have been your friend for a long time, and I don’t throw friendships away. It was the beginning of a reconciliation. Jesus surely spoke tough words to those who gathered to hear him teach. He told people they were to love their enemies and forgive as many times as one is wronged. He also told them cleanliness is not about what goes into the mouth but rather what comes out of the mouth. He told people that to be a good neighbor is to be like the Samaritan, when the Jews and the Samaritans thought of themselves as enemies. Surely there were people in the crowd who took offense at what he said. But the hardest truth to speak was not to the anonymous crowds, but the words he said to his disciples, because, as we all know, intimacy does not like discomfort and challenge. And yet that is when friendship is truly tested---that is when we learn now deeply abiding it really is--when you can have the courage to speak to your friend not what she wants to hear, but what she needs to hear, and when your friend has the courage to hear and ponder the uncomfortable truth you are speaking. April 23, 2024
Dear Friends, Do you remember those long, lazy days of summer, when you were a youngster, sometimes complaining to your mother, “There’s nothing to do?” My mother’s response to our boredom was, “Only boring people are bored.” Most of the time we could find something to do, but there were boring days. Very recently I came across something both amusing and interesting. According to a computer program named True Knowledge, which contains over 300 million facts, the most boring day in the 20th century was April 11, 1954. Nothing of great consequence apparently happened---at least according to True Knowledge. There were some sports events and Belgium held an election and apparently some people in India planned a coup that day, but it did not take place until 2 days later. And no one famous was born or died that day! When April 11 was listed as a boring day, some scientists pointed out that there have been a great many boring days, scientifically speaking. The years from 1.8 billion to 800 million years ago are known as “The Boring Billion,” since nothing much happened on earth. Evolution, atmospheric chemistry and geologic formation did not achieve much during this time. Someone noted it was as if the button PAUSE were pushed for a billion years. But then around 530 million years ago, things really began to pick up. Most of the major animal groups began to appear and earth went through something called the Cambrian Explosion. In the fossil record we see mineralized skeletal remains, something completely unknown before this time. Scientists, who study evolution, find this Cambrian Explosion challenging to explain. Evolution is usually a long and slow process with change coming at a very slow pace. One explanation is the appearance of oxygen, which allows for more complex creatures. But why did oxygen appear when it did? Could it be explained by the diminishing of glaciers, which suffered major melting about 600 years before the Cambrian Explosion. With less glaciation, the sun could penetrate the earth and perhaps this led to the appearance of oxygen, which in turn allowed more complex animals, some of them predators. And once you have predators, you will have animals evolving to outsmart the predators. And so, the story goes. We wonder what God was doing during “The Boring Billion.” Maybe the divine mind was thinking and imagining a future far more complex and varied than the one that looks so to us boring. Maybe even God was bored and decided that action was needed! Who knows? Of course, it is dangerous and even silly to imagine God in human terms, but this is what we do, since getting out of our human perspective is almost impossible. At any rate, something pretty amazing happened, and the creation changed in a very big way, eventually issuing in human beings. Ellie Wiesel, the Jewish writer and survivor of the Holocaust, once said, “God made human beings, because God loves a good story.” Looing at our world, we can wonder if God has received more stories (both good and bad) than God has bargained for! Yours in Christ, Sandra LOVE ONE ANOTHER, BECAUSE LOVE IS OF GOD
Preached by: Sandra Olsen First Church of Christ, Congregational, Unionville, CT April 28, 2024 1 John 4: 7-21 Acts 8: 26-40 The lesson proclaimed from the First Letter of John is pretty clear. God is love, and we, made in the image and likeness of God, are called to love God as well as others. And if we fail to do that, we do not really love God. As you heard in the introduction, this was Letter was written in the midst of great dissension in the Johannine community, because people were fighting over the identity of Jesus Christ. Some thought he was a spirit and not fully human, while others could embrace his humanity, but had no idea about the divinity. And still others argued that his death had no redemptive value at all. And so, they argued and fought, and some left and formed another church community. Of course, we might point out that it is easier to love God at a distance than those who live among us and do all kinds of things that anger and trouble us. Dostoevsky, the great Russian author of Crime and Punishment and the Brothers Karamazov once said: “The more I love humanity in general the less I love man in particular. In my dreams, I often make plans for the service of humanity . . .yet I am incapable of living in the same room with anyone for two days. . . . I become hostile to people the moment they come close to me. But it has always happened that the more I hate men individually the more I love humanity.” I suspect most of us can understand fully what Dostoevsky means. Most of us can come up with a list of people we find annoying and even contemptible. We know we are called to love them and pray for them, our personal and our political enemies. But how many of us here would have been comfortable praying for Hitler or Saddam Hussein, or a more current example, Putin? And what about people who do despicable things, like Susan Smith, who in 1994 put her two young boys, age 3 and 14 months, in a car and rolled it into the water, where they drowned. She was divorced and complained that men did not want to date her because they had no interest in taking children on. When I prayed for her in church one Sunday, I got a strong backlash from some mothers, who could not understand how I could pray for such a vile woman. But isn’t this what God would have us do, I asked? My question wasn’t answered. One woman said in anger, “You can pray for her on your own, but to ask the church to do so, is beyond what you should expect from us. But isn’t the essential question, what does God expect from us? Let’s be honest: we are not comfortable praying for vile people. And comfort is the operative word. We want our religion to be comfortable; we want it to make us feel good, but the truth is that religion and faith are not always designed to give us comfort. Sometimes we are called to consider, do, and say things that are way beyond our comfort zones. And this concerns more than our prayers. It also concerns other topics about which there is great controversy in our society and our churches---just as there was great controversy over who Jesus truly was and is. And Jesus certainly upset people when he ignored rules of table fellowship and welcomed sinners. So, while we know, as did the Johannine community, that the ethic of love is supposed to guide us, how do we actually apply that in our lives, when we realize that it is not always clear exactly what the love ethic is calling us to do. What and how do you love the other when you find his or her position contemptible or even dangerous? I lived in Jacksonville, Florida, during some of the most harrowing days of the Civil Rights campaign, and I can tell you that there were many Christians in the Presbyterian Church we attended, who were staunchly convinced that God intended the races to be separated. No integration in schools or in public facilities. When I was in the 7th grade, my Sunday School teacher said, “The government has no right to tell us whom we must serve in our restaurants and hotels.” How did that opinion truly instantiate God’s command that we love one another? Is segregation what love looked like? To many people in that era, that is exactly how love appeared. And the same thing applies to other issues that have roiled our society as well as the church. What about capital punishment? Every mainline Protestant denomination as well as Roman Catholicism are opposed. Official statements have been made to that effect, and the ethic of love for all persons, even the deranged and cruel is promulgated as the will of God. And then there is abortion. How bitterly those lines are drawn and how strongly people of faith feel, standing on opposite sides. Both sides use the ethic of love as their defense, one claiming they are defending innocent life, the other defending the agency of women and their control over their own lives. Love, St. Augustine said, and do what you will. Do, in other words, what your will dictates in the name and spirit of love. But this ethic of love does not always give us an exact rule to follow. We are left uncomfortable, and that is how it must be. In our reading today from Acts Philip is facing a very uncomfortable situation. He had been to Jerusalem, converting some Jews to Christ, and then he went to Samaria, a place Jews usually avoided, because they considered Samaritans impure for their intermarriage with the Assyrians after the collapse of the northern kingdom to Assyria in 722 BC. The story goes that an angel told Philip to go south on the wilderness road. Now the word wilderness in the bible is a code word for threat, but it can also be a place where God does a new thing. But how can you know which it will be? You only can act, and perhaps later, you might figure it out. So, Philip went and met an Ethiopian eunuch, a non-Jew, whom he baptized. Eunuchs, by the way, in Old Testament Law, were not admitted to the religious community. They were treated very much like barren women, because sterility was understood to be a curse from God. And yet the story tells us that the Holy Spirit had ordered Philip to go over to the chariot and speak with the eunuch. So, Philip was confident that he was doing what God would have him do, although by doing so, he was rejecting some of the conventions he had learned and honored. The story is told as if there is no doubt or question in his mind about what he was doing. Some people have great confidence that they are indeed doing the will of God. But most of us do not have absolute assurance; we can only try to apply the ethic of love and hope that our actions are indeed the loving thing to do. Real life is filled with ambiguity and assurances of rightness are not easily forthcoming. We do not normally hear the unfiltered word of God, since all of us can only hear from our own perspective and experience. And yet we are reminded that there are times we are pushed beyond our usual understanding. Something new breaks in and breaks through, as it did for Philip. It is never easy to move outside our comfort zones. We prefer being comfortable. But comfort is neither the goal nor the point. God has a way of surprising us, just as we have a way of resisting God. Yet God is quite accustomed to human resistance and has a very long history of working around it. |
“The Lord is My Shepherd”
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
April 21, 2024
John 10: 11-18
Psalm 23
Some years ago, when I was working as a chaplain at University Hospital on Long Island, one of the nurses on the neurosurgery unit told me she needed to speak with me in private. “Of course, you know Dr. Davidson,” she began. “Well, he is acting strangely.” “How can you tell?” I asked. “He is always strange”. Though a brilliant neurosurgeon, he was eccentric, to say the least. Whenever he spoke to a patient about upcoming brain surgery, he could never stand to look him or her in the eye or the face, so he would turn away, which greatly unnerved his patients. I also knew his father had been a seminary professor and father and son had spent the last 25 years arguing about faith and religion. Now, the nurse told me, he insists on repeating the 23rd Psalm right before his surgeries. “I find it very, very strange,” she said, “and a bit upsetting. I don’t know what to make of it. I mean he never did this before.”
I understood why she was unnerved. Dr. Davidson was a soft core atheist, which is why he was forever arguing with his father. I couldn’t imagine why he was on this new habit of repeating the 23rd psalm before his surgeries, but I knew better than to ask him. He hated to be questioned about anything personal. Well, I don’t know what is going on, I said, but I wouldn’t say a word. And no one did---though some of his other colleagues thought it strange as well. On the other hand, the 23rd Psalm is the most familiar of all psalms, and even the biblically illiterate and the unbelievers often request it at a funeral or memorial service for parents or grandparents. And even nominal Christians are familiar with the image of Jesus as the good shepherd, who leaves the 99 to search for the one lost lamb. In today’s reading from John, Jesus calls himself the good shepherd, who lays down his life for the sheep. And he is depicted as the good shepherd in some of the earliest Christian art.
There are no known images of Jesus before the third century, most likely because of the Jewish prohibition against graven images of God. But as Christianity became dominated by gentiles, images of Jesus began to appear. At first Jesus was pictured as a beardless youth, like the Roman god Hermes with a ram or lamb around his neck. Jesus was also imaged as Orpheus, playing his lute among the wild animals, and at other times he looks like Apollo, the god of light and sun, truth and prophecy. Though we are accustomed to a bearded Jesus, no beard appeared on Jesus’ face until the early fifth century.
Jesus as the good shepherd is a very comforting image, and as western art developed, we see paintings showing him walking among the flocks, or sitting down and calmly watching his sheep, or searching for the one lost lamb, and after finding it, gently cradling the animal, or carrying it on his shoulder. What we never see in these images, however, is Jesus as he is portrayed in today’s lesson--- defending his flock from attack and laying down his life for his sheep. In Psalm 23, the line: your rod and staff comfort me is a direct reference to the fact that shepherds used these instruments to not only lead and discipline the sheep but also, if need be, defend the flock from animals, who might attack and carry them away to eat! The image is comforting because of the real danger that lurked all around. And the shepherd was the one whose job it was to protect and defend.
So, Jesus and God are both imaged as shepherds, and yet ironically, shepherds were of low status, considered unclean by Jewish rabbis. By the time the Jews were slaves in Egypt and then left under the leadership of Moses around 1290 BCE, already the Egyptians looked down on shepherds, and Jews most likely began to embrace that negative image. Of course, it took centuries for the Jews to develop their religion and their rules of ritual purity and behavior, and David, who became the mighty king, unifying the northern and southern kingdom around the year 1000 BCE, was himself a shepherd, and though he did not compose all the psalms, he did write some of them. And perhaps he wrote the 23rd psalm, where God is named as the shepherd: The Lord is my shepherd. Yet by the time Jesus lived, 1000 years after David, shepherding had become a very low calling. Oral Jewish law (which was sometimes written down) said that if a shepherd fell into a pit, it was not required to help save his life!
The rabbis said shepherds could only tend their flocks out on the rocky terrains well beyond the towns, and so their lives were hard. Dirty and unkempt and usually uneducated, they were considered unclean, and were barred from certain religious rituals unless they went through rites of purification. And yet with all this negativity surrounding the image of shepherds, God and Jesus are imaged as shepherds. It is as if lowliness and vulnerability are the way and the place that God and goodness can be known and expressed.
And this is where Dr. Davidson’s new habit of saying the 23rd Psalm comes in. He never explained it to anyone on the staff. But one of his patients, a 21 year old named Kenny, a senior at MIT, with a brain tumor that was threatening to kill him, told one of the nurses that every night he repeated the 23rd Psalm before going to sleep. You know, he said to the nurse, I know the Lord is my shepherd, but I kind of think of Dr. Davidson as my shepherd too. I hope God doesn’t mind; I hope God understands why I trust Dr. Davidson so much. At first when he spoke with me, he wouldn’t even look at me, but now, ever since I told him he was my good shepherd, he no longer turns his head away. And I am so grateful for that change. And you know what he did the other night? He repeated with me the 23rd psalm. I was shocked he knew it. But then he told me his dad is a professor of theology. I have known that psalm by heart since I was 6 years old, he said.
Dr. Davidson, Kenny asked, would you mind repeating it with me right before they put me out for my surgery? Dr. Davidson said he would, and he did, and Kenny not only survived the surgery and the tumor, but he also went on to medical school and eventually became a neurosurgeon like the doctor he so admired. Dr. Davidson apparently later told Kenny that he had spent 25 years fighting and arguing with his father. “And yet, Kenny, in the months I have known you, you got me to do something my father would never have thought possible.” “Did you tell him?” Kenny asked. “Not on your life, the doctor responded. There are some things in life that are best left unspoken. I don’t know if the Lord is really my shepherd, but I think the two of us have been like shepherds to each other. And for that we can both be grateful.
While we can easily understand how Kenny came to trust Dr. Davidson as his shepherd---after all the surgeon saved his life--- how was it that in spite of himself, in spite of all his resistance against his father and God, the doctor would be led by the vulnerability of his 21 year old patient to repeat the 23rd Psalm before his surgeries? Sometimes the big things and the big changes are beyond our explanation. And that may indeed be a blessing.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
April 21, 2024
John 10: 11-18
Psalm 23
Some years ago, when I was working as a chaplain at University Hospital on Long Island, one of the nurses on the neurosurgery unit told me she needed to speak with me in private. “Of course, you know Dr. Davidson,” she began. “Well, he is acting strangely.” “How can you tell?” I asked. “He is always strange”. Though a brilliant neurosurgeon, he was eccentric, to say the least. Whenever he spoke to a patient about upcoming brain surgery, he could never stand to look him or her in the eye or the face, so he would turn away, which greatly unnerved his patients. I also knew his father had been a seminary professor and father and son had spent the last 25 years arguing about faith and religion. Now, the nurse told me, he insists on repeating the 23rd Psalm right before his surgeries. “I find it very, very strange,” she said, “and a bit upsetting. I don’t know what to make of it. I mean he never did this before.”
I understood why she was unnerved. Dr. Davidson was a soft core atheist, which is why he was forever arguing with his father. I couldn’t imagine why he was on this new habit of repeating the 23rd psalm before his surgeries, but I knew better than to ask him. He hated to be questioned about anything personal. Well, I don’t know what is going on, I said, but I wouldn’t say a word. And no one did---though some of his other colleagues thought it strange as well. On the other hand, the 23rd Psalm is the most familiar of all psalms, and even the biblically illiterate and the unbelievers often request it at a funeral or memorial service for parents or grandparents. And even nominal Christians are familiar with the image of Jesus as the good shepherd, who leaves the 99 to search for the one lost lamb. In today’s reading from John, Jesus calls himself the good shepherd, who lays down his life for the sheep. And he is depicted as the good shepherd in some of the earliest Christian art.
There are no known images of Jesus before the third century, most likely because of the Jewish prohibition against graven images of God. But as Christianity became dominated by gentiles, images of Jesus began to appear. At first Jesus was pictured as a beardless youth, like the Roman god Hermes with a ram or lamb around his neck. Jesus was also imaged as Orpheus, playing his lute among the wild animals, and at other times he looks like Apollo, the god of light and sun, truth and prophecy. Though we are accustomed to a bearded Jesus, no beard appeared on Jesus’ face until the early fifth century.
Jesus as the good shepherd is a very comforting image, and as western art developed, we see paintings showing him walking among the flocks, or sitting down and calmly watching his sheep, or searching for the one lost lamb, and after finding it, gently cradling the animal, or carrying it on his shoulder. What we never see in these images, however, is Jesus as he is portrayed in today’s lesson--- defending his flock from attack and laying down his life for his sheep. In Psalm 23, the line: your rod and staff comfort me is a direct reference to the fact that shepherds used these instruments to not only lead and discipline the sheep but also, if need be, defend the flock from animals, who might attack and carry them away to eat! The image is comforting because of the real danger that lurked all around. And the shepherd was the one whose job it was to protect and defend.
So, Jesus and God are both imaged as shepherds, and yet ironically, shepherds were of low status, considered unclean by Jewish rabbis. By the time the Jews were slaves in Egypt and then left under the leadership of Moses around 1290 BCE, already the Egyptians looked down on shepherds, and Jews most likely began to embrace that negative image. Of course, it took centuries for the Jews to develop their religion and their rules of ritual purity and behavior, and David, who became the mighty king, unifying the northern and southern kingdom around the year 1000 BCE, was himself a shepherd, and though he did not compose all the psalms, he did write some of them. And perhaps he wrote the 23rd psalm, where God is named as the shepherd: The Lord is my shepherd. Yet by the time Jesus lived, 1000 years after David, shepherding had become a very low calling. Oral Jewish law (which was sometimes written down) said that if a shepherd fell into a pit, it was not required to help save his life!
The rabbis said shepherds could only tend their flocks out on the rocky terrains well beyond the towns, and so their lives were hard. Dirty and unkempt and usually uneducated, they were considered unclean, and were barred from certain religious rituals unless they went through rites of purification. And yet with all this negativity surrounding the image of shepherds, God and Jesus are imaged as shepherds. It is as if lowliness and vulnerability are the way and the place that God and goodness can be known and expressed.
And this is where Dr. Davidson’s new habit of saying the 23rd Psalm comes in. He never explained it to anyone on the staff. But one of his patients, a 21 year old named Kenny, a senior at MIT, with a brain tumor that was threatening to kill him, told one of the nurses that every night he repeated the 23rd Psalm before going to sleep. You know, he said to the nurse, I know the Lord is my shepherd, but I kind of think of Dr. Davidson as my shepherd too. I hope God doesn’t mind; I hope God understands why I trust Dr. Davidson so much. At first when he spoke with me, he wouldn’t even look at me, but now, ever since I told him he was my good shepherd, he no longer turns his head away. And I am so grateful for that change. And you know what he did the other night? He repeated with me the 23rd psalm. I was shocked he knew it. But then he told me his dad is a professor of theology. I have known that psalm by heart since I was 6 years old, he said.
Dr. Davidson, Kenny asked, would you mind repeating it with me right before they put me out for my surgery? Dr. Davidson said he would, and he did, and Kenny not only survived the surgery and the tumor, but he also went on to medical school and eventually became a neurosurgeon like the doctor he so admired. Dr. Davidson apparently later told Kenny that he had spent 25 years fighting and arguing with his father. “And yet, Kenny, in the months I have known you, you got me to do something my father would never have thought possible.” “Did you tell him?” Kenny asked. “Not on your life, the doctor responded. There are some things in life that are best left unspoken. I don’t know if the Lord is really my shepherd, but I think the two of us have been like shepherds to each other. And for that we can both be grateful.
While we can easily understand how Kenny came to trust Dr. Davidson as his shepherd---after all the surgeon saved his life--- how was it that in spite of himself, in spite of all his resistance against his father and God, the doctor would be led by the vulnerability of his 21 year old patient to repeat the 23rd Psalm before his surgeries? Sometimes the big things and the big changes are beyond our explanation. And that may indeed be a blessing.
April 17, 2024
Dear Friends,
Occasionally, we read something about a person leaving money, sometimes a fortune, or even a favorite object to a beloved animal. I always find such antics a bit silly, but I know how deep and abiding the love for an animal can be. But have you ever heard of someone bequeathing something to a tree? Well, this is exactly what Colonel William H. Jackson did. Jackson was a college professor, who lived in Athens, Georgia, and when he made out his will, he gave to his favorite childhood tree, a white oak, and the eight feet of land surrounding it, the land and the tree. So, the tree became the owner of itself as well as the land. This became known in the year 1890 when the local newspaper printed the Professor’s unusual bequest. (Jackson lived between 1786 and 1875.)
The city of Athens has respected Professor Jackson’s wishes, and with the help of gardening groups, both the tree and its land have been lovingly cared for. But it is not clear if the tree has any legal ground protecting it. No one in recent memory has ever seen the deed giving the tree ownership of itself. Besides, Georgia law prohibits non-humans from owning any property, but no one has ever brought to Court a lawsuit contesting the right of the tree to own itself and the land it sits on. The tree has had a beloved history in the town, and people love to tell the story of the eccentric Professor and his beloved tree. In 1942 there was a dramatic windstorm, which toppled the tree, and people insisted on collecting its acorns and then sprouting them so saplings could be replanted in the same place.
You would think that Athens, Georgia is the only place with a tree that owns itself. But no, in Alabama in a town named Eufaula with a population of 12, 600 people, another independent oak owns itself. In 1935 the local garden club voted to protect a 65 foot wide oak, called Walker Oak. It stood in the middle of the town and was a favorite spot for children to play. The mayor of the town, E.H. Graves, recorded what he called “a deed of sentiment,” stating that the tree “was a creation and a gift of God, standing in our midst--- to itself ---to have to hold itself.” The tree was protected by an iron fence around it, but in 1961 a windstorm brought the tree to the ground. Just like in Athens, Georgia, the tree was replaced with an offspring, and the task of guarding and protecting it, continues to this day.
So, what do we make of this? Why so much attention paid to a tree? Well, trees are powerful symbols of life. The Tree of Life turns up again and again in all kinds of artistic representation. Jesus, for example, was said to be crucified on the tree of life, shorn of its buds, branches and leaves. What was once the fullness of life became in the hands of cruel human beings an instrument of death and torture. Trees also provide shade and protection from the hot sun. Remember the story of Jonah, who resisted God’s call to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh? Jonah ended up sitting beneath a bush and when it shriveled because of the harsh sun, he was both angry and sad. He felt more compassion for that bush than he did for the people of Nineveh. And that how it sometimes is. People can feel love and compassion for nature, which suffers on account of human arrogance and greed, and assign to it an innocence that human beings simply do not have. Is it any wonder then that we have so many poems and paeons written to celebrate the glories of nature and the beauty of trees?
The Oak – by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Live thy Life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Living gold;
Summer-rich
Then; and then
Autumn-changed
Soberer-hued
Gold again.
All his leaves
Fall’n at length,
Look, he stands,
Trunk and bough
Naked strength.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Occasionally, we read something about a person leaving money, sometimes a fortune, or even a favorite object to a beloved animal. I always find such antics a bit silly, but I know how deep and abiding the love for an animal can be. But have you ever heard of someone bequeathing something to a tree? Well, this is exactly what Colonel William H. Jackson did. Jackson was a college professor, who lived in Athens, Georgia, and when he made out his will, he gave to his favorite childhood tree, a white oak, and the eight feet of land surrounding it, the land and the tree. So, the tree became the owner of itself as well as the land. This became known in the year 1890 when the local newspaper printed the Professor’s unusual bequest. (Jackson lived between 1786 and 1875.)
The city of Athens has respected Professor Jackson’s wishes, and with the help of gardening groups, both the tree and its land have been lovingly cared for. But it is not clear if the tree has any legal ground protecting it. No one in recent memory has ever seen the deed giving the tree ownership of itself. Besides, Georgia law prohibits non-humans from owning any property, but no one has ever brought to Court a lawsuit contesting the right of the tree to own itself and the land it sits on. The tree has had a beloved history in the town, and people love to tell the story of the eccentric Professor and his beloved tree. In 1942 there was a dramatic windstorm, which toppled the tree, and people insisted on collecting its acorns and then sprouting them so saplings could be replanted in the same place.
You would think that Athens, Georgia is the only place with a tree that owns itself. But no, in Alabama in a town named Eufaula with a population of 12, 600 people, another independent oak owns itself. In 1935 the local garden club voted to protect a 65 foot wide oak, called Walker Oak. It stood in the middle of the town and was a favorite spot for children to play. The mayor of the town, E.H. Graves, recorded what he called “a deed of sentiment,” stating that the tree “was a creation and a gift of God, standing in our midst--- to itself ---to have to hold itself.” The tree was protected by an iron fence around it, but in 1961 a windstorm brought the tree to the ground. Just like in Athens, Georgia, the tree was replaced with an offspring, and the task of guarding and protecting it, continues to this day.
So, what do we make of this? Why so much attention paid to a tree? Well, trees are powerful symbols of life. The Tree of Life turns up again and again in all kinds of artistic representation. Jesus, for example, was said to be crucified on the tree of life, shorn of its buds, branches and leaves. What was once the fullness of life became in the hands of cruel human beings an instrument of death and torture. Trees also provide shade and protection from the hot sun. Remember the story of Jonah, who resisted God’s call to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh? Jonah ended up sitting beneath a bush and when it shriveled because of the harsh sun, he was both angry and sad. He felt more compassion for that bush than he did for the people of Nineveh. And that how it sometimes is. People can feel love and compassion for nature, which suffers on account of human arrogance and greed, and assign to it an innocence that human beings simply do not have. Is it any wonder then that we have so many poems and paeons written to celebrate the glories of nature and the beauty of trees?
The Oak – by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Live thy Life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Living gold;
Summer-rich
Then; and then
Autumn-changed
Soberer-hued
Gold again.
All his leaves
Fall’n at length,
Look, he stands,
Trunk and bough
Naked strength.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Peace Be with You
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
The First Church in Unionville, CT
April 14, 2024
Luke 24: 36B-48
When the risen Christ came among his disciples, making his first full appearance among them, both John’s reading from last Sunday as well as Luke’s from today, give us the same opening words: Peace be with you. Now let’s just think about those words. They are really quite extraordinary, considering the situation the disciples were in. In both gospels they were terrified, afraid of the Jewish religious authorities as well as the Romans, and in Luke, when Jesus comes among them, they are terrified at what they think is a ghost. So, what kind of peace can they really have? Certainly not the ceasing of conflict between different groups, vying for power and dominance. The Romans were not about to lay down their swords and renounce their dominance, and the growing tension between Jews and Christians was not about to disappear. Each religious identity, Jew and Christian, was growing a new self-understanding, and although I think the Jews would have been content to live along with Christianity, I am afraid that history shows that Christianity grew virulent antisemitism. Jesus’ resurrection did not bring peace between these two groups.
Christianity speaks of the peace that passes all human understanding, the peace that only God can give, which the world can neither give nor take away. We may not be able to explain exactly what that peace is; words often fail us, but our imaginations can show us a place where we are completely calm and unafraid, when we are fully confident that we are not alone and no matter what happens in the world or happens to us, we know that all is held in God’s infinite love and care. And that is peace, the peace that Christ would give. Now this is not a feeling or an experience that occurs in the normal run of life. Maybe we have never had it. In all honesty, I don’t think I have ever felt that complete assurance of peace. But I have heard stories of other people having such experiences, and many of them are related to extreme situations, often where death is lurking or has been lurking around---as it had been for Jesus and his disciples.
A few years ago, when I was visiting someone in a nursing home, I met a World War ll veteran, who told me how it was landing on one of the Normandy beaches on June 6, 1944. “We were pinned to the ground,” he said, “with machine gun fire aimed at us from the cliffs above. We were too terrified to move, and then this young captain, yelled out, “There are only two types of men on this beach: the dead and the soon to be dead; come on men, get up and climb those cliffs. And he stood up and motioned for us to come. I had just turned 19 the day before. Maybe I was just too young and too dumb not to believe his words, and so I got up and began to move. And the strange thing was that as I moved toward those cliffs, all fear left me. I felt this calm, a peace, I would call it, and I knew that even if I should die right then and there, it would be all right. To this day I cannot remember how the ropes and makeshift ladders were hung on those cliffs, but we climbed, or at least some of us did. I think there must have been some airplanes strafing the Germans and their guns, but I don’t remember that at all. I remember throwing some grenades to take them out. It all sounds so horrible when I tell it now, but at the time I was completely overwhelmed by peace. I don’t know how that could be because I figure that God could not have been too happy with all the bloodletting and murdering that was going on that day. But God did take care of me; of that I am sure, and he gave me a peace that I have never felt before or since. And maybe I don’t need to, because I remember it so well, the peace that passes all understanding.”
And then there was this woman, who told me about her abuse by an uncle, who impregnated her when she was barely 15. I didn’t tell anyone, she said, and when I became pregnant everyone, including my parents, thought I was some kind of slut. I mean this was 1960, and pregnancy out of wedlock was a big SIN. But no one asked me a lot of questions; I think they were afraid to ask. They just sent me away, and I gave the baby up. Years later, when I was 42 years old, my daughter found me, and we met, and we talked. And all the shame I bore for so many years simply rolled away. She accepted me and she said she understood why I gave her up. So, you forgive me? I asked. No, reason to forgive, she said. You don’t need to be forgiven. And when she said that, such a weight was lifted from my heart and soul. She never asked me about her father. She said she only wanted to meet her mother. Why, only me, I don’t know. I didn’t ask; maybe I didn’t want to know the reason. But that got me to thinking, and you know what I did. I went to my uncle, whose secret I always kept, and I told him, “I forgive you for all the shame I have had to bear all these years.” And then he cried, and so did I. That’s when it happened---the peace that came over me, like a great wave. It just poured over my whole being, and it just kept on pouring over me again and again and again. And that peace has never left me. I don’t mean that I always feel it, but I always remember it.
Notice that after Jesus gave his peace to the disciples and ate some fish, he told them what they must do: they must proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins in his name to all nations. So, here it is: this intimate connection between peace and forgiveness. It works between human beings, when one who has been grievously wronged offers forgiveness to another, and it is accepted as the gift it is. And that can and often does lead to a peace that passes all understanding.
I believe I told you in another sermon about a woman I met, whose daughter had been brutally murdered. The poor mother was tortured for years by the image of her daughter’s brutal death, , and it was only when she went to the prison, where the murderer was, saw him face to face and forgave him that she was finally relieved of what she called “the assault against her soul.” But the story did not end there, because she had to contend with other people, even in her own family, her son, who could not forgive her for forgiving the man who murdered his sister. She told our group---we were all anti-death penalty people---that although her son’s anger was very painful, she could not regret what she had done. In fact, she believed that the forgiveness she gave was not so much her achievement as it was something that God had done in her and through her. How could I have done that on my own, she asked our group? I am no saint, and this man who had murdered my beautiful 19 year old daughter, who had her whole life ahead of her with the dream and hope of becoming a doctor dream ---how many other people had he prevented from being helped by her? For nearly 20 years I was in a state of rage and agony, and then when I forgave, it was gone and in its place was the peace that I believe only God can give.
Peace be with you. That is what Jesus came to say to his disciples. He said it in a situation which was anything but peaceful. And he continues to speak those words in our world today, where there are troubled families and troubled nations and wars that kill and maim innocent people. Peace be with you, he says, though surely he knows it is not peace we feel or experience in such situations. But he says it anyway in the hope that we will hear the words anew that something might indeed take root in the depths of our being and that one day we might know the peace that God in Jesus Christ gives, the peace that passes all human understanding.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
The First Church in Unionville, CT
April 14, 2024
Luke 24: 36B-48
When the risen Christ came among his disciples, making his first full appearance among them, both John’s reading from last Sunday as well as Luke’s from today, give us the same opening words: Peace be with you. Now let’s just think about those words. They are really quite extraordinary, considering the situation the disciples were in. In both gospels they were terrified, afraid of the Jewish religious authorities as well as the Romans, and in Luke, when Jesus comes among them, they are terrified at what they think is a ghost. So, what kind of peace can they really have? Certainly not the ceasing of conflict between different groups, vying for power and dominance. The Romans were not about to lay down their swords and renounce their dominance, and the growing tension between Jews and Christians was not about to disappear. Each religious identity, Jew and Christian, was growing a new self-understanding, and although I think the Jews would have been content to live along with Christianity, I am afraid that history shows that Christianity grew virulent antisemitism. Jesus’ resurrection did not bring peace between these two groups.
Christianity speaks of the peace that passes all human understanding, the peace that only God can give, which the world can neither give nor take away. We may not be able to explain exactly what that peace is; words often fail us, but our imaginations can show us a place where we are completely calm and unafraid, when we are fully confident that we are not alone and no matter what happens in the world or happens to us, we know that all is held in God’s infinite love and care. And that is peace, the peace that Christ would give. Now this is not a feeling or an experience that occurs in the normal run of life. Maybe we have never had it. In all honesty, I don’t think I have ever felt that complete assurance of peace. But I have heard stories of other people having such experiences, and many of them are related to extreme situations, often where death is lurking or has been lurking around---as it had been for Jesus and his disciples.
A few years ago, when I was visiting someone in a nursing home, I met a World War ll veteran, who told me how it was landing on one of the Normandy beaches on June 6, 1944. “We were pinned to the ground,” he said, “with machine gun fire aimed at us from the cliffs above. We were too terrified to move, and then this young captain, yelled out, “There are only two types of men on this beach: the dead and the soon to be dead; come on men, get up and climb those cliffs. And he stood up and motioned for us to come. I had just turned 19 the day before. Maybe I was just too young and too dumb not to believe his words, and so I got up and began to move. And the strange thing was that as I moved toward those cliffs, all fear left me. I felt this calm, a peace, I would call it, and I knew that even if I should die right then and there, it would be all right. To this day I cannot remember how the ropes and makeshift ladders were hung on those cliffs, but we climbed, or at least some of us did. I think there must have been some airplanes strafing the Germans and their guns, but I don’t remember that at all. I remember throwing some grenades to take them out. It all sounds so horrible when I tell it now, but at the time I was completely overwhelmed by peace. I don’t know how that could be because I figure that God could not have been too happy with all the bloodletting and murdering that was going on that day. But God did take care of me; of that I am sure, and he gave me a peace that I have never felt before or since. And maybe I don’t need to, because I remember it so well, the peace that passes all understanding.”
And then there was this woman, who told me about her abuse by an uncle, who impregnated her when she was barely 15. I didn’t tell anyone, she said, and when I became pregnant everyone, including my parents, thought I was some kind of slut. I mean this was 1960, and pregnancy out of wedlock was a big SIN. But no one asked me a lot of questions; I think they were afraid to ask. They just sent me away, and I gave the baby up. Years later, when I was 42 years old, my daughter found me, and we met, and we talked. And all the shame I bore for so many years simply rolled away. She accepted me and she said she understood why I gave her up. So, you forgive me? I asked. No, reason to forgive, she said. You don’t need to be forgiven. And when she said that, such a weight was lifted from my heart and soul. She never asked me about her father. She said she only wanted to meet her mother. Why, only me, I don’t know. I didn’t ask; maybe I didn’t want to know the reason. But that got me to thinking, and you know what I did. I went to my uncle, whose secret I always kept, and I told him, “I forgive you for all the shame I have had to bear all these years.” And then he cried, and so did I. That’s when it happened---the peace that came over me, like a great wave. It just poured over my whole being, and it just kept on pouring over me again and again and again. And that peace has never left me. I don’t mean that I always feel it, but I always remember it.
Notice that after Jesus gave his peace to the disciples and ate some fish, he told them what they must do: they must proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins in his name to all nations. So, here it is: this intimate connection between peace and forgiveness. It works between human beings, when one who has been grievously wronged offers forgiveness to another, and it is accepted as the gift it is. And that can and often does lead to a peace that passes all understanding.
I believe I told you in another sermon about a woman I met, whose daughter had been brutally murdered. The poor mother was tortured for years by the image of her daughter’s brutal death, , and it was only when she went to the prison, where the murderer was, saw him face to face and forgave him that she was finally relieved of what she called “the assault against her soul.” But the story did not end there, because she had to contend with other people, even in her own family, her son, who could not forgive her for forgiving the man who murdered his sister. She told our group---we were all anti-death penalty people---that although her son’s anger was very painful, she could not regret what she had done. In fact, she believed that the forgiveness she gave was not so much her achievement as it was something that God had done in her and through her. How could I have done that on my own, she asked our group? I am no saint, and this man who had murdered my beautiful 19 year old daughter, who had her whole life ahead of her with the dream and hope of becoming a doctor dream ---how many other people had he prevented from being helped by her? For nearly 20 years I was in a state of rage and agony, and then when I forgave, it was gone and in its place was the peace that I believe only God can give.
Peace be with you. That is what Jesus came to say to his disciples. He said it in a situation which was anything but peaceful. And he continues to speak those words in our world today, where there are troubled families and troubled nations and wars that kill and maim innocent people. Peace be with you, he says, though surely he knows it is not peace we feel or experience in such situations. But he says it anyway in the hope that we will hear the words anew that something might indeed take root in the depths of our being and that one day we might know the peace that God in Jesus Christ gives, the peace that passes all human understanding.
When the Risen Christ Shows Up
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
April 7, 2024
John 20: 19-31
Gregory Boyle is a Jesuit priest, who for decades has worked in Los Angeles, trying to help kids stay away from both drugs and gangs. He founded an organization for that very purpose, and somehow Dr. Phil found about Father Boyle. Well, Dr. Phil, the television personality and psychologist, who tries to help people find their paths, thought it would be good to have Father Boyle on along with some boys, whose paths were anything but desirable. Father Boyle had his doubts, and when he met with Dr. Phil and his team, he thought he did a pretty good job of tamping down some of their wilder ideas. But on the day of the live show, when Father Boyle came onto the stage, he was horrified to see two large props in the middle of the set. One was a gorgeous mahogany coffin and the other an exact replica of a prison cell. The boys, flown in from different parts of the country, were brought out onto the stage, and Dr. Phil practically yelled in their faces: “Don’t you kids see and understand what your choices are leading to---death or prison.” He did this with a number of different groups of kids, until finally Father Boyle could take it no longer: “Phil”, he said. “These kids know the end results better than you or I. The truth is they don’t care. It is not information that will change them. What changes people, said Father Doyle, is experiences.
It is disheartening to face the hard truth that information or knowledge does not change most people and their behavior. And the word we should attend to is most because there are people, who do pay close attention to information and knowledge and use that to make decisions. Education is founded on this very principle, but as any teacher can tell you there are some people who are much better at using information than others. If we think back to the AIDS epidemic, which hit the gay and the IV drug users very hard, it is a fact that the gay community used the information to protect themselves extremely well, while the IV drug users did not. My husband teaches microbiology to undergraduates at Wesleyan University, and he has a whole unit on sexually transmitted disease with very explicit slides of diseased organs. Many of these kids, he tells me, look very uncomfortable during the lectures. Do you think their behavior is changed by what you teach them? I asked him. Well, he said, I will tell you what the textbook says in black and white: “Sexual desire is so powerful it is very hard to make an impact on behavior with only information.”
Now let’s consider our text this morning, which begins with the terrified disciples all huddled together in a locked room. Why are they afraid? Because their beloved leader had been cruelly tortured and murdered, and they are afraid Jesus’ enemies are about to come for them. And so, they are shivering with fear. Note well: they already have some information. Right before today’s lesson, you heard in the introduction to the reading how Jesus had appeared to Mary Magdalene, who then ran to get Peter and the beloved disciple to tell them that Jesus’ body had been taken. They two disciples ran to the tomb and saw the linen wrappings lying there. And then they went home. But Mary remained, crying at the tomb, and that is when Jesus showed up. She then went and told the disciples, “I have seen the Lord.” So, they had the information that Jesus was alive, but maybe they did not trust Mary’s words or perhaps they just did not know what to make of it. And then Jesus showed up. “Peace be with you,” he said after which he breathed on them the Holy Spirit, which in John’s gospel is the Pentecost moment.
Consider: the disciples were not looking for Jesus, though they had been told he was alive. But Jesus came to them as he had also come to Mary Magdalene. Jesus’ appearances had nothing to do with anything they were doing or trying to accomplish. It was Jesus who found them! And the same is true for Thomas. Thomas, the famous doubter, was not about to believe that Jesus was alive simply because the other disciples told him so. Sure, they gave him the information, but that was not enough. He had to see for himself, see the marks of the nails and feel the wound in the side. Remember, Jesus also had shown his disciples the nail marks and the wound in his side. His wounds, in fact, were the marks of his identity, helping his disciples to believe this is really he!
So, Jesus is the one who showed up, and his showing up is why the disciples believed. So many people today are on some kind of religious or spiritual search, and they think that if they search, they will find. I have felt in my adult life that I too have been on a search. I threw away my Christianity in my early 20’s and began to find it again while in seminary, which was also part of my search. And the intellectual foundations of the faith became extremely important to me. I wanted to understand, and I took the knowledge I learned very seriously. But still, I did not make the final leap to Christian faith until I had the experience of working in a state mental hospital, where the most dejected and rejected human beings had been living for decades. Working on locked wards with people who could barely speak because sometimes the voices they heard shouted down other peoples’ voices was in my experience sheer hell. I used to wander the halls, while repeating a line from the prophet Isaiah, O, truly you are a God who hides yourself.
One afternoon, away from the hospital wards, I had a conversation with a Unitarian Universalist colleague, who did not believe that there was a God working in history and human life. And when I described to him some of my patients, I asked him, what he hoped for them, and he simply shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps we can learn from them more about mental illness, so we can help others, but their lives are ruined, beyond repair. And you believe there is nothing more? I asked. Nothing, he said, shrugging his shoulders once again. And, the next day, when I was in the hospital, I realized that I did not believe what my colleague had said to me the previous day. I had hope that there was something MORE for these people. Jesus showed up, and the God who was always hiding on me, no longer appeared so hidden. I don’t know if I dare call it a resurrection experience, but I can attest that I saw in that hospital more wounds than I care to remember. And yet those wounds helped me to recognize Jesus Christ when he showed up, just as the disciples, including Thomas, also recognized Jesus when they saw the nail prints in his hands and felt the wound in his side.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
April 7, 2024
John 20: 19-31
Gregory Boyle is a Jesuit priest, who for decades has worked in Los Angeles, trying to help kids stay away from both drugs and gangs. He founded an organization for that very purpose, and somehow Dr. Phil found about Father Boyle. Well, Dr. Phil, the television personality and psychologist, who tries to help people find their paths, thought it would be good to have Father Boyle on along with some boys, whose paths were anything but desirable. Father Boyle had his doubts, and when he met with Dr. Phil and his team, he thought he did a pretty good job of tamping down some of their wilder ideas. But on the day of the live show, when Father Boyle came onto the stage, he was horrified to see two large props in the middle of the set. One was a gorgeous mahogany coffin and the other an exact replica of a prison cell. The boys, flown in from different parts of the country, were brought out onto the stage, and Dr. Phil practically yelled in their faces: “Don’t you kids see and understand what your choices are leading to---death or prison.” He did this with a number of different groups of kids, until finally Father Boyle could take it no longer: “Phil”, he said. “These kids know the end results better than you or I. The truth is they don’t care. It is not information that will change them. What changes people, said Father Doyle, is experiences.
It is disheartening to face the hard truth that information or knowledge does not change most people and their behavior. And the word we should attend to is most because there are people, who do pay close attention to information and knowledge and use that to make decisions. Education is founded on this very principle, but as any teacher can tell you there are some people who are much better at using information than others. If we think back to the AIDS epidemic, which hit the gay and the IV drug users very hard, it is a fact that the gay community used the information to protect themselves extremely well, while the IV drug users did not. My husband teaches microbiology to undergraduates at Wesleyan University, and he has a whole unit on sexually transmitted disease with very explicit slides of diseased organs. Many of these kids, he tells me, look very uncomfortable during the lectures. Do you think their behavior is changed by what you teach them? I asked him. Well, he said, I will tell you what the textbook says in black and white: “Sexual desire is so powerful it is very hard to make an impact on behavior with only information.”
Now let’s consider our text this morning, which begins with the terrified disciples all huddled together in a locked room. Why are they afraid? Because their beloved leader had been cruelly tortured and murdered, and they are afraid Jesus’ enemies are about to come for them. And so, they are shivering with fear. Note well: they already have some information. Right before today’s lesson, you heard in the introduction to the reading how Jesus had appeared to Mary Magdalene, who then ran to get Peter and the beloved disciple to tell them that Jesus’ body had been taken. They two disciples ran to the tomb and saw the linen wrappings lying there. And then they went home. But Mary remained, crying at the tomb, and that is when Jesus showed up. She then went and told the disciples, “I have seen the Lord.” So, they had the information that Jesus was alive, but maybe they did not trust Mary’s words or perhaps they just did not know what to make of it. And then Jesus showed up. “Peace be with you,” he said after which he breathed on them the Holy Spirit, which in John’s gospel is the Pentecost moment.
Consider: the disciples were not looking for Jesus, though they had been told he was alive. But Jesus came to them as he had also come to Mary Magdalene. Jesus’ appearances had nothing to do with anything they were doing or trying to accomplish. It was Jesus who found them! And the same is true for Thomas. Thomas, the famous doubter, was not about to believe that Jesus was alive simply because the other disciples told him so. Sure, they gave him the information, but that was not enough. He had to see for himself, see the marks of the nails and feel the wound in the side. Remember, Jesus also had shown his disciples the nail marks and the wound in his side. His wounds, in fact, were the marks of his identity, helping his disciples to believe this is really he!
So, Jesus is the one who showed up, and his showing up is why the disciples believed. So many people today are on some kind of religious or spiritual search, and they think that if they search, they will find. I have felt in my adult life that I too have been on a search. I threw away my Christianity in my early 20’s and began to find it again while in seminary, which was also part of my search. And the intellectual foundations of the faith became extremely important to me. I wanted to understand, and I took the knowledge I learned very seriously. But still, I did not make the final leap to Christian faith until I had the experience of working in a state mental hospital, where the most dejected and rejected human beings had been living for decades. Working on locked wards with people who could barely speak because sometimes the voices they heard shouted down other peoples’ voices was in my experience sheer hell. I used to wander the halls, while repeating a line from the prophet Isaiah, O, truly you are a God who hides yourself.
One afternoon, away from the hospital wards, I had a conversation with a Unitarian Universalist colleague, who did not believe that there was a God working in history and human life. And when I described to him some of my patients, I asked him, what he hoped for them, and he simply shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps we can learn from them more about mental illness, so we can help others, but their lives are ruined, beyond repair. And you believe there is nothing more? I asked. Nothing, he said, shrugging his shoulders once again. And, the next day, when I was in the hospital, I realized that I did not believe what my colleague had said to me the previous day. I had hope that there was something MORE for these people. Jesus showed up, and the God who was always hiding on me, no longer appeared so hidden. I don’t know if I dare call it a resurrection experience, but I can attest that I saw in that hospital more wounds than I care to remember. And yet those wounds helped me to recognize Jesus Christ when he showed up, just as the disciples, including Thomas, also recognized Jesus when they saw the nail prints in his hands and felt the wound in his side.
April 4, 2024
Dear Friends,
We are officially now in the season of Eastertide, which lasts until Pentecost, which this year is May 19. Eastertide concentrates on the good news of the resurrection, and in our part of the world, Eastertide comes during the spring season. The appearance of flowers and the buds beginning to form on the trees are not the same thing as resurrection, but the earth coming to life again after the cold dormancy of winter does suggest a symbolism that works for us. I suspect Easter would feel different, if its celebration occurs during the long winter months, as it does in the southern hemisphere. Since nature is God’s work, we do look for hints in the natural order which reveal to us the hand and work of God.
And so, I found myself fascinated by an essay, written in the year 1957 by the paleontologist, Loren Eisley, called “The Judgment of the Birds,” found in a posthumous collection, titled The Star Thrower. Eisley was sitting under a tree, as he rested and dozed after a trek through a woodland of pines. Suddenly, he was awakened from his slumber by the sound of birds, who were making together a plaintive sound of sorrow and protest. When he looked at a branch above him, there sat a huge raven with a squirming baby bird in his beak. Into the glade a variety of small birds had flown, all joining the tiny parents in their song of grief. Of course, no one dared to attack the raven, but they were all together in their common protest against the fate of this tiny newborn bird. Eisley wrote:
The glade filled with their soft rustling and their cries. They fluttered as though to point their wings at the murderer. There was a dim intangible ethic he had violated, that they knew. He was a bird of death. And he, the murderer, the black bird at the heart of life, sat there, glistening in the common light, formidable, unmoving, unperturbed, untouchable. The sighing died. It was then I saw the judgment. It was the judgment of life against death. I will never see it again so forcefully presented. I will never hear it again in notes so tragically prolonged. For in the midst of protest, they forgot the violence. There, in that clearing, the crystal note of a song sparrow lifted hesitantly in the bush. And finally, after painful fluttering, another took the song, and then another, the song passing from one bird to another, doubtfully at first, as though some evil thing were being slowly forgotten. Till suddenly they took heart and sang from many throats joyously together as birds are known to sing. They sang because life is sweet and sunlight beautiful. They sang under the brooding shadow of the raven. In simple truth they had forgotten the raven, for they were singers of life, and not of death.
Some people might accuse Eisley of being sentimental, of investing too much of the human story into that of the birds. But Eisley knew what he heard, and he heard a song of grieving protest turn into one of joy. And if that is not the message of Easter and this entire season, I don’ know what else is. The poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins’ opening line in one of his poems is, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” Indeed, it is, and this too is the message of the season.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
We are officially now in the season of Eastertide, which lasts until Pentecost, which this year is May 19. Eastertide concentrates on the good news of the resurrection, and in our part of the world, Eastertide comes during the spring season. The appearance of flowers and the buds beginning to form on the trees are not the same thing as resurrection, but the earth coming to life again after the cold dormancy of winter does suggest a symbolism that works for us. I suspect Easter would feel different, if its celebration occurs during the long winter months, as it does in the southern hemisphere. Since nature is God’s work, we do look for hints in the natural order which reveal to us the hand and work of God.
And so, I found myself fascinated by an essay, written in the year 1957 by the paleontologist, Loren Eisley, called “The Judgment of the Birds,” found in a posthumous collection, titled The Star Thrower. Eisley was sitting under a tree, as he rested and dozed after a trek through a woodland of pines. Suddenly, he was awakened from his slumber by the sound of birds, who were making together a plaintive sound of sorrow and protest. When he looked at a branch above him, there sat a huge raven with a squirming baby bird in his beak. Into the glade a variety of small birds had flown, all joining the tiny parents in their song of grief. Of course, no one dared to attack the raven, but they were all together in their common protest against the fate of this tiny newborn bird. Eisley wrote:
The glade filled with their soft rustling and their cries. They fluttered as though to point their wings at the murderer. There was a dim intangible ethic he had violated, that they knew. He was a bird of death. And he, the murderer, the black bird at the heart of life, sat there, glistening in the common light, formidable, unmoving, unperturbed, untouchable. The sighing died. It was then I saw the judgment. It was the judgment of life against death. I will never see it again so forcefully presented. I will never hear it again in notes so tragically prolonged. For in the midst of protest, they forgot the violence. There, in that clearing, the crystal note of a song sparrow lifted hesitantly in the bush. And finally, after painful fluttering, another took the song, and then another, the song passing from one bird to another, doubtfully at first, as though some evil thing were being slowly forgotten. Till suddenly they took heart and sang from many throats joyously together as birds are known to sing. They sang because life is sweet and sunlight beautiful. They sang under the brooding shadow of the raven. In simple truth they had forgotten the raven, for they were singers of life, and not of death.
Some people might accuse Eisley of being sentimental, of investing too much of the human story into that of the birds. But Eisley knew what he heard, and he heard a song of grieving protest turn into one of joy. And if that is not the message of Easter and this entire season, I don’ know what else is. The poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins’ opening line in one of his poems is, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” Indeed, it is, and this too is the message of the season.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Pay Attention to Beginnings and Endings
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
Easter Sunday, March 31, 2024
Mark 16: 1-8
My 11th grade English teacher was a stickler about beginnings as well as endings. She would have us carefully attend to how a novel or a short story began as well as how it ended. I remember her having us spend nearly a whole class period on the opening line of Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities: “It was the worst of times; it was the best of times.” And then there is the dramatic last line, when Sydney Carton , facing execution during the French Revolution after taking the place of the husband of the woman he loves, delivers this: “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.” Well, if my English teacher had anything to say about it, she would give a poor grade to both the beginning and ending of Mark’s gospel. Its beginning is boring. We have no birth story-----no scandalous pregnancy, no angels, no wise men, no fleeing to Egypt because Herod, is out to murder the baby. No, it simply begins with these simple words: The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. But Mark is subtle. Though he is telling us only the beginning, he is also suggesting that the story of Jesus Christ is still being written---including in our own lives today.
And then there is the ending, which many people do not like because the risen Jesus makes no appearance at all. Even many clergy don’t like to preach Mark’s ending on Easter Sunday, because it seems so incomplete, even disappointing. All we have are some words from a young man dressed in white, who tells the two Marys, who have gone to the grave with spices, that Jesus has been raised and has gone ahead of them to Galilee. They are not in the least bit happy about the news. Terror and amazement seized them, the text tells us, and “they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” And that is where Mark ended his gospel.
Well, you know how people are. If they don’t like something, they try to change it or improve it, which is exactly what happened a few centuries down the road. Suddenly, there were these new editions with a different ending tacked on. So, perhaps a monk or a scribe, frustrated with what they thought was an inadequate ending, added some scenes, where Jesus first appeared to Mary Magdalene and then to the other disciples, telling them to go out into the world to proclaim the good news. So, what we see in our bibles as verses 9 to 19 are a later edition. The reason we know this is that the older versions do not have it.
When we bother to think deeply about the original ending, we can appreciate Mark’s subtlety. First of all, there is something sadly pathetic about going to the tomb with spices to anoint the dead body. Of course, this is what women did. Anointing dead bodies was women’s work, but it was a losing battle against decay and decomposition. And yet, they did it anyway, because at least it was something they could do, and in situations where we feel powerless against forces over which we have no control, doing something feels better than doing nothing. And let’s face it, death is one of those forces that overwhelms us.
As you know, my husband’s sister in law, Jane Oliver, is dying, and we have been driving to MA on Saturdays to visit her and to give my brother in law, Kris, support. She isn’t eating and has not eaten in weeks, but here I am, insisting on bringing ice cream, because well, that is something she used to eat a month ago. So, I take the little cooler from the basement, putting the blue ice in to keep her favorite Haagen Dazs from melting, because, well, it is something I can do, although I know she will not eat it. I guess it is my equivalent of the women and their spices. It is all so futile, but on some level, it feels necessary and even important.
And then Mark shows us the women’s fear. And why wouldn’t they be afraid? Seeing a man, dressed in white, telling them something unbelievable about a dead body being alive and going ahead of them to Galilee is enough to make anyone afraid. If there is one thing they knew, it was death. Death was an intimate companion, not shoved away in some nursing home or hospital. They knew that dead was dead, especially after three days. So, who wouldn’t be unnerved, if not downright terrified, when told that the dead is alive. And who is this guy in white, anyway? Perhaps he stole the body. Why should he be believed? No wonder they were afraid. They neither knew nor understood what was really going on. And that is a situation ripe for fear.
Jesus spent so much of his ministry telling people not to be afraid or anxious. And the reason he did so is because this is exactly what we human beings are: fearful and anxious. The world can be a very scary place, and we human beings invent all kinds of schemes, including insurance, expensive home security systems, guns, and nuclear weapons to overcome or at least control our fear.
I have said before in other sermons that Mark is a master of irony, which runs throughout his gospel. It is ironic that the people who went around with Jesus and should have known who he is, are clueless. And it is doubly ironic that the ones who first recognize Jesus as the Holy One of God are the demons. “WE know who you are,” they said. “Have you come to destroy us?” And then at the end of Mark’s gospel, it is an employee of Caesar’s army, a Roman Centurion, who after watching Jesus die, says, “Truly this man was God’s son.” Why do they get it, when Jesus’ followers do not? The people who knew and loved Jesus are left clueless and afraid, and the ones who recognized him cannot really be trusted to be witnesses. So, who are the witnesses?
The clue to that question may well be in the opening words of Mark’s gospel: “This is the beginning of the good news.” But the beginning is also embraced in Mark’s ending, which includes all of us, people, who are probably more like the disciples than we care to admit. I mean much of the time we don’t get it either. When it comes to resurrection, who among us really understands? None of the gospels offer a description of the resurrection. They only show us some results: a clueless and frightened band of disciples, who could not remain awake while Jesus prayed that the cup might pass from him, and then abandoned Jesus when he was arrested, nonetheless came together along with others to declare that God had done something new in Jesus Christ. “He is risen,” they proclaimed, and the world is made new.
But for all the world’s newness, it is still not a perfect world, so perhaps we are still at the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ. God’s time is not our time. But we are part of the story; we are witnesses. We would do well to recall what the man in white said to the women, who were also witnesses. He told them to tell the disciples and Peter that Jesus was going ahead of them to Galilee. Ahead of them, and I daresay, ahead of us. Sometimes it can feel that Jesus is so far ahead of us that we cannot possibly catch up. But that may only mean that we should keep moving ahead in the hope that we are moving in the right direction. And if we have it wrong, well, we still can hope that God in Jesus Christ will show us another way. The gospel of Jesus Christ is not finished. It continues in us.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
Easter Sunday, March 31, 2024
Mark 16: 1-8
My 11th grade English teacher was a stickler about beginnings as well as endings. She would have us carefully attend to how a novel or a short story began as well as how it ended. I remember her having us spend nearly a whole class period on the opening line of Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities: “It was the worst of times; it was the best of times.” And then there is the dramatic last line, when Sydney Carton , facing execution during the French Revolution after taking the place of the husband of the woman he loves, delivers this: “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.” Well, if my English teacher had anything to say about it, she would give a poor grade to both the beginning and ending of Mark’s gospel. Its beginning is boring. We have no birth story-----no scandalous pregnancy, no angels, no wise men, no fleeing to Egypt because Herod, is out to murder the baby. No, it simply begins with these simple words: The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. But Mark is subtle. Though he is telling us only the beginning, he is also suggesting that the story of Jesus Christ is still being written---including in our own lives today.
And then there is the ending, which many people do not like because the risen Jesus makes no appearance at all. Even many clergy don’t like to preach Mark’s ending on Easter Sunday, because it seems so incomplete, even disappointing. All we have are some words from a young man dressed in white, who tells the two Marys, who have gone to the grave with spices, that Jesus has been raised and has gone ahead of them to Galilee. They are not in the least bit happy about the news. Terror and amazement seized them, the text tells us, and “they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” And that is where Mark ended his gospel.
Well, you know how people are. If they don’t like something, they try to change it or improve it, which is exactly what happened a few centuries down the road. Suddenly, there were these new editions with a different ending tacked on. So, perhaps a monk or a scribe, frustrated with what they thought was an inadequate ending, added some scenes, where Jesus first appeared to Mary Magdalene and then to the other disciples, telling them to go out into the world to proclaim the good news. So, what we see in our bibles as verses 9 to 19 are a later edition. The reason we know this is that the older versions do not have it.
When we bother to think deeply about the original ending, we can appreciate Mark’s subtlety. First of all, there is something sadly pathetic about going to the tomb with spices to anoint the dead body. Of course, this is what women did. Anointing dead bodies was women’s work, but it was a losing battle against decay and decomposition. And yet, they did it anyway, because at least it was something they could do, and in situations where we feel powerless against forces over which we have no control, doing something feels better than doing nothing. And let’s face it, death is one of those forces that overwhelms us.
As you know, my husband’s sister in law, Jane Oliver, is dying, and we have been driving to MA on Saturdays to visit her and to give my brother in law, Kris, support. She isn’t eating and has not eaten in weeks, but here I am, insisting on bringing ice cream, because well, that is something she used to eat a month ago. So, I take the little cooler from the basement, putting the blue ice in to keep her favorite Haagen Dazs from melting, because, well, it is something I can do, although I know she will not eat it. I guess it is my equivalent of the women and their spices. It is all so futile, but on some level, it feels necessary and even important.
And then Mark shows us the women’s fear. And why wouldn’t they be afraid? Seeing a man, dressed in white, telling them something unbelievable about a dead body being alive and going ahead of them to Galilee is enough to make anyone afraid. If there is one thing they knew, it was death. Death was an intimate companion, not shoved away in some nursing home or hospital. They knew that dead was dead, especially after three days. So, who wouldn’t be unnerved, if not downright terrified, when told that the dead is alive. And who is this guy in white, anyway? Perhaps he stole the body. Why should he be believed? No wonder they were afraid. They neither knew nor understood what was really going on. And that is a situation ripe for fear.
Jesus spent so much of his ministry telling people not to be afraid or anxious. And the reason he did so is because this is exactly what we human beings are: fearful and anxious. The world can be a very scary place, and we human beings invent all kinds of schemes, including insurance, expensive home security systems, guns, and nuclear weapons to overcome or at least control our fear.
I have said before in other sermons that Mark is a master of irony, which runs throughout his gospel. It is ironic that the people who went around with Jesus and should have known who he is, are clueless. And it is doubly ironic that the ones who first recognize Jesus as the Holy One of God are the demons. “WE know who you are,” they said. “Have you come to destroy us?” And then at the end of Mark’s gospel, it is an employee of Caesar’s army, a Roman Centurion, who after watching Jesus die, says, “Truly this man was God’s son.” Why do they get it, when Jesus’ followers do not? The people who knew and loved Jesus are left clueless and afraid, and the ones who recognized him cannot really be trusted to be witnesses. So, who are the witnesses?
The clue to that question may well be in the opening words of Mark’s gospel: “This is the beginning of the good news.” But the beginning is also embraced in Mark’s ending, which includes all of us, people, who are probably more like the disciples than we care to admit. I mean much of the time we don’t get it either. When it comes to resurrection, who among us really understands? None of the gospels offer a description of the resurrection. They only show us some results: a clueless and frightened band of disciples, who could not remain awake while Jesus prayed that the cup might pass from him, and then abandoned Jesus when he was arrested, nonetheless came together along with others to declare that God had done something new in Jesus Christ. “He is risen,” they proclaimed, and the world is made new.
But for all the world’s newness, it is still not a perfect world, so perhaps we are still at the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ. God’s time is not our time. But we are part of the story; we are witnesses. We would do well to recall what the man in white said to the women, who were also witnesses. He told them to tell the disciples and Peter that Jesus was going ahead of them to Galilee. Ahead of them, and I daresay, ahead of us. Sometimes it can feel that Jesus is so far ahead of us that we cannot possibly catch up. But that may only mean that we should keep moving ahead in the hope that we are moving in the right direction. And if we have it wrong, well, we still can hope that God in Jesus Christ will show us another way. The gospel of Jesus Christ is not finished. It continues in us.
Learning How to Be Afraid
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
Maundy Thursday, March 28, 2024
Luke 22: 39-46
When I was a teacher in the 70’s, there was this movement across the country which condemned the reading of fairy tales to children, because of their cruelty and violence. Consider the tale, Hansel and Gretel, whose father abandons them in a forest and then a witch tries to eat them, until clever Gretel pushes her into the oven, where she is finally cooked to death. No wonder that the psychologist, Bruno Bettleheim, wrote a book, called The Uses of Enchantment in which he claimed that fairy tales are effective because they probe the depths of the unconscious and give form and voice to struggles that human beings face. Besides, he said, in fairy tales, the good are victorious and the evil ones are punished, and for children this is a healthy outcome. The moral lines are clearly drawn between good and evil, and it is only as we mature, Bettleheim claimed, that we can learn to handle ambiguity. But first we need strong moral lessons, he said, which the fairy tales provide.
One of Grimm's less well known fairy tales is about a young man, who did not know what fear was. He had never been afraid, and he was convinced that this was a lesson he needed to learn, and so a reward was offered to the one who could make him feel fear. But nothing seemed to work---not monsters or darkness or loud noises. Well, one night, asleep in his bed, his young wife poured over him a bucket of cold water filled with slimy fish. Then, he was grasped by a terrible dread and horror, and for the first time he knew fear.
Soren Kierkegaard, the first modern existentialist Christian philosopher/theologian, began his famous work, The Concept of Dread, by reflecting on this fairy tale. Kierkegaard wrote: “Fear is an adventure, which everyone must face----the adventure of learning how to be afraid, so as not to be lost. The person who has learned how to fear in the right way has learned the most important thing of all."
Learning how to be afraid in the right way, the most important lesson of all? What an extraordinary thing to suggest. Doesn’t fear come naturally enough? Infants apparently have two inborn fears: the fear of falling and the fear of loud noises. As the baby grows, she learns to be afraid of separation from parents or the primary caretaker. Some would argue, in fact, that all human fear and anxiety are essentially the fear of separation---separation from those whom we love, separation from our home and our familiar things, which bring us comfort and security, and separation from life itself through death.
People may differ in levels of fear; some people are far more fearful than others, but we all are afraid of something. People fear terrorist attacks or economic collapse or school shootings. Many fear illness and old age. And then there is the war and violence in the Middle East and Ukraine. How will it end? Some of us are terribly fearful about the impending Presidential election. So, with so many things to be fearful about, who needs to learn to be afraid? Besides, did not Jesus spend his ministry telling people not to be afraid and anxious?
But just as Jesus had to learn to face temptation, so too did he have to learn to face fear. There are indeed things worth being afraid of, and for Jesus it was the silence and absence of God. In Gethsemane and on Golgotha Jesus was a man in utter terror. Sweating droplets of blood, according to Luke, praying and pleading for release from this agony of God's absence, Christ did not walk a heroic path of glory. Kierkergaard was right on the mark when he wrote, Christ was in "dread even unto death." The Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, was never more profound than when he wrote: "Not only in the eyes of the world and his disciples, nay, even in his own eyes did Christ see himself as lost, as forsaken by God, felt in his conscience that he was cursed by God, suffered the torment of the damned.” Christ, said Luther, was not only assailed by fear and suffering in his human nature, afraid, that is, of the pain and suffering of crucifixion, but more importantly, he was afflicted in his very essence, in his relationship to his God---his divine Sonship---the very marrow of his being. According to Mark and Matthew, he cried out in forsakenness on the cross. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
It was a terrible cry, because his was a terrible fear, and we cannot soften its terror by denying it. Luke leaves this cry out; he has Jesus utter the more pious words, “into your hands I commend my spirit,” which removes from Jesus’ lips the terrible sting of God’s abandonment. Yet God was silent and absent, and "Jesus died with a sense of the most profound rejection by the God whose Son he knew himself to be, and whose messianic kingdom had been his whole passion." Many believe that this cry of abandonment from the cross was historical because the tradition never would have preserved words calling into question the confidence and faith of Jesus without some historical grounding.
All throughout Christian history there have been those who claim that the suffering of Christ was all appearance---something on the historical surface only.
But the theological claim is far deeper than surface appearance. God is expressed in the history of a particular human life, so the suffering of Christ reveals not only the human suffering but also the divine suffering. Christ suffered abandonment by God, and God suffered/grieved the loss of the son. Everything else we think we know about God---particularly what Martin Luther called the God of glory: God in the sunrise colors, God in the magnificence of ocean waves, pounding against a rocky shore; God revealed in acts of kindness and generosity---all of this may be important and true, but it pales in significance before the truth revealed in Christ. When Christ was at his lowest, suffering the curses of the damned, because God was far away, God was also at God's lowest, suffering the absence of the beloved Son.
So, what does this mean for us? God is not some timeless entity, beyond history and human experience, but God is revealed within the constraints of a broken and ambivalent human history. What is most divine about God is not raw force and power, but the suffering love that remains love even when it is assailed, assaulted and tormented. Through all this agonized journey, from the betrayal in Gethsemane to the forsaken cry from the cross, there was never a time when Jesus did not yearn for and love his God, and never a time when God did not yearn for and love the Son. In spite of everything, love always remained love: that is its strength; that is the only victory God in Christ can give. And it is the power of this love that gives new life. In the story of Christ’s abandonment and death, we use the language of poetry to say that God widened the distance between god-self and Christ to make room for the whole world, and because the world has moved into that space, none of us must now fear what Christ already endured.
Tonight the drama is quickened. Jesus will be forsaken, and God's heart will break. We can only tolerate this bitter truth because we look toward the hope of Easter. Today we tremble in fear with Christ, but on Sunday we shall exalt in victory.
First Church of Christ, Congregational in Unionville, CT
Maundy Thursday, March 28, 2024
Luke 22: 39-46
When I was a teacher in the 70’s, there was this movement across the country which condemned the reading of fairy tales to children, because of their cruelty and violence. Consider the tale, Hansel and Gretel, whose father abandons them in a forest and then a witch tries to eat them, until clever Gretel pushes her into the oven, where she is finally cooked to death. No wonder that the psychologist, Bruno Bettleheim, wrote a book, called The Uses of Enchantment in which he claimed that fairy tales are effective because they probe the depths of the unconscious and give form and voice to struggles that human beings face. Besides, he said, in fairy tales, the good are victorious and the evil ones are punished, and for children this is a healthy outcome. The moral lines are clearly drawn between good and evil, and it is only as we mature, Bettleheim claimed, that we can learn to handle ambiguity. But first we need strong moral lessons, he said, which the fairy tales provide.
One of Grimm's less well known fairy tales is about a young man, who did not know what fear was. He had never been afraid, and he was convinced that this was a lesson he needed to learn, and so a reward was offered to the one who could make him feel fear. But nothing seemed to work---not monsters or darkness or loud noises. Well, one night, asleep in his bed, his young wife poured over him a bucket of cold water filled with slimy fish. Then, he was grasped by a terrible dread and horror, and for the first time he knew fear.
Soren Kierkegaard, the first modern existentialist Christian philosopher/theologian, began his famous work, The Concept of Dread, by reflecting on this fairy tale. Kierkegaard wrote: “Fear is an adventure, which everyone must face----the adventure of learning how to be afraid, so as not to be lost. The person who has learned how to fear in the right way has learned the most important thing of all."
Learning how to be afraid in the right way, the most important lesson of all? What an extraordinary thing to suggest. Doesn’t fear come naturally enough? Infants apparently have two inborn fears: the fear of falling and the fear of loud noises. As the baby grows, she learns to be afraid of separation from parents or the primary caretaker. Some would argue, in fact, that all human fear and anxiety are essentially the fear of separation---separation from those whom we love, separation from our home and our familiar things, which bring us comfort and security, and separation from life itself through death.
People may differ in levels of fear; some people are far more fearful than others, but we all are afraid of something. People fear terrorist attacks or economic collapse or school shootings. Many fear illness and old age. And then there is the war and violence in the Middle East and Ukraine. How will it end? Some of us are terribly fearful about the impending Presidential election. So, with so many things to be fearful about, who needs to learn to be afraid? Besides, did not Jesus spend his ministry telling people not to be afraid and anxious?
But just as Jesus had to learn to face temptation, so too did he have to learn to face fear. There are indeed things worth being afraid of, and for Jesus it was the silence and absence of God. In Gethsemane and on Golgotha Jesus was a man in utter terror. Sweating droplets of blood, according to Luke, praying and pleading for release from this agony of God's absence, Christ did not walk a heroic path of glory. Kierkergaard was right on the mark when he wrote, Christ was in "dread even unto death." The Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, was never more profound than when he wrote: "Not only in the eyes of the world and his disciples, nay, even in his own eyes did Christ see himself as lost, as forsaken by God, felt in his conscience that he was cursed by God, suffered the torment of the damned.” Christ, said Luther, was not only assailed by fear and suffering in his human nature, afraid, that is, of the pain and suffering of crucifixion, but more importantly, he was afflicted in his very essence, in his relationship to his God---his divine Sonship---the very marrow of his being. According to Mark and Matthew, he cried out in forsakenness on the cross. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
It was a terrible cry, because his was a terrible fear, and we cannot soften its terror by denying it. Luke leaves this cry out; he has Jesus utter the more pious words, “into your hands I commend my spirit,” which removes from Jesus’ lips the terrible sting of God’s abandonment. Yet God was silent and absent, and "Jesus died with a sense of the most profound rejection by the God whose Son he knew himself to be, and whose messianic kingdom had been his whole passion." Many believe that this cry of abandonment from the cross was historical because the tradition never would have preserved words calling into question the confidence and faith of Jesus without some historical grounding.
All throughout Christian history there have been those who claim that the suffering of Christ was all appearance---something on the historical surface only.
But the theological claim is far deeper than surface appearance. God is expressed in the history of a particular human life, so the suffering of Christ reveals not only the human suffering but also the divine suffering. Christ suffered abandonment by God, and God suffered/grieved the loss of the son. Everything else we think we know about God---particularly what Martin Luther called the God of glory: God in the sunrise colors, God in the magnificence of ocean waves, pounding against a rocky shore; God revealed in acts of kindness and generosity---all of this may be important and true, but it pales in significance before the truth revealed in Christ. When Christ was at his lowest, suffering the curses of the damned, because God was far away, God was also at God's lowest, suffering the absence of the beloved Son.
So, what does this mean for us? God is not some timeless entity, beyond history and human experience, but God is revealed within the constraints of a broken and ambivalent human history. What is most divine about God is not raw force and power, but the suffering love that remains love even when it is assailed, assaulted and tormented. Through all this agonized journey, from the betrayal in Gethsemane to the forsaken cry from the cross, there was never a time when Jesus did not yearn for and love his God, and never a time when God did not yearn for and love the Son. In spite of everything, love always remained love: that is its strength; that is the only victory God in Christ can give. And it is the power of this love that gives new life. In the story of Christ’s abandonment and death, we use the language of poetry to say that God widened the distance between god-self and Christ to make room for the whole world, and because the world has moved into that space, none of us must now fear what Christ already endured.
Tonight the drama is quickened. Jesus will be forsaken, and God's heart will break. We can only tolerate this bitter truth because we look toward the hope of Easter. Today we tremble in fear with Christ, but on Sunday we shall exalt in victory.
March 20, 2024
Dear Friends,
The universe is believed to be 26.7 billion years old. Not too long ago, the estimate was
13.7 billion years, but in the past year advanced technology has led scientists to revise their estimate to double what they previously thought. “All science,” my husband claims, “is theory. We don’t get better than theory, because we always must be ready and willing to readjust what we think as new information and knowledge emerge.”
The James Webb Telescope is showing us images of a vast and amazing universe that were unimaginable just a few years ago, and indeed, when we take the time to look at the images, we can feel very small and insignificant. People probably always experienced some insignificance when gazing at a star studded sky or watching the sun set or the moon rise. No wonder the Psalmist pondered, “What is the human being that God is mindful of him or her?” We are hardly the swiftest or the strongest creature on the planet, but we do have this incredible cerebral cortex, which allows us to question and to wonder, to search and to ponder and to build something as wonderful as the James Webb Telescope.
The earth is 4.5 billion years old, and it took at least 600 million years for the earth’s crust to cool down and take shape. After another 300 million years sped by, the first signs of microbial life began to make its appearance. 3.2 billion years elapsed and then there was this amazing Cambrian explosion, which was an evolutionary burst of life. There were some mass extinctions and then 465 million years later, mammals finally made their extraordinary appearance. But homo sapiens were not yet in the picture. The first homo sapiens appeared on earth around 300,000 years ago. So, we have only been part of the earth’s story for .0067% of the earth’s existence.
During those 300,000 years human beings have been anything but passive. Consider how busy we have been. The story goes that we were given “dominion” over all living things, and though we can debate if a better word would be responsibility rather than dominion, it can hardly be denied that our care for the earth is less than impressive. The Creator has had to contend with the hard truth that these human beings, who some might argue are the crown of creation, have created a great deal of trouble and mayhem. Perhaps that is not completely our fault, since we came into the world in a very vulnerable and incomplete state. We had a great deal of learning and inventing to do just to survive! Consider the harnessing of fire and how we roamed around as nomads until around the fourth millennium BCE, when the first civilizations began to form. We had to learn to plant and to harvest, and then our species really took off. In a mere 6000 years we have moved from a state of hunter-gatherers to explorers of space! Of course, in those 6000 years we have also caused a great deal of trouble. We have fought terrible wars and have killed not only other humans but also have compromised the health of this beautiful planet and killed off a great many other species. Sometimes we did not understand what we were doing; we did not see or understand the consequences of our actions. We had to learn (and we are still trying to learn this lesson) that people who do not look like us or believe like us are still human beings, beloved by God. Unfortunately, we still resist learning that lesson.
The great 20th century rabbi, Joshua Herman Heschel, once noted: “Faith only begins when you feel sorry for God.” And indeed, we can feel sorry for God, when we consider the disappointment God must deal with when it comes to God’s wayward people. Perhaps God takes comfort in the fact that we human beings are still babes. Carl Sagan, the Cornell University astrophysicist, who many decades ago, did a PBS special, called Cosmos, placed the universe’s history on a 365 day calendar with January 1 being the day of the Big Bang and our current placement in time beginning at 12:01 AM the following year. At 10:30 PM, on December 31 humans appear, and all of recorded history is compressed into just a few seconds. It’s really not much time to learn all we need to learn and understand. So, we are still on the way, still trying to figure out what makes for full and abundant life for all God’s creatures. God is patiently waiting for us to learn the lessons we need to learn. And though God’s patience might sometimes wear down, God still is waiting for us to catch up.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
The universe is believed to be 26.7 billion years old. Not too long ago, the estimate was
13.7 billion years, but in the past year advanced technology has led scientists to revise their estimate to double what they previously thought. “All science,” my husband claims, “is theory. We don’t get better than theory, because we always must be ready and willing to readjust what we think as new information and knowledge emerge.”
The James Webb Telescope is showing us images of a vast and amazing universe that were unimaginable just a few years ago, and indeed, when we take the time to look at the images, we can feel very small and insignificant. People probably always experienced some insignificance when gazing at a star studded sky or watching the sun set or the moon rise. No wonder the Psalmist pondered, “What is the human being that God is mindful of him or her?” We are hardly the swiftest or the strongest creature on the planet, but we do have this incredible cerebral cortex, which allows us to question and to wonder, to search and to ponder and to build something as wonderful as the James Webb Telescope.
The earth is 4.5 billion years old, and it took at least 600 million years for the earth’s crust to cool down and take shape. After another 300 million years sped by, the first signs of microbial life began to make its appearance. 3.2 billion years elapsed and then there was this amazing Cambrian explosion, which was an evolutionary burst of life. There were some mass extinctions and then 465 million years later, mammals finally made their extraordinary appearance. But homo sapiens were not yet in the picture. The first homo sapiens appeared on earth around 300,000 years ago. So, we have only been part of the earth’s story for .0067% of the earth’s existence.
During those 300,000 years human beings have been anything but passive. Consider how busy we have been. The story goes that we were given “dominion” over all living things, and though we can debate if a better word would be responsibility rather than dominion, it can hardly be denied that our care for the earth is less than impressive. The Creator has had to contend with the hard truth that these human beings, who some might argue are the crown of creation, have created a great deal of trouble and mayhem. Perhaps that is not completely our fault, since we came into the world in a very vulnerable and incomplete state. We had a great deal of learning and inventing to do just to survive! Consider the harnessing of fire and how we roamed around as nomads until around the fourth millennium BCE, when the first civilizations began to form. We had to learn to plant and to harvest, and then our species really took off. In a mere 6000 years we have moved from a state of hunter-gatherers to explorers of space! Of course, in those 6000 years we have also caused a great deal of trouble. We have fought terrible wars and have killed not only other humans but also have compromised the health of this beautiful planet and killed off a great many other species. Sometimes we did not understand what we were doing; we did not see or understand the consequences of our actions. We had to learn (and we are still trying to learn this lesson) that people who do not look like us or believe like us are still human beings, beloved by God. Unfortunately, we still resist learning that lesson.
The great 20th century rabbi, Joshua Herman Heschel, once noted: “Faith only begins when you feel sorry for God.” And indeed, we can feel sorry for God, when we consider the disappointment God must deal with when it comes to God’s wayward people. Perhaps God takes comfort in the fact that we human beings are still babes. Carl Sagan, the Cornell University astrophysicist, who many decades ago, did a PBS special, called Cosmos, placed the universe’s history on a 365 day calendar with January 1 being the day of the Big Bang and our current placement in time beginning at 12:01 AM the following year. At 10:30 PM, on December 31 humans appear, and all of recorded history is compressed into just a few seconds. It’s really not much time to learn all we need to learn and understand. So, we are still on the way, still trying to figure out what makes for full and abundant life for all God’s creatures. God is patiently waiting for us to learn the lessons we need to learn. And though God’s patience might sometimes wear down, God still is waiting for us to catch up.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Making and Keeping Promises
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
March 17, 2024
Jeremiah 31: 31-34
John 12: 20-33
I will always remember Caroline, a super smart 15 year old girl, admitted to Nassau County Medical Center on Long Island, where I worked as a chaplain. Caroline had slashed her wrists, and although the cuts were not life threatening, still it was worrisome behavior, and so she was hospitalized. Her parents were in the midst of a very ugly divorce. She was the oldest of three children and felt responsible for the well being of her two younger siblings, who were 8 and 12. Both the psychiatrist and the social worker thought her behavior was directly aimed at the parents, who were behaving badly toward each other. The slashing was the full expression of her anger: “Hey, what do you two think you’re doing, throwing temper tantrums at each other rather than caring about us?”
When I entered Caroline’s room, I told her I was the chaplain.
“What does a chaplain do?” she wanted to know.
“Oh,” I said, “I listen to a lot of stories, and sometimes I even tell some.”
“What kind of stories do you tell?” she asked.
“Well, that depends on the situation. What kind do you like?”
“I like the kind that end happily ever after,” she said.
“Oh, you like fairy tales. What’s your favorite?” I wanted to know.
“Well, I always liked Sleeping Beauty,” she said. “When I was very little and saw the movie, I got really scared when Maleficent was fighting the Prince, but in the end everything came out just right. That was the best part---when everything came out all right.”
“I like that story too,” I admitted. “I especially like the three fairies, Flora, Fauna, and Merriweather, who gave to the Princess Aurora three gifts: beauty, the gift of a beautiful voice and then to counteract the wicked spell of Maleficent, she gave the Princess the gift of falling into a deep sleep for 100 years, rather than dying from pricking her finger on the spinning wheel. But you know something, I continued, if I had been giving out the gifts, I think I would have given some different ones. “Really? Like what?”
“Well,” I said, I think I would have given her courage. You know life can be hard, and courage is needed. And then hope, because hope keeps us going through all the tough times.”
“But Aurora was a Princess,” Caroline said. “She didn’t need hope or courage, because she just slept through all the problems until the Prince woke her with a kiss. He was the one who fought the battle for her.”
“Yes, I know, but that’s what makes it a fairy tale, because in real life we can’t sleep through our problems. In real life others can help us with our battles, but they cannot completely fight them for us.”
Caroline was silent for what seemed like a very long time. Finally she looked up at me and said, “My parents broke their promises to us kids. Parents are supposed to love their children, take care of them, no matter what. But my Dad is more interested in his new girlfriend and my Mom cares more about punishing my Dad than she does about caring for my brother, sister and me. I wish I could sleep for a 100 years, like Princess Aurora, and when I wake up everything would be fine.”
“Well, I can understand your wish,” I said, but you are old enough to realize that wishes don’t alwaycome true.” “I know that,” she said, “just like I know that people break their promises.”
Promises: they do get broken, though that does not prevent us from making them and expecting others to keep them. There are the explicit promises we make, when we promise our children that we will take them to the beach on a particular day, but more often than not the promises we make are implicit, meaning that they are not directly laid out, but they are implied in the relationship. Marriage and parenthood bring with them all kinds of implied promises. None of us here who are parents had to sign a statement saying we will love and care for our children, but the understanding is that we will. Friendship works the same way. There are a lot of implicit promises in friendship, though we know how easy it is to get into trouble when one friend has certain expectations about the relationship that another does not have.
And then there are the promises implicit in government, citizenship, and business. As citizens we implicitly make a promise to be law abiding, to pay our taxes and vote. There is an implied social contract, and we expect our government to protect us from foreign invasion and when natural disasters strike, to offer aid and comfort. As citizens we do have a right to expect the government to provide a reasonable safety net, especially for people who cannot care for themselves. We also expect Wall Street and our banking system to make responsible decisions so that savings and investments for retirement are not swallowed up by the greed of others. There is no document with such explicit promises signed, but such promises are implicit in the very nature of the political, economic, and social institutions, which direct the workings of our society.
Promises: We human beings could not live without them, and indeed, promises are at the heart of religion. In the Old Testament we have something called Covenant, an agreement made between God and the Israelites in which God promised to care for the people and the people would honor the law. “You shall be my people and I shall be your God.” But, of course, a great deal of the story line in the Jewish scriptures has to do with the breaking of the covenant. The Israelites did not keep the law, breaking their promise to God, and sometimes the Jews accuse God of failing to keep God’s promises to them.
Covenant is what is going on in our reading today from the book of Jeremiah. Now Jeremiah was not popular. He had been telling the people that they were about to be punished, because they failed to keep God’s law. They had broken every commandment, and even went “whoring” after other gods, baking cakes for the Queen of Heaven, for example, a female deity, who was part of the natural cycle of the land and the seasons. In this morning’s reading Nebuchadnezzar is at Jerusalem’s gates, and it appears as if God’s covenant with Israel is at an end. Broken promises lie scattered on the ground. And what does this curmudgeonly Jeremiah say? Rather than condemnation, he now offers hope. “The days are surely coming” when God will write on our hearts indelibly a desire to be faithful to God. God will change our crooked hearts into hearts that will desire what God desires for us. The promises may look broken, but God is doing something new.
“The hour has come.” This is the announcement Jesus made, when some Greeks came looking for him. The presence of the Greeks is no incidental inclusion, for the Greeks were known as seekers of wisdom, and here they come, searching for Jesus. And when Phillip and Andrew found Jesus and told him the Greeks were searching for him, Jesus answered, “The hour has come,” which in John’s gospel means the fulfillment of his mission is at hand. Jesus is about to be lifted up on the cross, so that all may be drawn to the love of God. Here is the promise: And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself. Jesus says nothing here about what we have to do to earn this; he doesn’t say we all have to believe the same things or do a certain kind of job and be successful in a certain kind of way. He simply says what he will do---draw all people to myself---that is, draw all people into the love and mercy of God.
Promises: People live by them, and Jesus did too. He lived, died, and rose that this promise of God’s love for the world may be known. This is the ultimate promise, and we look for hints of it in the concreteness of our lives---as Caroline did. Here parents were shocked into an improved mode of behavior by the message she sent them. And then during Caroline’s hospital stay, she connected to a seven year old boy, Tyler, who was suffering from leukemia. His mom was a single parent with a full time job and two other young children, and his dad lived on the west coast, so Tyler was alone in the hospital a great deal of the time. Caroline took to visiting Tyler---even after she was discharged. One day, it must have been at least a month after Caroline had left the hospital, I was on the ward and there sat Caroline next to Tyler’s empty bed. Tyler was having surgery that day.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, and Caroline answered, “Tyler was really afraid about his surgery, and so I promised that I would be here when he woke up. I am going to keep that promise, even if it is midnight when he comes back.” And there she sat all afternoon, well into the night. I left work at 6 P.M., while Caroline was still sitting by Tyler’s bedside. The nurse told me that her mother came in at 7 to take her home, but she refused to go. At 10 her father showed up, and she would not go with him either. “Well, her father said, “I guess if you won’t leave, I will just have to wait with you.” And there the two of them sat until after midnight, when finally Tyler was brought back to his room, tubes connected here and there, all over his body. He opened his eyes, Caroline leaned down and said, “I told you I would be here.” “I knew you would,” he said.
Promises: We make them all the time, sometimes explicitly, sometimes implicitly. We make them and yes, we break them, but there is grace, and sometimes it does break into our lives, reminding us that God is not the only one who CAN keep promises. We can too.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
March 17, 2024
Jeremiah 31: 31-34
John 12: 20-33
I will always remember Caroline, a super smart 15 year old girl, admitted to Nassau County Medical Center on Long Island, where I worked as a chaplain. Caroline had slashed her wrists, and although the cuts were not life threatening, still it was worrisome behavior, and so she was hospitalized. Her parents were in the midst of a very ugly divorce. She was the oldest of three children and felt responsible for the well being of her two younger siblings, who were 8 and 12. Both the psychiatrist and the social worker thought her behavior was directly aimed at the parents, who were behaving badly toward each other. The slashing was the full expression of her anger: “Hey, what do you two think you’re doing, throwing temper tantrums at each other rather than caring about us?”
When I entered Caroline’s room, I told her I was the chaplain.
“What does a chaplain do?” she wanted to know.
“Oh,” I said, “I listen to a lot of stories, and sometimes I even tell some.”
“What kind of stories do you tell?” she asked.
“Well, that depends on the situation. What kind do you like?”
“I like the kind that end happily ever after,” she said.
“Oh, you like fairy tales. What’s your favorite?” I wanted to know.
“Well, I always liked Sleeping Beauty,” she said. “When I was very little and saw the movie, I got really scared when Maleficent was fighting the Prince, but in the end everything came out just right. That was the best part---when everything came out all right.”
“I like that story too,” I admitted. “I especially like the three fairies, Flora, Fauna, and Merriweather, who gave to the Princess Aurora three gifts: beauty, the gift of a beautiful voice and then to counteract the wicked spell of Maleficent, she gave the Princess the gift of falling into a deep sleep for 100 years, rather than dying from pricking her finger on the spinning wheel. But you know something, I continued, if I had been giving out the gifts, I think I would have given some different ones. “Really? Like what?”
“Well,” I said, I think I would have given her courage. You know life can be hard, and courage is needed. And then hope, because hope keeps us going through all the tough times.”
“But Aurora was a Princess,” Caroline said. “She didn’t need hope or courage, because she just slept through all the problems until the Prince woke her with a kiss. He was the one who fought the battle for her.”
“Yes, I know, but that’s what makes it a fairy tale, because in real life we can’t sleep through our problems. In real life others can help us with our battles, but they cannot completely fight them for us.”
Caroline was silent for what seemed like a very long time. Finally she looked up at me and said, “My parents broke their promises to us kids. Parents are supposed to love their children, take care of them, no matter what. But my Dad is more interested in his new girlfriend and my Mom cares more about punishing my Dad than she does about caring for my brother, sister and me. I wish I could sleep for a 100 years, like Princess Aurora, and when I wake up everything would be fine.”
“Well, I can understand your wish,” I said, but you are old enough to realize that wishes don’t alwaycome true.” “I know that,” she said, “just like I know that people break their promises.”
Promises: they do get broken, though that does not prevent us from making them and expecting others to keep them. There are the explicit promises we make, when we promise our children that we will take them to the beach on a particular day, but more often than not the promises we make are implicit, meaning that they are not directly laid out, but they are implied in the relationship. Marriage and parenthood bring with them all kinds of implied promises. None of us here who are parents had to sign a statement saying we will love and care for our children, but the understanding is that we will. Friendship works the same way. There are a lot of implicit promises in friendship, though we know how easy it is to get into trouble when one friend has certain expectations about the relationship that another does not have.
And then there are the promises implicit in government, citizenship, and business. As citizens we implicitly make a promise to be law abiding, to pay our taxes and vote. There is an implied social contract, and we expect our government to protect us from foreign invasion and when natural disasters strike, to offer aid and comfort. As citizens we do have a right to expect the government to provide a reasonable safety net, especially for people who cannot care for themselves. We also expect Wall Street and our banking system to make responsible decisions so that savings and investments for retirement are not swallowed up by the greed of others. There is no document with such explicit promises signed, but such promises are implicit in the very nature of the political, economic, and social institutions, which direct the workings of our society.
Promises: We human beings could not live without them, and indeed, promises are at the heart of religion. In the Old Testament we have something called Covenant, an agreement made between God and the Israelites in which God promised to care for the people and the people would honor the law. “You shall be my people and I shall be your God.” But, of course, a great deal of the story line in the Jewish scriptures has to do with the breaking of the covenant. The Israelites did not keep the law, breaking their promise to God, and sometimes the Jews accuse God of failing to keep God’s promises to them.
Covenant is what is going on in our reading today from the book of Jeremiah. Now Jeremiah was not popular. He had been telling the people that they were about to be punished, because they failed to keep God’s law. They had broken every commandment, and even went “whoring” after other gods, baking cakes for the Queen of Heaven, for example, a female deity, who was part of the natural cycle of the land and the seasons. In this morning’s reading Nebuchadnezzar is at Jerusalem’s gates, and it appears as if God’s covenant with Israel is at an end. Broken promises lie scattered on the ground. And what does this curmudgeonly Jeremiah say? Rather than condemnation, he now offers hope. “The days are surely coming” when God will write on our hearts indelibly a desire to be faithful to God. God will change our crooked hearts into hearts that will desire what God desires for us. The promises may look broken, but God is doing something new.
“The hour has come.” This is the announcement Jesus made, when some Greeks came looking for him. The presence of the Greeks is no incidental inclusion, for the Greeks were known as seekers of wisdom, and here they come, searching for Jesus. And when Phillip and Andrew found Jesus and told him the Greeks were searching for him, Jesus answered, “The hour has come,” which in John’s gospel means the fulfillment of his mission is at hand. Jesus is about to be lifted up on the cross, so that all may be drawn to the love of God. Here is the promise: And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself. Jesus says nothing here about what we have to do to earn this; he doesn’t say we all have to believe the same things or do a certain kind of job and be successful in a certain kind of way. He simply says what he will do---draw all people to myself---that is, draw all people into the love and mercy of God.
Promises: People live by them, and Jesus did too. He lived, died, and rose that this promise of God’s love for the world may be known. This is the ultimate promise, and we look for hints of it in the concreteness of our lives---as Caroline did. Here parents were shocked into an improved mode of behavior by the message she sent them. And then during Caroline’s hospital stay, she connected to a seven year old boy, Tyler, who was suffering from leukemia. His mom was a single parent with a full time job and two other young children, and his dad lived on the west coast, so Tyler was alone in the hospital a great deal of the time. Caroline took to visiting Tyler---even after she was discharged. One day, it must have been at least a month after Caroline had left the hospital, I was on the ward and there sat Caroline next to Tyler’s empty bed. Tyler was having surgery that day.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, and Caroline answered, “Tyler was really afraid about his surgery, and so I promised that I would be here when he woke up. I am going to keep that promise, even if it is midnight when he comes back.” And there she sat all afternoon, well into the night. I left work at 6 P.M., while Caroline was still sitting by Tyler’s bedside. The nurse told me that her mother came in at 7 to take her home, but she refused to go. At 10 her father showed up, and she would not go with him either. “Well, her father said, “I guess if you won’t leave, I will just have to wait with you.” And there the two of them sat until after midnight, when finally Tyler was brought back to his room, tubes connected here and there, all over his body. He opened his eyes, Caroline leaned down and said, “I told you I would be here.” “I knew you would,” he said.
Promises: We make them all the time, sometimes explicitly, sometimes implicitly. We make them and yes, we break them, but there is grace, and sometimes it does break into our lives, reminding us that God is not the only one who CAN keep promises. We can too.
March 12, 2024
Dear Friends,
When the world does not go our way, that is, when we find ourselves stymied by some unfortunate occurrence, like the flu that prevents us from going on that week end trip to New York we had planned on for a few months, what do we often do? We complain, a very human response to frustration and disappointment. But very recently I came across the poetry of William Stafford, who lived between 1914 and 1993. Stafford was a peace activist and a poet, though he came late to the craft of poetry. His first major collection of poems was published when he was 48, and within eight years, he was elected Poet Laureate of the United States. That is a very fast track to stardom!
What is so fascinating about Stafford’s poetry is his perspective that we human beings are really owed nothing at all. That we exist is a miracle, since the chances of our existence are infinitesimally small. And yet we do exist on a planet that gives us not only the air and water we need to live but also much, much more. We are surrounded by nature’s beauty, and we also have human achievement, which has graced us with the beauty of a Beethoven Symphony and Rembrandt paintings. And we have laughter and tears and friends and enemies too. We have more than we deserve or even should expect, so Stafford’s advice is quite simple: Stifle your complaining!
I know nothing about Stafford’s formal religion, or even if he had a religion. But God does enter into his picture of the world. There is no denying that he was a keen observer of the human condition, and he realized how the next moment, or the next day is not guaranteed to us. So, he counseled gratitude. And the readiness to accept what comes along and learn from it. In a poem he named, YES, he wrote:
It could happen any time, tornado,
Earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.
Or sunshine, love, salvation.
It could, you know. That’s why we wake
And look out---no guarantees
In this life.
But some bonuses, like morning,
Like right now, like noon,
Like evening.
And then on the morning before he died, in the very last year of his 70’s, he wrote a poem that had these lines:
You can’t tell when strange things with meaning
Will happen. I’m still here writing it down
just the way it was. “You don’t have to
prove anything,” my mother said. “Just be ready
for what God sends.” I listened and put my hand
out in the sun again. It was all easy.
So much of the time we do not think it is easy---even though Jesus tried to tell us that his yoke was easy, and his burden was light. But we have a hard time believing that, because, let’s face it, his yoke and burden hardly look easy and light to us. Oh, we struggle to get along and go along as we look out at a world that often appears from our very human perspective to be out of joint, so it is easy to think that Jesus too struggled. After all, he was one of us--- though also different from us. He was, after all, much more aware of living in God’s immense and wide embracing grace. So, even when facing the cross, even when he prayed for the cup to pass from him, in the end, he did pray, “Not my will, but your will.” Though I do not believe that God willed for Jesus to die, God did not prevent human beings from doing their worst. And God had to work with and through what human beings did and now are doing. I always imagined that it was a struggle for both God and Jesus. But perhaps in the end, it was like putting your “hand out in the sun again.” Perhaps “it was all easy.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
When the world does not go our way, that is, when we find ourselves stymied by some unfortunate occurrence, like the flu that prevents us from going on that week end trip to New York we had planned on for a few months, what do we often do? We complain, a very human response to frustration and disappointment. But very recently I came across the poetry of William Stafford, who lived between 1914 and 1993. Stafford was a peace activist and a poet, though he came late to the craft of poetry. His first major collection of poems was published when he was 48, and within eight years, he was elected Poet Laureate of the United States. That is a very fast track to stardom!
What is so fascinating about Stafford’s poetry is his perspective that we human beings are really owed nothing at all. That we exist is a miracle, since the chances of our existence are infinitesimally small. And yet we do exist on a planet that gives us not only the air and water we need to live but also much, much more. We are surrounded by nature’s beauty, and we also have human achievement, which has graced us with the beauty of a Beethoven Symphony and Rembrandt paintings. And we have laughter and tears and friends and enemies too. We have more than we deserve or even should expect, so Stafford’s advice is quite simple: Stifle your complaining!
I know nothing about Stafford’s formal religion, or even if he had a religion. But God does enter into his picture of the world. There is no denying that he was a keen observer of the human condition, and he realized how the next moment, or the next day is not guaranteed to us. So, he counseled gratitude. And the readiness to accept what comes along and learn from it. In a poem he named, YES, he wrote:
It could happen any time, tornado,
Earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.
Or sunshine, love, salvation.
It could, you know. That’s why we wake
And look out---no guarantees
In this life.
But some bonuses, like morning,
Like right now, like noon,
Like evening.
And then on the morning before he died, in the very last year of his 70’s, he wrote a poem that had these lines:
You can’t tell when strange things with meaning
Will happen. I’m still here writing it down
just the way it was. “You don’t have to
prove anything,” my mother said. “Just be ready
for what God sends.” I listened and put my hand
out in the sun again. It was all easy.
So much of the time we do not think it is easy---even though Jesus tried to tell us that his yoke was easy, and his burden was light. But we have a hard time believing that, because, let’s face it, his yoke and burden hardly look easy and light to us. Oh, we struggle to get along and go along as we look out at a world that often appears from our very human perspective to be out of joint, so it is easy to think that Jesus too struggled. After all, he was one of us--- though also different from us. He was, after all, much more aware of living in God’s immense and wide embracing grace. So, even when facing the cross, even when he prayed for the cup to pass from him, in the end, he did pray, “Not my will, but your will.” Though I do not believe that God willed for Jesus to die, God did not prevent human beings from doing their worst. And God had to work with and through what human beings did and now are doing. I always imagined that it was a struggle for both God and Jesus. But perhaps in the end, it was like putting your “hand out in the sun again.” Perhaps “it was all easy.”
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
On The Mercy Seat
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
March 10, 2024
Exodus 25: 17-22
Ephesians 2: 1-10
In May,1883 a young man, Matthew Joshua Clark, graduating from Harvard Divinity School and aspiring to the ordained ministry in the Congregational Church, was being examined by his Ecclesiastical Council, a process still used today. The Council now is made up of both ordained and lay persons, but in Clark’s day it might have included only the ordained. The candidate (then as now) submits a theological statement of faith upon which he or she is examined. Matthew Clark was facing deep hostility from his Council when he said that Christians owe mercy to all people. Now 1883 was 18 years after the end of the Civil War, and the nation was still in shock from all the bloodshed. When the war began, everyone thought it would be quickly over, but it lasted four agonizing years, killing at least 620,000 soldiers, and leaving another half million wounded.
The county was also suffering from a religious crisis because many people, both from the North and the South, wondered what God had been doing in the midst of that terrible carnage. People from both sides, including clergy, had been confident that God was on their side. But the South had lost, so where was God for them? And the North, though victorious, had to contend with a vast number of dead and wounded. If God had been on its side, why so much death and suffering? Lincoln had said in his Second Inaugural Address, that the War was God’s wrath visited upon the nation for the sin of slavery, and indeed, to some people at least, it made sense.
So, the nation was hungering for some religious good news, and it was during this time that the Universalist Denomination, which taught that God loves all people and will finally save all people, was growing. Now this belief was not original to the Universalists; it had been around since the beginning of Christianity with some very sophisticated theological minds throughout Christian history defending the claim. But until quite recently, it was always a minority position. In the years following the Civil War, the Universalists boldly preached God is love, and love will seek out the lost until they are found. God in Christ is the great healer, the one who will do for humanity what humanity cannot do for itself---that is, save itself. War had been a cruel teacher, and people recognized that sin lurked deeply within and could not be extirpated through human efforts alone. And so, many people began to embrace universalism, including some clergy who chose to remain within the Congregational Churches.
On that May afternoon Matthew Joshua Clark was facing clergy, who were committed to ferreting out the dreaded doctrine of universal salvation. Clark understood what the great Protestant theologian, John Calvin, had taught: God elects some people to salvation, while the vast majority of humankind is elected to damnation, and this election, Calvin taught, has nothing to do with what people do or how they live. It is simply a decision that God makes. The examination began with someone reminding Matthew Clark that Tertullian, one of the early Latin fathers of the Church, had said that the blessed in heaven experience even greater blessedness when they viewed the damned in hell, writhing in tormented agony. The candidate was asked what he thought of this image. Clark answered forthrightly, “A Christian can never feel happiness or blessedness at the suffering of another”. “So,” the question practically shot forth from the mouth of an examiner, “you think the damned are worthy of compassion? Is the quality of mercy appropriately directed toward the damned?”
Now Clark was no fool. He had been classically educated, and so he knew that Greek and Roman philosophy, including stoic philosophy, denied compassion and mercy to evil people. But he also knew that the Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, advised it was neither right nor prudent to go against conscience, and so he answered as his conscience dictated: “Christians ethically owe mercy to all people.” Well, you can imagine the outrage. One minister said, “God does not call us to waste our tears on the reprobates. You have no defense, no defender.” The candidate calmly replied, "Christ will defend me, because Christ sits on the seat of mercy.”
Now the seat of mercy appears in the book of Exodus as you heard this morning. It is on the top of the Ark of the Covenant, where God’s law is kept, and the mercy seat is framed by two cherubim (angels), who spread out their wings above the seat. The seat is vacant, though in the Jewish calendar on the Day of Atonement, God is said to appear in a cloud above the mercy seat. But when Matthew Clark put Christ on the mercy seat, he was claiming that no one is so lost that he or she cannot be found by the mercy of Jesus Christ.
As the examination moved toward its end, Matthew, who had recently traveled to Europe, visiting the great museums of the world, told his examiners something they would never have expected to hear at an ordination examination. He described to them a few different paintings he had seen of Angelica and the Hermit. Now this story is not biblical; it comes from a Renaissance “soap opera” with the heroine, the young and beautiful Angelica, having many adventures. She meets a hermit, whom she supposes to be a good man, but in reality, he is caught in a life choice he cannot bear. Though he has taken a vow of celibacy, he rebels at its cruel austerity, and he longs for the release of passion and love. And so, he casts a spell upon Angelica. There she lies, sprawled out, naked on her bed, while the hermit creeps up on her, lifting up the sheet, making ready to rape her.
While nearly all the artists, who have treated this story have painted the hermit as contemptible, a reprobate, grasped by sin's power, Clark told his examiners that the Flemish artist, Peter Paul Rubens, had alone painted the hermit’s face full of pathos. The hermit cannot have what so many others have as the natural course of their lives, and in the absence of sexual consummation, he suffers. The story, by the way, tells us that the hermit failed in his deed as he also failed in his vow, not because he successfully resisted temptation, but because he was impotent. Well, you can well imagine the shock of his examiners. But Matthew’s point was this:what looks like damnable sin and reprobation to us may look to God as pathos, deserving of mercy. What, asked Matthew Clark, does sin look like when seen through the eyes of mercy? Clark reminded his examiners that in the book of Exodus God hovers in a cloud above the seat of mercy, while the cherubim’s magnificent golden wings overshadow the seat. But what if Christ sits squarely on the seat of mercy, not above it or below it, but on it? In that position Christ sees what no one else sees.
Matthew Clark failed his ordination examination, and would later go to the Universalists, who understood exactly what he was trying to say. God is rich in mercy, and humans best imitate God when mercy seasons justice, even at times, overcoming justice’s demands.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
March 10, 2024
Exodus 25: 17-22
Ephesians 2: 1-10
In May,1883 a young man, Matthew Joshua Clark, graduating from Harvard Divinity School and aspiring to the ordained ministry in the Congregational Church, was being examined by his Ecclesiastical Council, a process still used today. The Council now is made up of both ordained and lay persons, but in Clark’s day it might have included only the ordained. The candidate (then as now) submits a theological statement of faith upon which he or she is examined. Matthew Clark was facing deep hostility from his Council when he said that Christians owe mercy to all people. Now 1883 was 18 years after the end of the Civil War, and the nation was still in shock from all the bloodshed. When the war began, everyone thought it would be quickly over, but it lasted four agonizing years, killing at least 620,000 soldiers, and leaving another half million wounded.
The county was also suffering from a religious crisis because many people, both from the North and the South, wondered what God had been doing in the midst of that terrible carnage. People from both sides, including clergy, had been confident that God was on their side. But the South had lost, so where was God for them? And the North, though victorious, had to contend with a vast number of dead and wounded. If God had been on its side, why so much death and suffering? Lincoln had said in his Second Inaugural Address, that the War was God’s wrath visited upon the nation for the sin of slavery, and indeed, to some people at least, it made sense.
So, the nation was hungering for some religious good news, and it was during this time that the Universalist Denomination, which taught that God loves all people and will finally save all people, was growing. Now this belief was not original to the Universalists; it had been around since the beginning of Christianity with some very sophisticated theological minds throughout Christian history defending the claim. But until quite recently, it was always a minority position. In the years following the Civil War, the Universalists boldly preached God is love, and love will seek out the lost until they are found. God in Christ is the great healer, the one who will do for humanity what humanity cannot do for itself---that is, save itself. War had been a cruel teacher, and people recognized that sin lurked deeply within and could not be extirpated through human efforts alone. And so, many people began to embrace universalism, including some clergy who chose to remain within the Congregational Churches.
On that May afternoon Matthew Joshua Clark was facing clergy, who were committed to ferreting out the dreaded doctrine of universal salvation. Clark understood what the great Protestant theologian, John Calvin, had taught: God elects some people to salvation, while the vast majority of humankind is elected to damnation, and this election, Calvin taught, has nothing to do with what people do or how they live. It is simply a decision that God makes. The examination began with someone reminding Matthew Clark that Tertullian, one of the early Latin fathers of the Church, had said that the blessed in heaven experience even greater blessedness when they viewed the damned in hell, writhing in tormented agony. The candidate was asked what he thought of this image. Clark answered forthrightly, “A Christian can never feel happiness or blessedness at the suffering of another”. “So,” the question practically shot forth from the mouth of an examiner, “you think the damned are worthy of compassion? Is the quality of mercy appropriately directed toward the damned?”
Now Clark was no fool. He had been classically educated, and so he knew that Greek and Roman philosophy, including stoic philosophy, denied compassion and mercy to evil people. But he also knew that the Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, advised it was neither right nor prudent to go against conscience, and so he answered as his conscience dictated: “Christians ethically owe mercy to all people.” Well, you can imagine the outrage. One minister said, “God does not call us to waste our tears on the reprobates. You have no defense, no defender.” The candidate calmly replied, "Christ will defend me, because Christ sits on the seat of mercy.”
Now the seat of mercy appears in the book of Exodus as you heard this morning. It is on the top of the Ark of the Covenant, where God’s law is kept, and the mercy seat is framed by two cherubim (angels), who spread out their wings above the seat. The seat is vacant, though in the Jewish calendar on the Day of Atonement, God is said to appear in a cloud above the mercy seat. But when Matthew Clark put Christ on the mercy seat, he was claiming that no one is so lost that he or she cannot be found by the mercy of Jesus Christ.
As the examination moved toward its end, Matthew, who had recently traveled to Europe, visiting the great museums of the world, told his examiners something they would never have expected to hear at an ordination examination. He described to them a few different paintings he had seen of Angelica and the Hermit. Now this story is not biblical; it comes from a Renaissance “soap opera” with the heroine, the young and beautiful Angelica, having many adventures. She meets a hermit, whom she supposes to be a good man, but in reality, he is caught in a life choice he cannot bear. Though he has taken a vow of celibacy, he rebels at its cruel austerity, and he longs for the release of passion and love. And so, he casts a spell upon Angelica. There she lies, sprawled out, naked on her bed, while the hermit creeps up on her, lifting up the sheet, making ready to rape her.
While nearly all the artists, who have treated this story have painted the hermit as contemptible, a reprobate, grasped by sin's power, Clark told his examiners that the Flemish artist, Peter Paul Rubens, had alone painted the hermit’s face full of pathos. The hermit cannot have what so many others have as the natural course of their lives, and in the absence of sexual consummation, he suffers. The story, by the way, tells us that the hermit failed in his deed as he also failed in his vow, not because he successfully resisted temptation, but because he was impotent. Well, you can well imagine the shock of his examiners. But Matthew’s point was this:what looks like damnable sin and reprobation to us may look to God as pathos, deserving of mercy. What, asked Matthew Clark, does sin look like when seen through the eyes of mercy? Clark reminded his examiners that in the book of Exodus God hovers in a cloud above the seat of mercy, while the cherubim’s magnificent golden wings overshadow the seat. But what if Christ sits squarely on the seat of mercy, not above it or below it, but on it? In that position Christ sees what no one else sees.
Matthew Clark failed his ordination examination, and would later go to the Universalists, who understood exactly what he was trying to say. God is rich in mercy, and humans best imitate God when mercy seasons justice, even at times, overcoming justice’s demands.
March 5, 2024
Dear Friends,
Mikhail Reva is a famous Ukrainian artist and sculptor, who two years ago, right before the Russian invasion, was working on a fountain in the city center of Dnipro. Already many of his sculptures had been placed around the country to the admiration and delight of many people. But after the invasion began, Reva became known as a protest artist. “I joined the resistance through my art,” he said. Besides screaming out his outrage in pen and ink drawings as well as paintings showing the horrors of war, Mikhail Reva began to collect the artifacts of war--- chunks of shrapnel, shell casings, missile fragments. Welding these objects together, he has made giant metal sculptures, such as a 12 foot Russian bear titled, Moloch, The Beast of War. Moloch was a Canaanite god, whose lust for blood could only be satisfied by human sacrifice. This is how Reva sees Putin, a man, who cannot be satisfied except through conquest and war. “Art is a tool that freezes time,” Reva said. And so, he creates to commemorate the tragedy of this war.
Reva lives in Odessa, where he grew up, and in 2022 his workshop was hit by a missile while he was visiting Bucha, the site of Russian war crimes and atrocities. The Odessa National Fine Arts Museum, where some of his sculptures were displayed, was also hit by a missile in November, 2022. Fortunately, his work survived the attack. He had not considered using the debris of war for art until his neighbors collected the debris from his house and placed it in a huge pile. And that is when the idea came to him to use the debris for art. Art tries to express the inexpressible, and this is what Reva desires to achieve. He wants to give voice and shape to what cannot be put into words. “War is pain”, he said, “and art permits you to see and experience the pain with fresh eyes.” But it is always a challenge to express the pain without being overcome by it.
His works are disturbing because war is disturbing. He painted a sketch of the Russian occupiers with no faces and no features. He said he wanted to communicate not their individual humanity but the terrible fear they brought to Ukraine. He saw the fear in the face of his 88 year old mother, who told her son that she was feeling the same fear she knew as a child of 10 during the Second World War. He also painted a huge crater like the one he saw outside his home in Odessa and into the crater’s depth, he placed a man. “For me,” he said, “the death of one small human being, represents the multitude of deaths that Ukraine has suffered.”
Many of Reva’s works are on display in the U.S. Embassy’s Hotel de Talleyrand in Paris. This display is an American effort to re-engage with the United Nations cultural agency, UNESCO, from which the previous administration in Washington had distanced itself. But now the United States is back with the Agency, and the placement of the art in U.S. hands shows an American commitment to be in solidarity with not only the Ukrainians but also the entire enterprise of the United Nations, which was designed to keep the peace and prevent the ravages and cruelty of war.
There is one particularly haunting piece called The Memory of the Crucified, which is a cross composed of nails recovered from churches destroyed by Russian attacks. “Russia intended its attacks to kill and destroy,” Reva said, “but I wanted to make something beautiful”. And the beauty is not always immediately grasped in the physical presentation, because these works of war are not conventionally beautiful. But the beauty lies in the deep meaning the work tries to communicate. Beauty reaches beyond the surface. One must look deeply to see in art and also in faith. The Apostle Paul would agree. In his famous Letter to the Christian Church in Corinth, Paul wrote: “The Spirit searches all things, even the depths of God.” May we know this to be true.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Mikhail Reva is a famous Ukrainian artist and sculptor, who two years ago, right before the Russian invasion, was working on a fountain in the city center of Dnipro. Already many of his sculptures had been placed around the country to the admiration and delight of many people. But after the invasion began, Reva became known as a protest artist. “I joined the resistance through my art,” he said. Besides screaming out his outrage in pen and ink drawings as well as paintings showing the horrors of war, Mikhail Reva began to collect the artifacts of war--- chunks of shrapnel, shell casings, missile fragments. Welding these objects together, he has made giant metal sculptures, such as a 12 foot Russian bear titled, Moloch, The Beast of War. Moloch was a Canaanite god, whose lust for blood could only be satisfied by human sacrifice. This is how Reva sees Putin, a man, who cannot be satisfied except through conquest and war. “Art is a tool that freezes time,” Reva said. And so, he creates to commemorate the tragedy of this war.
Reva lives in Odessa, where he grew up, and in 2022 his workshop was hit by a missile while he was visiting Bucha, the site of Russian war crimes and atrocities. The Odessa National Fine Arts Museum, where some of his sculptures were displayed, was also hit by a missile in November, 2022. Fortunately, his work survived the attack. He had not considered using the debris of war for art until his neighbors collected the debris from his house and placed it in a huge pile. And that is when the idea came to him to use the debris for art. Art tries to express the inexpressible, and this is what Reva desires to achieve. He wants to give voice and shape to what cannot be put into words. “War is pain”, he said, “and art permits you to see and experience the pain with fresh eyes.” But it is always a challenge to express the pain without being overcome by it.
His works are disturbing because war is disturbing. He painted a sketch of the Russian occupiers with no faces and no features. He said he wanted to communicate not their individual humanity but the terrible fear they brought to Ukraine. He saw the fear in the face of his 88 year old mother, who told her son that she was feeling the same fear she knew as a child of 10 during the Second World War. He also painted a huge crater like the one he saw outside his home in Odessa and into the crater’s depth, he placed a man. “For me,” he said, “the death of one small human being, represents the multitude of deaths that Ukraine has suffered.”
Many of Reva’s works are on display in the U.S. Embassy’s Hotel de Talleyrand in Paris. This display is an American effort to re-engage with the United Nations cultural agency, UNESCO, from which the previous administration in Washington had distanced itself. But now the United States is back with the Agency, and the placement of the art in U.S. hands shows an American commitment to be in solidarity with not only the Ukrainians but also the entire enterprise of the United Nations, which was designed to keep the peace and prevent the ravages and cruelty of war.
There is one particularly haunting piece called The Memory of the Crucified, which is a cross composed of nails recovered from churches destroyed by Russian attacks. “Russia intended its attacks to kill and destroy,” Reva said, “but I wanted to make something beautiful”. And the beauty is not always immediately grasped in the physical presentation, because these works of war are not conventionally beautiful. But the beauty lies in the deep meaning the work tries to communicate. Beauty reaches beyond the surface. One must look deeply to see in art and also in faith. The Apostle Paul would agree. In his famous Letter to the Christian Church in Corinth, Paul wrote: “The Spirit searches all things, even the depths of God.” May we know this to be true.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Righteous or Sinful Anger
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
March 3, 2024
John 2: 13-22
Some years ago, I took a course at Wesleyan, where we read some of the great works of western literature, Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, Milton’s Paradise Lost, Dante’s, The Divine Comedy and Shakespeare’s King Lear. The professor spent a whole session talking about the anger of the great Greek warrior, Achilles, who was enraged, when a woman he had captured as war booty was taken away from him and given to the Greek King, Agamemnon. Achilles’ rage was so great that he refused to fight, though time and time again, other Greek warriors, like Odysseus, begged him to once again enter the battle against the Trojans. But Achilles refused, and it was only when his friend, Patroclus, was killed, while wearing Achilles armor, that Achilles picked up his sword and his armor to once again fight, killing the great Trojan warrior, Hector.
Achilles then attached Hector’s body to his chariot and raced around, defiling the body, which angered the god, Apollo, and the goddess, Aphrodite, who each night repaired what had been so angrily defiled. Finally, Hector’s father, King Priam, went to Achilles at night to ask for his son’s body. Achilles’ rage receded enough that he let the King have his dead son. Now Achilles’ anger was not an instant in time, expressed without any thought at all. No, Achilles knew exactly what he was doing. It was revenge, and revenge is deliberate and focused anger. And this kind of deliberate and protracted anger can be much more spiritually dangerous than the instantaneous expression of rage. The anger of revenge courts hatred, and hatred is antithetical to love.
Something very similar happened in Shakespeare’s great play, King Lear. Lear became enraged when his daughter, Cordelia, told him that she loved him as a daughter should. She did not verbally express excessive love and devotion as her two manipulative and dishonest sisters did. And Lear was a fool; his rage against Cordelia blinded him to the truth that Cordelia loved him best. But he only realized this after Cordelia was dead and his kingdom weakened.
Anger can be very dangerous, which is why Christianity names it as one of the seven deadly sins, usually listed as number 3, after pride and envy. You will not find the seven deadly sins--- pride, envy, anger, lust, gluttony, greed, and sloth--- listed in the bible. They were named and catalogued in the Middle Ages, fully expressed in Dante’s Divine Comedy, written in the 14th century. Dante describes the punishment of the angry as being enveloped in suffocating smoke. Imagine that image, unable to breathe because you inhale nothing but smoke. And indeed, anger can be suffocating, especially when it is protracted and takes over life. A momentary rage can indeed lead to bad actions, sometimes terrible ones. But when the rage dissipates, as it often quickly does, the person can easily be shocked by what he or she did.
Some years ago, when I worked as a chaplain in a city hospital, one of my assignments was the neo natal intensive unit, where there were a number of drug addicted infants. The hospital had a policy of disallowing any newborn infant to go home with the mother until an evaluation could be done. And what would too often happen is that the father of the baby would come storming into the unit and demand his baby and sometimes threaten violence. So, there were these emergency buzzers all over the floor, which you could press with your foot and security would come running. Well, I happened to be in the unit, when this father came charging in while the doctor was examining this infant girl, who was having convulsions because of all the drugs in her system. And the father insisted he was taking the baby. The doctor backed away, and I happened to be standing right next to the doctor. I suddenly felt this overwhelming rage, punctuated with self-righteousness, because I would not even take an aspirin when I was pregnant and here was this poor infant with convulsions. And with no thought at all, I pushed against the father with all my strength, and he went flying across the room before falling on the floor. He swore at me and tried to lunge, but security was already there. Everyone was shocked by my behavior, I, most of all. But that is how anger sometimes works. It can act without thought.
Consider the cleansing of the Temple as we have it in John’s Gospel. Matthew, Mark and Luke also show Jesus in a state of anger, expelling the moneychangers. But John places the incident at the beginning of his gospel, which makes it seem that Jesus’ break from Judaism came early, while Matthew, Mark and Luke put it at the end, making it the final nail in his coffin. In the latter case, the religious leaders view such behavior as an affront to Temple practices that they determine Jesus must go. You see, it was completely legitimate to sell various kinds of animals in the courtyard for the purpose of temple sacrifice. Jews would come from all over the empire, and they would have foreign money. But the Temple would only accept Jewish money, so it had to be exchanged. If you were a priest, trying to do your job, perhaps even recognizing the imperfection of the system, but also seeing it as a means of giving order and structure to Jewish life, you would have had a very different perspective on what Jesus did. To the Jewish religious leaders Jesus’ anger did not look at all righteous; it looked as if he were trying to create chaos and undermine the Temple. But in John’s gospel Jesus will replace the Temple, so his anger is shown as justified. Anger does look differently, depending upon who is doing the looking and from what perspective they are seeing.
Anger erupts in all our lives. There are many good reasons to be angry, but there are also many good reasons to be wary of anger. Anger can be righteous, but it needs to let go of illusions---especially the illusion that that we are the holy innocents, free from responsibility and guilt. Once that illusion is gone, we can have our anger. It can be righteous, but never self-righteous.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
March 3, 2024
John 2: 13-22
Some years ago, I took a course at Wesleyan, where we read some of the great works of western literature, Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, Milton’s Paradise Lost, Dante’s, The Divine Comedy and Shakespeare’s King Lear. The professor spent a whole session talking about the anger of the great Greek warrior, Achilles, who was enraged, when a woman he had captured as war booty was taken away from him and given to the Greek King, Agamemnon. Achilles’ rage was so great that he refused to fight, though time and time again, other Greek warriors, like Odysseus, begged him to once again enter the battle against the Trojans. But Achilles refused, and it was only when his friend, Patroclus, was killed, while wearing Achilles armor, that Achilles picked up his sword and his armor to once again fight, killing the great Trojan warrior, Hector.
Achilles then attached Hector’s body to his chariot and raced around, defiling the body, which angered the god, Apollo, and the goddess, Aphrodite, who each night repaired what had been so angrily defiled. Finally, Hector’s father, King Priam, went to Achilles at night to ask for his son’s body. Achilles’ rage receded enough that he let the King have his dead son. Now Achilles’ anger was not an instant in time, expressed without any thought at all. No, Achilles knew exactly what he was doing. It was revenge, and revenge is deliberate and focused anger. And this kind of deliberate and protracted anger can be much more spiritually dangerous than the instantaneous expression of rage. The anger of revenge courts hatred, and hatred is antithetical to love.
Something very similar happened in Shakespeare’s great play, King Lear. Lear became enraged when his daughter, Cordelia, told him that she loved him as a daughter should. She did not verbally express excessive love and devotion as her two manipulative and dishonest sisters did. And Lear was a fool; his rage against Cordelia blinded him to the truth that Cordelia loved him best. But he only realized this after Cordelia was dead and his kingdom weakened.
Anger can be very dangerous, which is why Christianity names it as one of the seven deadly sins, usually listed as number 3, after pride and envy. You will not find the seven deadly sins--- pride, envy, anger, lust, gluttony, greed, and sloth--- listed in the bible. They were named and catalogued in the Middle Ages, fully expressed in Dante’s Divine Comedy, written in the 14th century. Dante describes the punishment of the angry as being enveloped in suffocating smoke. Imagine that image, unable to breathe because you inhale nothing but smoke. And indeed, anger can be suffocating, especially when it is protracted and takes over life. A momentary rage can indeed lead to bad actions, sometimes terrible ones. But when the rage dissipates, as it often quickly does, the person can easily be shocked by what he or she did.
Some years ago, when I worked as a chaplain in a city hospital, one of my assignments was the neo natal intensive unit, where there were a number of drug addicted infants. The hospital had a policy of disallowing any newborn infant to go home with the mother until an evaluation could be done. And what would too often happen is that the father of the baby would come storming into the unit and demand his baby and sometimes threaten violence. So, there were these emergency buzzers all over the floor, which you could press with your foot and security would come running. Well, I happened to be in the unit, when this father came charging in while the doctor was examining this infant girl, who was having convulsions because of all the drugs in her system. And the father insisted he was taking the baby. The doctor backed away, and I happened to be standing right next to the doctor. I suddenly felt this overwhelming rage, punctuated with self-righteousness, because I would not even take an aspirin when I was pregnant and here was this poor infant with convulsions. And with no thought at all, I pushed against the father with all my strength, and he went flying across the room before falling on the floor. He swore at me and tried to lunge, but security was already there. Everyone was shocked by my behavior, I, most of all. But that is how anger sometimes works. It can act without thought.
Consider the cleansing of the Temple as we have it in John’s Gospel. Matthew, Mark and Luke also show Jesus in a state of anger, expelling the moneychangers. But John places the incident at the beginning of his gospel, which makes it seem that Jesus’ break from Judaism came early, while Matthew, Mark and Luke put it at the end, making it the final nail in his coffin. In the latter case, the religious leaders view such behavior as an affront to Temple practices that they determine Jesus must go. You see, it was completely legitimate to sell various kinds of animals in the courtyard for the purpose of temple sacrifice. Jews would come from all over the empire, and they would have foreign money. But the Temple would only accept Jewish money, so it had to be exchanged. If you were a priest, trying to do your job, perhaps even recognizing the imperfection of the system, but also seeing it as a means of giving order and structure to Jewish life, you would have had a very different perspective on what Jesus did. To the Jewish religious leaders Jesus’ anger did not look at all righteous; it looked as if he were trying to create chaos and undermine the Temple. But in John’s gospel Jesus will replace the Temple, so his anger is shown as justified. Anger does look differently, depending upon who is doing the looking and from what perspective they are seeing.
Anger erupts in all our lives. There are many good reasons to be angry, but there are also many good reasons to be wary of anger. Anger can be righteous, but it needs to let go of illusions---especially the illusion that that we are the holy innocents, free from responsibility and guilt. Once that illusion is gone, we can have our anger. It can be righteous, but never self-righteous.
February 29, 2024
Dear Friends,
It has been a while since you have been in high school but consider this assignment in an English class I recently read about. What would you do with it? How would you get your imagination running? I had a wonderfully brilliant English teacher in my senior year of high school, and I am forever indebted to him for his masterful encouragement of both our intellects and our imaginations. I think he would have loved this assignment.
The teacher began the class by saying: Brevity is the soul of wit. So, she said. I want you to write a paragraph or two, telling a story that fits these words:
For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.
Together, they whispered, but only one jumped.
The baby’s blood type? Human mostly.
Born a twin, graduated an only child.
I still make coffee for two.
Strangers, Friends, Best Friends, Lovers, Strangers
The class was made up of juniors, and the teacher was amazed how sensitive some of the students were to the pain of loss and disappointment. In their stories of grief, she thought them wise beyond their years. Of course, she also noticed how humor worked to turn what seems to be a sad story into something funny, like the baby who hated anything on his feet. One student wrote about a nine month old, who curled his toes up, preventing his parents from putting the shoe on his foot. “Why are they doing this to me,” the baby mused? ”Don’t they know feet need to be free?” In the one about a twin graduating as an only child, one student made it a story about a twin who failed the fourth grade, and because he was always behind his brother, he felt like an only child. Another student crafted a tale about a twin who was brilliant and already in medical school by the time her other twin was graduating from high school. Though the one graduating from high school sometimes had feelings of being a failure, the one in medical school felt she was a freak. Each felt like an only child. And still making coffee for two? The teacher was fascinated by the fact that students wrote more about the pain of divorce than about the pain of death. “I guess,” she said, “this reflects the reality of their lives.”
When it came to jumping, some students made it a story about 9/11, concentrating on the terrible choice to be made: burned alive or smashed on the pavement below. Others made it about a daredevil act---jumping off a high cliff into the water below. Some reflected on the feeling of betrayal: We were supposed to do this together, but instead, I did the feat alone, and I felt abandoned and betrayed. And students were quite realistic about the arc of human relationships. This is how it goes, from strangers to finally strangers again. The students understood that relationships are hard work, and they accepted that failure is often the price of caring. Yet many of them expressed the conviction that we learn in the failing.
The one they enjoyed the most was the one about a mating between a human and something else. No one mentioned the possibility of a human-divine offspring, but they had much fun imagining aliens and humans producing something new. And many of them expressed the hope that the outcome would be a big improvement over “simply human.” “Perhaps we do need,” someone wrote, “an injection of DNA from a source outside our human genes. Maybe our tendency toward violence would be tempered. We can hope, can’t we?”
Imagination is essential to our human identity. Einstein said there are times it is more important than knowledge. Of course, the Bible is filled with imagination. We have stories that push the limits of reality in the hope that through them we might see some new possibility. Jesus certainly used his imagination to give his listeners stories that pushed them beyond their comfort zones, where they were asked to consider what a good neighbor truly is. How is it possible that the one who showed compassion was the hated Samaritan, the enemy of the Jews? He is the good neighbor? So, never underestimate the power of imagination. Without it, religion would not be a living tradition, but instead would be dead and boring. As for the statement, “Brevity is the soul of wit,” consider that Jesus often offered his own pithy sayings: “The one who would save her life will lose it. It is more blessed to give than to receive. Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me. It is not what you put into your mouth that despoils your body, but what comes out of your mouth.” So, I think Jesus would have appreciated this English teacher and the assignment she gave to her English class.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
It has been a while since you have been in high school but consider this assignment in an English class I recently read about. What would you do with it? How would you get your imagination running? I had a wonderfully brilliant English teacher in my senior year of high school, and I am forever indebted to him for his masterful encouragement of both our intellects and our imaginations. I think he would have loved this assignment.
The teacher began the class by saying: Brevity is the soul of wit. So, she said. I want you to write a paragraph or two, telling a story that fits these words:
For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.
Together, they whispered, but only one jumped.
The baby’s blood type? Human mostly.
Born a twin, graduated an only child.
I still make coffee for two.
Strangers, Friends, Best Friends, Lovers, Strangers
The class was made up of juniors, and the teacher was amazed how sensitive some of the students were to the pain of loss and disappointment. In their stories of grief, she thought them wise beyond their years. Of course, she also noticed how humor worked to turn what seems to be a sad story into something funny, like the baby who hated anything on his feet. One student wrote about a nine month old, who curled his toes up, preventing his parents from putting the shoe on his foot. “Why are they doing this to me,” the baby mused? ”Don’t they know feet need to be free?” In the one about a twin graduating as an only child, one student made it a story about a twin who failed the fourth grade, and because he was always behind his brother, he felt like an only child. Another student crafted a tale about a twin who was brilliant and already in medical school by the time her other twin was graduating from high school. Though the one graduating from high school sometimes had feelings of being a failure, the one in medical school felt she was a freak. Each felt like an only child. And still making coffee for two? The teacher was fascinated by the fact that students wrote more about the pain of divorce than about the pain of death. “I guess,” she said, “this reflects the reality of their lives.”
When it came to jumping, some students made it a story about 9/11, concentrating on the terrible choice to be made: burned alive or smashed on the pavement below. Others made it about a daredevil act---jumping off a high cliff into the water below. Some reflected on the feeling of betrayal: We were supposed to do this together, but instead, I did the feat alone, and I felt abandoned and betrayed. And students were quite realistic about the arc of human relationships. This is how it goes, from strangers to finally strangers again. The students understood that relationships are hard work, and they accepted that failure is often the price of caring. Yet many of them expressed the conviction that we learn in the failing.
The one they enjoyed the most was the one about a mating between a human and something else. No one mentioned the possibility of a human-divine offspring, but they had much fun imagining aliens and humans producing something new. And many of them expressed the hope that the outcome would be a big improvement over “simply human.” “Perhaps we do need,” someone wrote, “an injection of DNA from a source outside our human genes. Maybe our tendency toward violence would be tempered. We can hope, can’t we?”
Imagination is essential to our human identity. Einstein said there are times it is more important than knowledge. Of course, the Bible is filled with imagination. We have stories that push the limits of reality in the hope that through them we might see some new possibility. Jesus certainly used his imagination to give his listeners stories that pushed them beyond their comfort zones, where they were asked to consider what a good neighbor truly is. How is it possible that the one who showed compassion was the hated Samaritan, the enemy of the Jews? He is the good neighbor? So, never underestimate the power of imagination. Without it, religion would not be a living tradition, but instead would be dead and boring. As for the statement, “Brevity is the soul of wit,” consider that Jesus often offered his own pithy sayings: “The one who would save her life will lose it. It is more blessed to give than to receive. Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me. It is not what you put into your mouth that despoils your body, but what comes out of your mouth.” So, I think Jesus would have appreciated this English teacher and the assignment she gave to her English class.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
TAKING UP THE CROSS
Preached by Sandra Olsen
FIRST CHURCH IN UNIONVILLE, CT
FEBRUARY 25, 2024
Mark 8: 31-38
A ministerial colleague of mine tells this story about his growing up in North Carolina. He was around 15, and one summer afternoon he and his friend were fishing for trout in one of the local lakes, an activity, which required a fishing license. Suddenly, the boys saw a police car pull up, and then a policeman emerge, heading toward them. My friend, realizing that he would be expected to produce a fishing license, took off at a lightning speed. He was a good runner and was confident of his ability to outrun the policeman. But the policeman was young, not more than 25, and in perfect physical shape, and in very short order, overtook his young prey. As the policeman approached, my friend suddenly took out his fishing license and proudly thrust it in the policeman’s face. “Boy, the policeman said, “you must be the dumbest kid in town, running away when you had a license.” My friend looked at him and smiled. “Not so dumb, Sir, because my friend didn’t have one.”
It was, my colleague claimed, a perfect moment. He had outwitted the adult world, and he stood there in all his pride, gloating. The policeman just smiled. “You’re quick and you’re smart,” he said. I admire that,” and walking toward his car, he called back over his shoulder. “Just use your intelligence for good.” It was, my colleague claimed, a watershed moment. “There I was, so puffed up with arrogance, but suddenly it was deflated. That cop was wise beyond his years. Rather than being mad at my cleverness, he gave me credit for it. And then he did something else: he challenged me to use my brains for good.”
I like that story, partly, I suppose because it is not at all what I expected. There are elements of surprise. Did any of you really think the 15 year old had a valid fishing license? And did you expect such maturity from a young policeman, whose wisdom helped to turn the incident into a real teaching moment?
When we consider our reading from Mark, we also have a situation where expectations are overturned. There are surprises for the disciples---but the disciples are nothing like that smart 15 year old. On the contrary, Mark portrays them as pretty dense, not all that bright. By the 8th chapter of Mark, Jesus’ identity as healer, exorcist and teacher has been pretty firmly established. The demons have recognized him as the holy one of God, but no one else seems to understand. Immediately preceding today’s reading, Jesus asks his disciples a pivotal question: Who do people say I am? And they answers, “John the Baptist; others say Elijah and still others say one of the prophets.” Jesus persists, “But who do you say I am?” And it is Peter who answers, “You are the Messiah.” Now the disciples thought they knew what a Messiah was like--- a king, a liberator, a conqueror in the mode of David, who sat on the throne of a United Kingdom he had united. Jesus simply did not look like any kind of king.
The disciples already understood that with Jesus expectations did have a way of being overturned, but a Messiah who would suffer and die? That was beyond the pale. Is it any wonder that Peter objects? He rebukes Jesus, and Jesus in turn rebukes Peter, “Get behind me Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
This word rebuke is important to note, because up to this point rebuke is what Jesus did with the demons when he cast them out of people. He rebuked them. And so, this word rebuke tells us that this is a very serious conflict, a conflict as serious as the one Jesus had with the demons. If this was a teachable moment for the disciples, it was nothing like the one between the 15 year old boy and the policeman, where cleverness and then wisdom ruled. On the contrary, this was a tough conflict, where expectations were overturned by sharp, bitter exchanges. Jesus went so far as to call Peter Satan!
Now notice what happens in verse 34. Immediately, after rebuking Peter, he called to the crowd and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. Those who will save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, I will save.” The charge moves beyond the circle of the disciples to the whole crowd, to all those gathered to hear, all who might desire to follow. Jesus lays down the standard for discipleship to the crowd, not just to his band of twelve: “Deny yourselves, take up the cross and follow me.”
In our modern day we have tended to make the cross into any difficult challenge----a job, illness, an in law or a child, impossible to handle. But that is not the meaning here. The cross is not simply a difficult challenge. It is living a difficult challenge in a distinctively Christian way, a way that scorns the conventional wisdom of the world, which, counsels the avoidance of danger and suffering. But when we do that, we may be admirers of Jesus, but we are not his followers.
Following Alexei Navalny’s death, there have been many writings this past week about moral courage. Navalny had that in excess, almost dying from poisoning, being allowed to be treated in Germany and then after recovering, returning to Russia, where he was immediately arrested. He knew there was a strong possibility that he could pay with his life for his opposition to Putin and his commitment to the idea of a democratic Russia. Indeed, he was a heroic man. And heroism can inspire. We need heroes. We need heroes to show us what is possible. Tom Fox and James Loney were also heroes, working with a Christian peacekeeping team in Iraq. Fox was American, and Loney was Canadian, from Toronto. Both men were kidnapped while working in Iraq.
Loney remembers Baghdad, sitting next to Fox, who was wearing purple track pants and a grey sweater. He wrote: It’s cold; the light is gloomy. Your face is grim, your beard grey and haggard, your body skeletal. There’s a chain around your right ankle and wrist. Your left wrist is handcuffed to my right wrist. Your eyes are closed. I can hear your breathing, your chain clinking on the floor. You’re passing it through your fingers, one link at a time, using it like a rosary to keep track of your meditations.
You became a Quaker, and you said that if it became necessary, you were ready to offer your life. Armies expect casualties when they go to war. Those working for peace in war zones have to expect the same, was how you put it. Under no circumstances would you pick up a gun. A disciple of Jesus, you said, was a disciple of non violence.
Our kidnappers called themselves holy warriors fighting for the freedom of their country. One lost his parents when his house was bombed in Fallujah. Another had lost seven family members, four of them children, when soldiers fired on their vehicle. You were an American, and so they saw you as the enemy. They took you away on February 12, 2006. We never say you again. Twenty five days later, your body was found inside a plastic bag wrapped in a sheet. There were eight bullet wounds in your head and chest.”
Loney, a Canadian, was freed along with three others, who had also been kidnapped. None of those freed was American. It is tempting to look upon Tom Fox’s death as a waste, so unnecessary. Why was he even in Iraq in the midst of a war that was also a civil war? And we can also wonder about Navalny. Why did he return to Russia? Could he have not led an opposition movement from outside the country? What did his death really accomplish?
Sometimes in life there are these moments, watershed moments, when something breaks through our consciousness and we understand in a new and different way---the way that 15 year old heard the cop say, “Use your intelligence for good.” Jesus and Peter were locked in a battle of the spirit, and each rebuked the other. Peter understood very well the way of the world, and so did Jesus. Yet Jesus also knew something else---that the way of the world does not speak the final word. Peter saw things through a human lens, as we all do. But the Gospel is another lens, which allows people to see in a different way. Even suffering looks different. Navalny too had his lens; it was not Christian, but through it he saw the possibilities of freedom, justice, and truth. Neither Fox nor Navalny saw suffering as a good to be actively sought. But they both understood that some lives are given and not just taken.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
FIRST CHURCH IN UNIONVILLE, CT
FEBRUARY 25, 2024
Mark 8: 31-38
A ministerial colleague of mine tells this story about his growing up in North Carolina. He was around 15, and one summer afternoon he and his friend were fishing for trout in one of the local lakes, an activity, which required a fishing license. Suddenly, the boys saw a police car pull up, and then a policeman emerge, heading toward them. My friend, realizing that he would be expected to produce a fishing license, took off at a lightning speed. He was a good runner and was confident of his ability to outrun the policeman. But the policeman was young, not more than 25, and in perfect physical shape, and in very short order, overtook his young prey. As the policeman approached, my friend suddenly took out his fishing license and proudly thrust it in the policeman’s face. “Boy, the policeman said, “you must be the dumbest kid in town, running away when you had a license.” My friend looked at him and smiled. “Not so dumb, Sir, because my friend didn’t have one.”
It was, my colleague claimed, a perfect moment. He had outwitted the adult world, and he stood there in all his pride, gloating. The policeman just smiled. “You’re quick and you’re smart,” he said. I admire that,” and walking toward his car, he called back over his shoulder. “Just use your intelligence for good.” It was, my colleague claimed, a watershed moment. “There I was, so puffed up with arrogance, but suddenly it was deflated. That cop was wise beyond his years. Rather than being mad at my cleverness, he gave me credit for it. And then he did something else: he challenged me to use my brains for good.”
I like that story, partly, I suppose because it is not at all what I expected. There are elements of surprise. Did any of you really think the 15 year old had a valid fishing license? And did you expect such maturity from a young policeman, whose wisdom helped to turn the incident into a real teaching moment?
When we consider our reading from Mark, we also have a situation where expectations are overturned. There are surprises for the disciples---but the disciples are nothing like that smart 15 year old. On the contrary, Mark portrays them as pretty dense, not all that bright. By the 8th chapter of Mark, Jesus’ identity as healer, exorcist and teacher has been pretty firmly established. The demons have recognized him as the holy one of God, but no one else seems to understand. Immediately preceding today’s reading, Jesus asks his disciples a pivotal question: Who do people say I am? And they answers, “John the Baptist; others say Elijah and still others say one of the prophets.” Jesus persists, “But who do you say I am?” And it is Peter who answers, “You are the Messiah.” Now the disciples thought they knew what a Messiah was like--- a king, a liberator, a conqueror in the mode of David, who sat on the throne of a United Kingdom he had united. Jesus simply did not look like any kind of king.
The disciples already understood that with Jesus expectations did have a way of being overturned, but a Messiah who would suffer and die? That was beyond the pale. Is it any wonder that Peter objects? He rebukes Jesus, and Jesus in turn rebukes Peter, “Get behind me Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
This word rebuke is important to note, because up to this point rebuke is what Jesus did with the demons when he cast them out of people. He rebuked them. And so, this word rebuke tells us that this is a very serious conflict, a conflict as serious as the one Jesus had with the demons. If this was a teachable moment for the disciples, it was nothing like the one between the 15 year old boy and the policeman, where cleverness and then wisdom ruled. On the contrary, this was a tough conflict, where expectations were overturned by sharp, bitter exchanges. Jesus went so far as to call Peter Satan!
Now notice what happens in verse 34. Immediately, after rebuking Peter, he called to the crowd and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. Those who will save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, I will save.” The charge moves beyond the circle of the disciples to the whole crowd, to all those gathered to hear, all who might desire to follow. Jesus lays down the standard for discipleship to the crowd, not just to his band of twelve: “Deny yourselves, take up the cross and follow me.”
In our modern day we have tended to make the cross into any difficult challenge----a job, illness, an in law or a child, impossible to handle. But that is not the meaning here. The cross is not simply a difficult challenge. It is living a difficult challenge in a distinctively Christian way, a way that scorns the conventional wisdom of the world, which, counsels the avoidance of danger and suffering. But when we do that, we may be admirers of Jesus, but we are not his followers.
Following Alexei Navalny’s death, there have been many writings this past week about moral courage. Navalny had that in excess, almost dying from poisoning, being allowed to be treated in Germany and then after recovering, returning to Russia, where he was immediately arrested. He knew there was a strong possibility that he could pay with his life for his opposition to Putin and his commitment to the idea of a democratic Russia. Indeed, he was a heroic man. And heroism can inspire. We need heroes. We need heroes to show us what is possible. Tom Fox and James Loney were also heroes, working with a Christian peacekeeping team in Iraq. Fox was American, and Loney was Canadian, from Toronto. Both men were kidnapped while working in Iraq.
Loney remembers Baghdad, sitting next to Fox, who was wearing purple track pants and a grey sweater. He wrote: It’s cold; the light is gloomy. Your face is grim, your beard grey and haggard, your body skeletal. There’s a chain around your right ankle and wrist. Your left wrist is handcuffed to my right wrist. Your eyes are closed. I can hear your breathing, your chain clinking on the floor. You’re passing it through your fingers, one link at a time, using it like a rosary to keep track of your meditations.
You became a Quaker, and you said that if it became necessary, you were ready to offer your life. Armies expect casualties when they go to war. Those working for peace in war zones have to expect the same, was how you put it. Under no circumstances would you pick up a gun. A disciple of Jesus, you said, was a disciple of non violence.
Our kidnappers called themselves holy warriors fighting for the freedom of their country. One lost his parents when his house was bombed in Fallujah. Another had lost seven family members, four of them children, when soldiers fired on their vehicle. You were an American, and so they saw you as the enemy. They took you away on February 12, 2006. We never say you again. Twenty five days later, your body was found inside a plastic bag wrapped in a sheet. There were eight bullet wounds in your head and chest.”
Loney, a Canadian, was freed along with three others, who had also been kidnapped. None of those freed was American. It is tempting to look upon Tom Fox’s death as a waste, so unnecessary. Why was he even in Iraq in the midst of a war that was also a civil war? And we can also wonder about Navalny. Why did he return to Russia? Could he have not led an opposition movement from outside the country? What did his death really accomplish?
Sometimes in life there are these moments, watershed moments, when something breaks through our consciousness and we understand in a new and different way---the way that 15 year old heard the cop say, “Use your intelligence for good.” Jesus and Peter were locked in a battle of the spirit, and each rebuked the other. Peter understood very well the way of the world, and so did Jesus. Yet Jesus also knew something else---that the way of the world does not speak the final word. Peter saw things through a human lens, as we all do. But the Gospel is another lens, which allows people to see in a different way. Even suffering looks different. Navalny too had his lens; it was not Christian, but through it he saw the possibilities of freedom, justice, and truth. Neither Fox nor Navalny saw suffering as a good to be actively sought. But they both understood that some lives are given and not just taken.
February 23, 2024
Dear Friends
One of my favorite novels of all time is T.H. White’s The Once and Future King, the story of King Arthur and his famous Round Table. I first read it at the age of 18 and I have reread it at least three times. It is pure delight. The story begins with Arthur, who as a child was called Wart, and when he eventually pulled the sword out of the stone, he became king and then founded the Round Table with Lancelot as his most famous knight. Eventually and tragically the Table collapsed because of the evil intentions of others, including King Arthur’s son, Mordred.
For me one of the most moving passages is when Wart, still a child and not the favored one in the Court, is feeling sad and bit sorry for himself. And his wonderful teacher, Merlyn, the magician, gives him this advice.
“The best thing for being sad,’ replied Merlyn, beginning to puff and blow, ‘is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honor trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then – to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags in it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the thing for you.”
I think Merlyn is exactly right. And when the world gets me down, as it did this past week with the murder of Navalny and the difficulties Ukraine is facing, not to mention the suffering in Gaza and Israel, I try to learn something new. Learning empowers not only my mind but also my spirit, because it is such a wonderful reminder how absolutely marvelous the creation is. God has created such a tapestry of stunning beauty and startling anomalies that one cannot help but be impressed. Just the other day, for example, I learned that there are glaciers in tropical countries. It is not something any of us would expect, but in places like Kenya, Indonesia and Colombia, glaciers do exist. Of course, you won’t see a glacier on the beach, but if you take a hike up a mountain, you might see one. These massive ice formations were caused by the compression of snow over many centuries.
But what took centuries to form is now quickly disappearing. I learned that 50% of all mountain glaciers, both in the tropics and outside the tropics, will disappear by the 21st century’s end! Some glaciers are disappearing even faster than that. The Eternity Glaciers in Indonesia are projected to disappear by the end of 2026. The Andes in Colombia boasts a huge glacier and that too is slated for disappearance in the next few years. Mount Kenya and Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa both have birthed glaciers, but they are quickly melting. In 2009 the Chacaltaya Glacier in Bolivia completely disappeared along with half of Bolivia’s glaciers over the past 50 years.
The age of tropical glaciers is quickly coming to an end---all because of a warming climate.
Well, you might ask, how does such learning counter sadness, when what you learn is clearly upsetting? To me knowledge is a form of power, fighting the enemy of ignorance. And as you learn more about this marvelous world and creation, how can you possibly regret what you now know? After all, we can always hope that the knowledge can and will be put to good use. But without such knowledge, there is no hope of change or improvement. And such knowledge is in our hands to use---for good or for ill.
And certainly, there is much knowledge that does not need to upset us at all. For example, I am in awe of the James Webb Telescope and the images it shows us of galaxies far beyond our own. As the images become closer and closer to the time of the Big Bang, who knows what we will see and learn? What is there to fear in such knowledge? Perhaps some biblical literalists will be upset to learn that the Earth is not the only place God has seen fit to endow with life. Perhaps some will not like to learn that the redemption of humans is not the only kind of redemption God has in mind. We know so very little, and there is so much more to learn, so much more knowledge in which to delight. As Merlyn said, “Learning is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting.” And I would even be so bold to suggest that Jesus would agree.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends
One of my favorite novels of all time is T.H. White’s The Once and Future King, the story of King Arthur and his famous Round Table. I first read it at the age of 18 and I have reread it at least three times. It is pure delight. The story begins with Arthur, who as a child was called Wart, and when he eventually pulled the sword out of the stone, he became king and then founded the Round Table with Lancelot as his most famous knight. Eventually and tragically the Table collapsed because of the evil intentions of others, including King Arthur’s son, Mordred.
For me one of the most moving passages is when Wart, still a child and not the favored one in the Court, is feeling sad and bit sorry for himself. And his wonderful teacher, Merlyn, the magician, gives him this advice.
“The best thing for being sad,’ replied Merlyn, beginning to puff and blow, ‘is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honor trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then – to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags in it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the thing for you.”
I think Merlyn is exactly right. And when the world gets me down, as it did this past week with the murder of Navalny and the difficulties Ukraine is facing, not to mention the suffering in Gaza and Israel, I try to learn something new. Learning empowers not only my mind but also my spirit, because it is such a wonderful reminder how absolutely marvelous the creation is. God has created such a tapestry of stunning beauty and startling anomalies that one cannot help but be impressed. Just the other day, for example, I learned that there are glaciers in tropical countries. It is not something any of us would expect, but in places like Kenya, Indonesia and Colombia, glaciers do exist. Of course, you won’t see a glacier on the beach, but if you take a hike up a mountain, you might see one. These massive ice formations were caused by the compression of snow over many centuries.
But what took centuries to form is now quickly disappearing. I learned that 50% of all mountain glaciers, both in the tropics and outside the tropics, will disappear by the 21st century’s end! Some glaciers are disappearing even faster than that. The Eternity Glaciers in Indonesia are projected to disappear by the end of 2026. The Andes in Colombia boasts a huge glacier and that too is slated for disappearance in the next few years. Mount Kenya and Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa both have birthed glaciers, but they are quickly melting. In 2009 the Chacaltaya Glacier in Bolivia completely disappeared along with half of Bolivia’s glaciers over the past 50 years.
The age of tropical glaciers is quickly coming to an end---all because of a warming climate.
Well, you might ask, how does such learning counter sadness, when what you learn is clearly upsetting? To me knowledge is a form of power, fighting the enemy of ignorance. And as you learn more about this marvelous world and creation, how can you possibly regret what you now know? After all, we can always hope that the knowledge can and will be put to good use. But without such knowledge, there is no hope of change or improvement. And such knowledge is in our hands to use---for good or for ill.
And certainly, there is much knowledge that does not need to upset us at all. For example, I am in awe of the James Webb Telescope and the images it shows us of galaxies far beyond our own. As the images become closer and closer to the time of the Big Bang, who knows what we will see and learn? What is there to fear in such knowledge? Perhaps some biblical literalists will be upset to learn that the Earth is not the only place God has seen fit to endow with life. Perhaps some will not like to learn that the redemption of humans is not the only kind of redemption God has in mind. We know so very little, and there is so much more to learn, so much more knowledge in which to delight. As Merlyn said, “Learning is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting.” And I would even be so bold to suggest that Jesus would agree.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
ON THE SIDE OF GOD
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church, Unionville, CT
February 18, 2024
Mark 1: 9-15
On December 1, 1955, Rosa Parks was riding the bus home from work in Montgomery, Alabama. Rosa was a black woman, and in those days, if you were black, the procedure for riding the bus was to alight at the front, pay your fare, get off and re-enter through the back door. The white section was at the front of the bus, and if the white seats filled up, the black people, already sitting in the black section, had to move back, and if necessary, give up their seats. No black person could sit next to a white person, not even across the aisle.”
Well, on this December day, the driver of the bus, J.P. Blake, looked at some of his black riders in the 5th row, which was the first row of the black seating, and said, “Give me those seats.” That is the row in which Rosa Parks was sitting. Three of the blacks in that row got up and moved farther back in the bus. But Rosa did not move. She thought of her grandparents and her mother, very strong and faithful people, and she decided then and there she would not move. Most of you know the story. She was arrested, and on December 5 the Montgomery Bus Boycott began, lasting 381 days, when the Supreme Court ruled that public transportation could not be segregated. The Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. became a leading voice in the boycott, with many clergy persons, some white and many black, echoing their support.
Many know the Rosa Parks story, but few have an appreciation for the role faith played in Rosa’s decision not to move to the back of the bus. As a child Rosa said she had learned from the Bible to trust in God and not be afraid. And these were traits she saw in her grandparents and her mother. She remembers times when the KKK came near her home, and she also recalls how her grandfather never seemed to be afraid. At night sometimes he would sit with his shotgun and say that he did not know how long he would last, if they came breaking into the house, but he would get the first shot. He never went looking for trouble, Rosa said, but if it came, he would be ready.
From her grandmother and mother, she learned to trust in God. This did not mean that everything would be o.k. They all knew how hard life was for black people; she heard the stories of violence--- rape, beatings, castration, lynching, all kinds of humiliating cruelties visited on persons whose skin was not white. Rosa’s God was no magician, but she did believe that God was on the side of justice and freedom. She gained strength from her two favorite psalms, 23 and 27. When she was arrested for refusing to give up her seat on that December evening, she repeated to herself the words of Psalm 27: The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid. When evildoers assail me to devour my body, my adversaries and foes---they shall stumble and fall. She had no idea what would happen. Sitting in that jail cell, she felt alone and abandoned. “But I did not cry,” she said. Instead, I prayed and waited. And indeed, that night, Rosa Parks was released from the jail cell. But that was only the beginning of a movement that changed the history of the country.
Rosa never considered her faith to be solely a private concern. It had a public dimension. She was part of a church, part of a church movement that marched and sang for freedom and civil rights. The church, Rosa said, was the foundation of our community. It became our strength, our refuge, our haven. We would pray, sing, and meet in church. We would use scriptures, testimonials, and hymns to strengthen ourselves against all the hatred and violence that was going on around us. We identified, she said, with the story of the Exodus, when Moses led his people to freedom. God helped them and God would help us, because we knew that God was on the side of freedom. And so, she said, we should be on God’s side, supporting the fight for justice and freedom. To do less than this, Rosa believed, would be to give into the devil’s temptation, who wanted us to be less than we are. The devil is a master at using fear to keep us from doing what God calls us to do. So, Rosa resisted the temptation of fear.
In 1954 the Supreme Court rendered perhaps the most important decision of the 20th century. Separate is not equal, ending legal segregation in public schools. Almost immediately the NAACP along with some school districts in the South began to consider how integration was to proceed. In the city of Little Rock, Arkansas, it was finally determined to begin with Central High, an architectural beauty as well as an academically prestigious public school. Black students had to apply to be considered for attendance at Central High, and they went through a rigorous vetting process, because they would face some very ugly resistance. Nine students were chosen, and we should know their names, because they helped to move the needle closer to justice: Minnijean Brown, Terrance Roberts, Elizabeth Eckford, Ernest Green, Thelma Mothershed, Melba Patillo, Gloria Ray, Jefferson Thomas, and Carlotta Walls.
On September 4, 1957, the first day of school, Elizabeth Eckford remembers gathering around the breakfast table with her parents, siblings, other family members, even neighbors. Holding hands they prayed. They knew that Elizabeth and the other students were facing a raging mob, and they prayed that God would protect them. But they knew something else. They knew that God does not control everything that happens. They knew the ugliness of racism, and they knew that sometimes God’s desires are thwarted, at least in the short term. But their faith told them these nine students were participating in God’s march for freedom and justice, and that finally God’s will would be done---though there would and could be sacrifices along the way, including the lives of these youngsters. There was nothing naïve about their faith. Now there are parents among us here, and consider for one moment, whether you would have had the faith and the courage to send your son or daughter into that raging inferno with the faith that God was marching for freedom and justice and your child and you would be marching right along with God.
Orval Faubus, the Governor of Arkansas, called out his National Guard to prevent the students from entering Central High, and unfortunately Elizabeth Eckford did not receive the last minute instructions that all the students were to meet at a School Board Member’s home, so she went ahead, alone. When she arrived at the school, she saw the National Guard, and she thought they were there to help her. Wrong. They stood right in front of her, rifles poised across their chests, preventing her from entering the building. And then the yelling and the cursing and the threats began. She did not know if she would survive. But as calmly as she could, she walked to a bus stop, where she sat down next to a kindly white man, who whispered to her, “Don’t let them see you cry. Heroes don’t cry.” And she didn’t.
Dwight Eisenhower, President of the United States, was aghast when he saw the images on television. He called Governor Faubus to Washington, warning him, “Don’t break the law.” Eisenhower thought their conversation went well, until the next day, when Faubus said he was calling off the National Guard and would leave the students to the crowds. Eisenhower was incensed, and though he did not want to be drawn into the battle, he called out the 101 Airborne to make sure those nine students gained entrance to the school. Helicopters flew overhead and the 10,000 members of the Arkansas National Guard were nationalized, taking them out of the hands of the Governor. Not to be undone, Governor Faubus closed the schools, turning them over to private enterprises, which would run segregated schools. 1957 in Little Rock was known as the Lost Year.
So. many people don’t like the mixing of politics and religion, and yet if you examine the history of our nation, the two have been handmaidens from the very beginning. War, slavery, voting rights, civil rights, abortion, criminal justice, the death penalty, immigration---you name the issue, religion and faith have always had something to say. And faith’s voices have spoken on both sides of the issues. It can be a very serious temptation to think we know what God is thinking. And yet Rosa Parks acted because she believed God was acting through her, just as the Little Rock Nine and their supporters believed God was acting through them.
During the darkest days of the Civil War, a group of Congregational clergy from New England, came to the White House to visit President Lincoln. “Mr. President,” they said, “we want you to know we are praying for you. We are confident that God is on your side.” “Gentleman,” the President replied, “while I am deeply grateful for your prayers, I must admit I am a bit surprised by your overwhelming confidence in me. Is not the important question here, not, if God is on my side, but am I, are we, on the side of God?”
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church, Unionville, CT
February 18, 2024
Mark 1: 9-15
On December 1, 1955, Rosa Parks was riding the bus home from work in Montgomery, Alabama. Rosa was a black woman, and in those days, if you were black, the procedure for riding the bus was to alight at the front, pay your fare, get off and re-enter through the back door. The white section was at the front of the bus, and if the white seats filled up, the black people, already sitting in the black section, had to move back, and if necessary, give up their seats. No black person could sit next to a white person, not even across the aisle.”
Well, on this December day, the driver of the bus, J.P. Blake, looked at some of his black riders in the 5th row, which was the first row of the black seating, and said, “Give me those seats.” That is the row in which Rosa Parks was sitting. Three of the blacks in that row got up and moved farther back in the bus. But Rosa did not move. She thought of her grandparents and her mother, very strong and faithful people, and she decided then and there she would not move. Most of you know the story. She was arrested, and on December 5 the Montgomery Bus Boycott began, lasting 381 days, when the Supreme Court ruled that public transportation could not be segregated. The Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. became a leading voice in the boycott, with many clergy persons, some white and many black, echoing their support.
Many know the Rosa Parks story, but few have an appreciation for the role faith played in Rosa’s decision not to move to the back of the bus. As a child Rosa said she had learned from the Bible to trust in God and not be afraid. And these were traits she saw in her grandparents and her mother. She remembers times when the KKK came near her home, and she also recalls how her grandfather never seemed to be afraid. At night sometimes he would sit with his shotgun and say that he did not know how long he would last, if they came breaking into the house, but he would get the first shot. He never went looking for trouble, Rosa said, but if it came, he would be ready.
From her grandmother and mother, she learned to trust in God. This did not mean that everything would be o.k. They all knew how hard life was for black people; she heard the stories of violence--- rape, beatings, castration, lynching, all kinds of humiliating cruelties visited on persons whose skin was not white. Rosa’s God was no magician, but she did believe that God was on the side of justice and freedom. She gained strength from her two favorite psalms, 23 and 27. When she was arrested for refusing to give up her seat on that December evening, she repeated to herself the words of Psalm 27: The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid. When evildoers assail me to devour my body, my adversaries and foes---they shall stumble and fall. She had no idea what would happen. Sitting in that jail cell, she felt alone and abandoned. “But I did not cry,” she said. Instead, I prayed and waited. And indeed, that night, Rosa Parks was released from the jail cell. But that was only the beginning of a movement that changed the history of the country.
Rosa never considered her faith to be solely a private concern. It had a public dimension. She was part of a church, part of a church movement that marched and sang for freedom and civil rights. The church, Rosa said, was the foundation of our community. It became our strength, our refuge, our haven. We would pray, sing, and meet in church. We would use scriptures, testimonials, and hymns to strengthen ourselves against all the hatred and violence that was going on around us. We identified, she said, with the story of the Exodus, when Moses led his people to freedom. God helped them and God would help us, because we knew that God was on the side of freedom. And so, she said, we should be on God’s side, supporting the fight for justice and freedom. To do less than this, Rosa believed, would be to give into the devil’s temptation, who wanted us to be less than we are. The devil is a master at using fear to keep us from doing what God calls us to do. So, Rosa resisted the temptation of fear.
In 1954 the Supreme Court rendered perhaps the most important decision of the 20th century. Separate is not equal, ending legal segregation in public schools. Almost immediately the NAACP along with some school districts in the South began to consider how integration was to proceed. In the city of Little Rock, Arkansas, it was finally determined to begin with Central High, an architectural beauty as well as an academically prestigious public school. Black students had to apply to be considered for attendance at Central High, and they went through a rigorous vetting process, because they would face some very ugly resistance. Nine students were chosen, and we should know their names, because they helped to move the needle closer to justice: Minnijean Brown, Terrance Roberts, Elizabeth Eckford, Ernest Green, Thelma Mothershed, Melba Patillo, Gloria Ray, Jefferson Thomas, and Carlotta Walls.
On September 4, 1957, the first day of school, Elizabeth Eckford remembers gathering around the breakfast table with her parents, siblings, other family members, even neighbors. Holding hands they prayed. They knew that Elizabeth and the other students were facing a raging mob, and they prayed that God would protect them. But they knew something else. They knew that God does not control everything that happens. They knew the ugliness of racism, and they knew that sometimes God’s desires are thwarted, at least in the short term. But their faith told them these nine students were participating in God’s march for freedom and justice, and that finally God’s will would be done---though there would and could be sacrifices along the way, including the lives of these youngsters. There was nothing naïve about their faith. Now there are parents among us here, and consider for one moment, whether you would have had the faith and the courage to send your son or daughter into that raging inferno with the faith that God was marching for freedom and justice and your child and you would be marching right along with God.
Orval Faubus, the Governor of Arkansas, called out his National Guard to prevent the students from entering Central High, and unfortunately Elizabeth Eckford did not receive the last minute instructions that all the students were to meet at a School Board Member’s home, so she went ahead, alone. When she arrived at the school, she saw the National Guard, and she thought they were there to help her. Wrong. They stood right in front of her, rifles poised across their chests, preventing her from entering the building. And then the yelling and the cursing and the threats began. She did not know if she would survive. But as calmly as she could, she walked to a bus stop, where she sat down next to a kindly white man, who whispered to her, “Don’t let them see you cry. Heroes don’t cry.” And she didn’t.
Dwight Eisenhower, President of the United States, was aghast when he saw the images on television. He called Governor Faubus to Washington, warning him, “Don’t break the law.” Eisenhower thought their conversation went well, until the next day, when Faubus said he was calling off the National Guard and would leave the students to the crowds. Eisenhower was incensed, and though he did not want to be drawn into the battle, he called out the 101 Airborne to make sure those nine students gained entrance to the school. Helicopters flew overhead and the 10,000 members of the Arkansas National Guard were nationalized, taking them out of the hands of the Governor. Not to be undone, Governor Faubus closed the schools, turning them over to private enterprises, which would run segregated schools. 1957 in Little Rock was known as the Lost Year.
So. many people don’t like the mixing of politics and religion, and yet if you examine the history of our nation, the two have been handmaidens from the very beginning. War, slavery, voting rights, civil rights, abortion, criminal justice, the death penalty, immigration---you name the issue, religion and faith have always had something to say. And faith’s voices have spoken on both sides of the issues. It can be a very serious temptation to think we know what God is thinking. And yet Rosa Parks acted because she believed God was acting through her, just as the Little Rock Nine and their supporters believed God was acting through them.
During the darkest days of the Civil War, a group of Congregational clergy from New England, came to the White House to visit President Lincoln. “Mr. President,” they said, “we want you to know we are praying for you. We are confident that God is on your side.” “Gentleman,” the President replied, “while I am deeply grateful for your prayers, I must admit I am a bit surprised by your overwhelming confidence in me. Is not the important question here, not, if God is on my side, but am I, are we, on the side of God?”
All for the Glory of God
Ash Wednesday, February 14, 2024
If you grew up in a non-liturgical tradition, such as the Baptists or even the Congregationalists before the ecumenical movement of the 1960’s, your church might have all but ignored Lent and Ash Wednesday. I grew up as a Presbyterian, and though we noted Lent, we never celebrated Ash Wednesday. That was something the Roman Catholics did along with the Lutherans and the Episcopalians, whom, my mother claimed, were like the Catholics.
By the time of the Reformation in the 16th century, Lent was seen as a time of repentance, a time to look deeply within and acknowledge the limitations and sin of human life. People were encouraged to reflect on their sinfulness and ask for forgiveness. In time the idea became popular to give something up for Lent, as if the self-denial of chocolate or meat would bring one closer to God.
In the early church, however, Lent was not really a season of repentance, but rather one of preparation. Converts to the faith were baptized on Easter, and so the 40 days leading to Easter were to be a time of reflection and study, a time to imagine what new life in Christ would and could look like. And for the already baptized, it was a time to deepen faith, to reflect on how one’s life is being lived and how one’s life impacts others. And so, Lent does not need to concentrate on guilt or self denial punishment. We should always remember the gospel is ultimately good news. We are called to turn away from our self-obsession toward the wholeness God offers that our lives might point toward justice, peace, compassion, and forgiveness.
How strange, we might think, that this time of turning toward the wholeness God offers, show begin with ashes placed on the forehead with a command to remember our time on this earth is limited. “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” So, Ash Wednesday asks us to consider time, the reality that time moves along, and we cannot recapture its passing. We live in different rhythms. We sow and we reap; we speak, and we are silent. Though we say we desire peace, we find ourselves in times of war. Our reading from Ecclesiastes is not about ideal time; it is about how we actually live on this earth, and though we might desire for things to be different, the times are what they are. And we are who we are.
And yet as we consider real time and how we do live it, we are reminded that there is another standard, another way that God would have us live. We heard it in Isaiah, when the people are being called out because they have not been just and righteous. They have not properly cared for the widow and the orphan; they have failed to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and they are being told in no uncertain terms---rather harshly I would say---that this is the standard God demands for them. Jesus meant something very similar, when he said in Matthew, “Don’t puff yourselves up; don’t show off your piety, because none of that impresses God.” And so, they (and we) are to try and try again, remembering always that we do not have an unlimited time on this earth in which to try. Our lives will one day end, and Ash Wednesday reminds us to remember that truth.
Human beings are great deniers of death. There was a brilliant book published in 1973, winner of the Pulitzer Prize called, The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker. And because this denial is a universal human tendency, the major religions try to pry people away from their denial toward a realistic acceptance of death. The Buddha, for example, recommended corpse meditation, and in Buddhist monasteries in Thailand and Sri Lanka, photos of corpses in various states of decomposition are posted for the monks to contemplate. The student monks are taught to say about their own bodies, “This body too, such is its nature, such is its future, such is its unavoidable fate.”
Perhaps this sounds morbid, but it is grounded in real human psychology. The great essayist, Montaigne wrote in the 16th century, “Let us deprive death of its strangeness; let us frequent it, let us get used to it; let us have nothing more often in our minds than death. This is what psychologists call desensitization. In 2017 a team of researchers at several American universities gathered volunteers together to imagine they were terminally ill or on death row. And they were asked to write their reflections and their feelings, perhaps even their last words. And these were compared to people who were actually facing death. And the words of the people merely imagining their end were three times as negative and fearful as those who were truly moving to the end of their lives.
One of the conclusions of the study was that because our society so easily avoids the subject of death, we fail to develop a wisdom about facing death. We know with our heads that we are mortal and everything that lives is mortal, but we live as if we do not deeply own that truth. Abraham Maslow, the psychologist of self-actualization believed that love is only possible for us human beings because we are mortal. Mortality gives our choices shape and significance. If we lived forever, what consequences would our choices have? How would our souls deepen? How would they be refreshed? Maslow pointed to the Greek and Roman myths, where the love affairs among the gods and goddesses were boring---until they fell in love with human beings. Then time entered the picture and love then had meaning, depth and consequences.
Johann Sebastian Bach, whom some would say was the greatest composer who ever lived, said, “The final aim and end of all music is the glory of God and the refreshment of the soul.” We cannot all be great composers or musicians, but as Christians we can try to offer our lives to the glory of God, which when pursued, can and does refresh our souls. The last manuscript of music Bach wrote, Contrapunctus 14 from the Art of the Fugue, stops in mid measure. His son, CPE Bach, added these words to the score. “At this point in the fugue, the composer died.” Bach’s life and music merged with his prayers as he breathed his last breath. Though few of us could expect such a dramatic end, our souls can be refreshed when we see our limited time on this earth as a gift from God to be used up on behalf of others, all for the glory of God.
Ash Wednesday, February 14, 2024
If you grew up in a non-liturgical tradition, such as the Baptists or even the Congregationalists before the ecumenical movement of the 1960’s, your church might have all but ignored Lent and Ash Wednesday. I grew up as a Presbyterian, and though we noted Lent, we never celebrated Ash Wednesday. That was something the Roman Catholics did along with the Lutherans and the Episcopalians, whom, my mother claimed, were like the Catholics.
By the time of the Reformation in the 16th century, Lent was seen as a time of repentance, a time to look deeply within and acknowledge the limitations and sin of human life. People were encouraged to reflect on their sinfulness and ask for forgiveness. In time the idea became popular to give something up for Lent, as if the self-denial of chocolate or meat would bring one closer to God.
In the early church, however, Lent was not really a season of repentance, but rather one of preparation. Converts to the faith were baptized on Easter, and so the 40 days leading to Easter were to be a time of reflection and study, a time to imagine what new life in Christ would and could look like. And for the already baptized, it was a time to deepen faith, to reflect on how one’s life is being lived and how one’s life impacts others. And so, Lent does not need to concentrate on guilt or self denial punishment. We should always remember the gospel is ultimately good news. We are called to turn away from our self-obsession toward the wholeness God offers that our lives might point toward justice, peace, compassion, and forgiveness.
How strange, we might think, that this time of turning toward the wholeness God offers, show begin with ashes placed on the forehead with a command to remember our time on this earth is limited. “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” So, Ash Wednesday asks us to consider time, the reality that time moves along, and we cannot recapture its passing. We live in different rhythms. We sow and we reap; we speak, and we are silent. Though we say we desire peace, we find ourselves in times of war. Our reading from Ecclesiastes is not about ideal time; it is about how we actually live on this earth, and though we might desire for things to be different, the times are what they are. And we are who we are.
And yet as we consider real time and how we do live it, we are reminded that there is another standard, another way that God would have us live. We heard it in Isaiah, when the people are being called out because they have not been just and righteous. They have not properly cared for the widow and the orphan; they have failed to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and they are being told in no uncertain terms---rather harshly I would say---that this is the standard God demands for them. Jesus meant something very similar, when he said in Matthew, “Don’t puff yourselves up; don’t show off your piety, because none of that impresses God.” And so, they (and we) are to try and try again, remembering always that we do not have an unlimited time on this earth in which to try. Our lives will one day end, and Ash Wednesday reminds us to remember that truth.
Human beings are great deniers of death. There was a brilliant book published in 1973, winner of the Pulitzer Prize called, The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker. And because this denial is a universal human tendency, the major religions try to pry people away from their denial toward a realistic acceptance of death. The Buddha, for example, recommended corpse meditation, and in Buddhist monasteries in Thailand and Sri Lanka, photos of corpses in various states of decomposition are posted for the monks to contemplate. The student monks are taught to say about their own bodies, “This body too, such is its nature, such is its future, such is its unavoidable fate.”
Perhaps this sounds morbid, but it is grounded in real human psychology. The great essayist, Montaigne wrote in the 16th century, “Let us deprive death of its strangeness; let us frequent it, let us get used to it; let us have nothing more often in our minds than death. This is what psychologists call desensitization. In 2017 a team of researchers at several American universities gathered volunteers together to imagine they were terminally ill or on death row. And they were asked to write their reflections and their feelings, perhaps even their last words. And these were compared to people who were actually facing death. And the words of the people merely imagining their end were three times as negative and fearful as those who were truly moving to the end of their lives.
One of the conclusions of the study was that because our society so easily avoids the subject of death, we fail to develop a wisdom about facing death. We know with our heads that we are mortal and everything that lives is mortal, but we live as if we do not deeply own that truth. Abraham Maslow, the psychologist of self-actualization believed that love is only possible for us human beings because we are mortal. Mortality gives our choices shape and significance. If we lived forever, what consequences would our choices have? How would our souls deepen? How would they be refreshed? Maslow pointed to the Greek and Roman myths, where the love affairs among the gods and goddesses were boring---until they fell in love with human beings. Then time entered the picture and love then had meaning, depth and consequences.
Johann Sebastian Bach, whom some would say was the greatest composer who ever lived, said, “The final aim and end of all music is the glory of God and the refreshment of the soul.” We cannot all be great composers or musicians, but as Christians we can try to offer our lives to the glory of God, which when pursued, can and does refresh our souls. The last manuscript of music Bach wrote, Contrapunctus 14 from the Art of the Fugue, stops in mid measure. His son, CPE Bach, added these words to the score. “At this point in the fugue, the composer died.” Bach’s life and music merged with his prayers as he breathed his last breath. Though few of us could expect such a dramatic end, our souls can be refreshed when we see our limited time on this earth as a gift from God to be used up on behalf of others, all for the glory of God.
February 14, 2024
Dear Friends,
Monday was Lincoln’s birthday, which, like Washington’s birthday, used to be national holidays until President’s Day took over both. I had a 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Guyette, who idolized Lincoln, calling him “our greatest President.” She had good reasons for her choice, and she would tell us inspiring stories about Lincoln’s childhood and how he learned to read on his own. She talked about the brutality of the Civil War and how Lincoln often granted amnesty to Union soldiers facing execution for desertion. She also told us that people would argue over the War’s cause for a very long time, some insisting it was slavery, others saying it came down to states’ rights. Somehow it impressed me that she told our class that history was not something whose meaning was final and finished. “History is far more than mere facts,” she would say. Mrs. Guyette made us memorize the Gettysburg Address, which she called “the greatest speech ever given on American soil.” Maybe she was right, though now I think Lincoln’s Second Inaugural gives Gettysburg a good contest.
Lincoln preferred to date the founding of the country to the Declaration of Independence rather than to the Constitution, because the former was about freedom and equality, while the latter defended slavery and property. Jefferson had written that it is a self-evident truth that all men are created equal, though the country had certainly not lived up to that self-evident truth. At least it was not self-evident to all Americans. The slaveholders had amassed great wealth, and they insisted the Founders’ world view was a distortion of the truth that not all persons are created equal. Of course, no one can deny that talent is not equally distributed, but the claim of equality meant something quite specific to those opposing slavery. It meant equality before the law and the freedom to pursue one’s dreams and desires as far as one’s talent would permit. And certainly no one was more valuable or worthy before God because of wealth or the color of one’s skin. This message was preached by a number of Protestant clergy, such as Charles Finney, Theodore Weld and Henry Ward Beecher, all of whom were ardent abolitionists. From the pulpit they preached that slavery was sin and Finney even refused to give the sacrament of Holy Communion to slave holders.
In 1858 Lincoln was a candidate for the Senate, and he argued that the limitation of equality to white men was the same argument that the kings of Europe had used against granting rights to persons of the common classes. They created a hierarchy of worth, with the king at the top and various nobles on a descending ladder. How do we decide on this ladder, Lincoln wanted to know? If A decides to enslave B, because of the color of his skin, what if someone, C. comes along whose skin is lighter than both A and B. Does he then have the right to enslave both of them? No, you say, because A is White and B is Black, so though C can enslave B, he cannot enslave A, because A is White. C may have lighter skin than A, but still A is white, so he is protected against enslavement. So, said Lincoln, something more subtle than color is meant. Is it intellect? But if you use intellect as the standard, as soon as someone comes along who is intellectually sharper, do they then have the right to enslave the intellectually duller one? This is not what the enslavers meant or wanted to defend. They made in their minds a clear distinction between White and Black and only one race, the White one, had the right to enslave. The Declaration of Independence was wrong, the enslavers said, and the Vice President of the Confederacy, Alexander Stephens, put forth the argument that the nation was really founded “upon the great truth that men were not created equal and that there is a superior race.”
And so, the Civil War came, and one side won the War, though not truly the hearts and minds of the nation. The country would live through a long reckoning and the fight for racial equality has still not fully come. Lincoln did hold the racist view that the White race was superior to the Black race, but in his mind such superiority did not give anyone the right to enslave another human being. As much as he advocated for the freedom of the slaves, he was also a product of his time. We remember him and celebrate his life and legacy not because he was perfect, but because he moved the nation closer to its original founding ideals. Perfect leaders are not to be found anywhere.
My own father thought FDR was our greatest President, and yet his Administration rounded up West Coast Japanese and put them in internment camps. Their property was stolen from them, and in a very real sense, even after their release at the end of the war, they could never go home again. Is it any wonder that many of them left the United States for Japan? Japanese internment is a stain on our history, just as slavery is also a stain on our history. We can be ashamed of that history without being overcome by shame. We can hold up our ideals and be proud of those ideals, while recognizing that we have not always lived up to what we profess. Such is the human condition. We strive and we fail and then we strive again. The movement is not always upward; we do fall back, but if we believe that God is good and God is gracious, we also hope that our failures are forgiven as we strive for the full and abundant life God desires for all people.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Monday was Lincoln’s birthday, which, like Washington’s birthday, used to be national holidays until President’s Day took over both. I had a 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Guyette, who idolized Lincoln, calling him “our greatest President.” She had good reasons for her choice, and she would tell us inspiring stories about Lincoln’s childhood and how he learned to read on his own. She talked about the brutality of the Civil War and how Lincoln often granted amnesty to Union soldiers facing execution for desertion. She also told us that people would argue over the War’s cause for a very long time, some insisting it was slavery, others saying it came down to states’ rights. Somehow it impressed me that she told our class that history was not something whose meaning was final and finished. “History is far more than mere facts,” she would say. Mrs. Guyette made us memorize the Gettysburg Address, which she called “the greatest speech ever given on American soil.” Maybe she was right, though now I think Lincoln’s Second Inaugural gives Gettysburg a good contest.
Lincoln preferred to date the founding of the country to the Declaration of Independence rather than to the Constitution, because the former was about freedom and equality, while the latter defended slavery and property. Jefferson had written that it is a self-evident truth that all men are created equal, though the country had certainly not lived up to that self-evident truth. At least it was not self-evident to all Americans. The slaveholders had amassed great wealth, and they insisted the Founders’ world view was a distortion of the truth that not all persons are created equal. Of course, no one can deny that talent is not equally distributed, but the claim of equality meant something quite specific to those opposing slavery. It meant equality before the law and the freedom to pursue one’s dreams and desires as far as one’s talent would permit. And certainly no one was more valuable or worthy before God because of wealth or the color of one’s skin. This message was preached by a number of Protestant clergy, such as Charles Finney, Theodore Weld and Henry Ward Beecher, all of whom were ardent abolitionists. From the pulpit they preached that slavery was sin and Finney even refused to give the sacrament of Holy Communion to slave holders.
In 1858 Lincoln was a candidate for the Senate, and he argued that the limitation of equality to white men was the same argument that the kings of Europe had used against granting rights to persons of the common classes. They created a hierarchy of worth, with the king at the top and various nobles on a descending ladder. How do we decide on this ladder, Lincoln wanted to know? If A decides to enslave B, because of the color of his skin, what if someone, C. comes along whose skin is lighter than both A and B. Does he then have the right to enslave both of them? No, you say, because A is White and B is Black, so though C can enslave B, he cannot enslave A, because A is White. C may have lighter skin than A, but still A is white, so he is protected against enslavement. So, said Lincoln, something more subtle than color is meant. Is it intellect? But if you use intellect as the standard, as soon as someone comes along who is intellectually sharper, do they then have the right to enslave the intellectually duller one? This is not what the enslavers meant or wanted to defend. They made in their minds a clear distinction between White and Black and only one race, the White one, had the right to enslave. The Declaration of Independence was wrong, the enslavers said, and the Vice President of the Confederacy, Alexander Stephens, put forth the argument that the nation was really founded “upon the great truth that men were not created equal and that there is a superior race.”
And so, the Civil War came, and one side won the War, though not truly the hearts and minds of the nation. The country would live through a long reckoning and the fight for racial equality has still not fully come. Lincoln did hold the racist view that the White race was superior to the Black race, but in his mind such superiority did not give anyone the right to enslave another human being. As much as he advocated for the freedom of the slaves, he was also a product of his time. We remember him and celebrate his life and legacy not because he was perfect, but because he moved the nation closer to its original founding ideals. Perfect leaders are not to be found anywhere.
My own father thought FDR was our greatest President, and yet his Administration rounded up West Coast Japanese and put them in internment camps. Their property was stolen from them, and in a very real sense, even after their release at the end of the war, they could never go home again. Is it any wonder that many of them left the United States for Japan? Japanese internment is a stain on our history, just as slavery is also a stain on our history. We can be ashamed of that history without being overcome by shame. We can hold up our ideals and be proud of those ideals, while recognizing that we have not always lived up to what we profess. Such is the human condition. We strive and we fail and then we strive again. The movement is not always upward; we do fall back, but if we believe that God is good and God is gracious, we also hope that our failures are forgiven as we strive for the full and abundant life God desires for all people.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
The Work of Mending
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
February 11, 2024
Mark 9: 2-9
2 Kings 2: 1-12
Cheryl grew up in the Bronx, in a closely knit neighborhood with a variety of shops, local businesses, and small eating places. Cheryl remembers the Saturday trips to the tailor, when her mother would bring to this older man pants, skirts, dresses, even sweaters, anything that needed mending. Mr. Pressler, the tailor, was always impeccably dressed, in a suit and a tie. “He was kind and pleasant,” Cheryl remembers, “and we trusted him with our lives. “You see, for my immigrant parents dressing well and neatly was a matter of pride. We did not have much money, and when things became ripped or worn, we needed them mended rather than replaced. And Mr. Pressler was a master tailor. You could not tell where the repair had been made. And that was a point of great pride, not only for the tailor, but also for all of us who needed our clothes mended.
When Cheryl was 18, she went off to a prestigious New England college on scholarship, and for the first time in her life, she was surrounded by people who had money. And they never had their clothes repaired. It shocked her that the ripped jeans would be thrown out without a second thought. This simply was not the way her life in the Bronx had been. Well, now nearly four decades have passed since her college days, and she has noticed a new phenomenon. There are people, who do mend clothes, but they do it without hiding the repair. Instead, they show it off, sometimes using brightly colored threads and fabrics, which immediately draw the eyes to the repair. So, why the change?
That’s an interesting question, isn’t it, because let’s face it, the human condition is one where repair and mending often are required. Yes, life is beautiful, a gift for which to be grateful, but we all know that each of us faces challenges and failures, and our mistakes often cry out for correction. Consider our reading from the Book of Kings. We have this prophet, Elijah, who in Jewish history, is mightily important. We saw him at the transfiguration of Jesus when he showed up with Moses. Elijah is the one for whom our Jewish friends set a place at the table, when they celebrate the Passover feast. Elijah is the one they expect to show up when the consummation of history takes place, when God repairs the brokenness of the creation and makes all manner of things well. Elijah valiantly fought against the prophets of Baal, killing many of them, which made Queen Jezebel so furious that he had to run away to save his life, and he bitterly complained to God about how hard life had become for him.
Elijah has been training and educating Elisha, who was expected to pick up the prophetic mantle. And though Elisha has been a very willing pupil, he is not ready to let his teacher go. And so, though Elijah tries to get away, Elisha keeps saying, “I will not leave you.” Elisha thinks he can hold on to his teacher, but he cannot. The two must part. When they arrive at the River Jordan, Elijah strikes the water with his cloak and the water is parted, torn apart---just like the parting of the Red Sea, when Moses led the Israelites through the separated waters to escape the Egyptians. This kind of tearing or parting is good---allowing movement toward a new beginning. And Elisha too will have a new beginning, but not without pain and the sorrow of separation. But before the two are parted, Elijah asks his pupil, ‘Is there something I may do for you before I am taken from you?” “Yes,” said Elisha. “I want a double share of your spirit.” And then a chariot of fire and horses of fire separate Elisa from Elijah and off Elijah goes into the heavens in a whirlwind. And what does Elisha do? He tears his clothes, a sign of deep grief, mourning and loss. He is torn apart by the loss of his teacher, and he is not sure what kind of mending will come to him---if any mending will repair the loss of his beloved teacher.
Most of us here, well past the blush of youth, know what grief feels like. We know what it feels like, because we have all suffered loss---loss of grandparents and parents, other family members, friends, and even, God help us, children. And we count other losses too---loss of youth and vitality, loss of independence, loss of a marriage or a significant relationship. Sometimes we arrive at a certain point in our lives when we put aside certain hopes and expectations, when we finally admit to ourselves, no, we are not going to write that novel or publish that collection of poetry, or climb Mount Kilimanjaro, or see Antarctica or sail down the Amazon or build that dream retreat in the mountains or near the ocean. Time passes, and we let go and when we do, there is grief at the loss. But there is something else beside the grief. There is a kind of mending and repair, healing, and if we consider how some people are mending torn clothes today with brightly colored threats and fabrics not to hide the tear but to acknowledge it, we too can try to embrace the losses we count as our own, because they actually help to make us who we are.
When my daughter, Caitlin, was recently in Nepal, hiking in the Himalayas under the direction of a sherpa, at one of the tea houses where she stayed, she met this other sherpa, who told her his story. He had been trained by one of the best. They were teacher and pupil, very, very close, and the younger man admitted that he developed such a dependence on his teacher that he could not imagine hiking without him. I was trained to be a sherpa, to lead others up the great mountains, but I felt I could not do it without my teacher at my side. I tried a number of times, but fear led me to turn back. Fear had me in its awful clutches. And then my teacher, my beloved guide who had taught me everything I knew, died in an avalanche. Overcome by grief I certainly was, but in time the amazing result was that his death freed me from my fear and my dependence. Two months after he died, there I was leading a team up the mountain. Oh, I was still grieving, but my grief led me to a new place.”
The same would be true for Elisha. As grief stricken as he was at the loss of Elijah, he would become the prophet he was called to become. Oh, he hardly had an easy time of it, but then prophets never do. And the disciples, Peter, James and John, who accompanied Jesus up the mountain, where they saw him transfigured, holding court with Moses and Elijah, they too would later learn to deal with the grief of losing their beloved leader and teacher. He would return to them, but not in the same old way. They could not cling to him any more than Mary Magdalene could. When she saw the resurrected Christ, she tried to reach out to him, but he said to her, “Do not cling to me.” No, there would be no clinging. But there would be a new path, a new beginning, created out of the alchemy of suffering and loss. There are rips and tears and wounds in our lives. There are losses and there is grief, sometimes a grief so great we do not know how we can bear it. But the grief does not speak the final word. It is love which speaks, the love of God, assuring us that the loss or losses we thought we could not bear are indeed bearable, because we do not bear them alone. The work of mending goes on, even when we do not notice it.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
February 11, 2024
Mark 9: 2-9
2 Kings 2: 1-12
Cheryl grew up in the Bronx, in a closely knit neighborhood with a variety of shops, local businesses, and small eating places. Cheryl remembers the Saturday trips to the tailor, when her mother would bring to this older man pants, skirts, dresses, even sweaters, anything that needed mending. Mr. Pressler, the tailor, was always impeccably dressed, in a suit and a tie. “He was kind and pleasant,” Cheryl remembers, “and we trusted him with our lives. “You see, for my immigrant parents dressing well and neatly was a matter of pride. We did not have much money, and when things became ripped or worn, we needed them mended rather than replaced. And Mr. Pressler was a master tailor. You could not tell where the repair had been made. And that was a point of great pride, not only for the tailor, but also for all of us who needed our clothes mended.
When Cheryl was 18, she went off to a prestigious New England college on scholarship, and for the first time in her life, she was surrounded by people who had money. And they never had their clothes repaired. It shocked her that the ripped jeans would be thrown out without a second thought. This simply was not the way her life in the Bronx had been. Well, now nearly four decades have passed since her college days, and she has noticed a new phenomenon. There are people, who do mend clothes, but they do it without hiding the repair. Instead, they show it off, sometimes using brightly colored threads and fabrics, which immediately draw the eyes to the repair. So, why the change?
That’s an interesting question, isn’t it, because let’s face it, the human condition is one where repair and mending often are required. Yes, life is beautiful, a gift for which to be grateful, but we all know that each of us faces challenges and failures, and our mistakes often cry out for correction. Consider our reading from the Book of Kings. We have this prophet, Elijah, who in Jewish history, is mightily important. We saw him at the transfiguration of Jesus when he showed up with Moses. Elijah is the one for whom our Jewish friends set a place at the table, when they celebrate the Passover feast. Elijah is the one they expect to show up when the consummation of history takes place, when God repairs the brokenness of the creation and makes all manner of things well. Elijah valiantly fought against the prophets of Baal, killing many of them, which made Queen Jezebel so furious that he had to run away to save his life, and he bitterly complained to God about how hard life had become for him.
Elijah has been training and educating Elisha, who was expected to pick up the prophetic mantle. And though Elisha has been a very willing pupil, he is not ready to let his teacher go. And so, though Elijah tries to get away, Elisha keeps saying, “I will not leave you.” Elisha thinks he can hold on to his teacher, but he cannot. The two must part. When they arrive at the River Jordan, Elijah strikes the water with his cloak and the water is parted, torn apart---just like the parting of the Red Sea, when Moses led the Israelites through the separated waters to escape the Egyptians. This kind of tearing or parting is good---allowing movement toward a new beginning. And Elisha too will have a new beginning, but not without pain and the sorrow of separation. But before the two are parted, Elijah asks his pupil, ‘Is there something I may do for you before I am taken from you?” “Yes,” said Elisha. “I want a double share of your spirit.” And then a chariot of fire and horses of fire separate Elisa from Elijah and off Elijah goes into the heavens in a whirlwind. And what does Elisha do? He tears his clothes, a sign of deep grief, mourning and loss. He is torn apart by the loss of his teacher, and he is not sure what kind of mending will come to him---if any mending will repair the loss of his beloved teacher.
Most of us here, well past the blush of youth, know what grief feels like. We know what it feels like, because we have all suffered loss---loss of grandparents and parents, other family members, friends, and even, God help us, children. And we count other losses too---loss of youth and vitality, loss of independence, loss of a marriage or a significant relationship. Sometimes we arrive at a certain point in our lives when we put aside certain hopes and expectations, when we finally admit to ourselves, no, we are not going to write that novel or publish that collection of poetry, or climb Mount Kilimanjaro, or see Antarctica or sail down the Amazon or build that dream retreat in the mountains or near the ocean. Time passes, and we let go and when we do, there is grief at the loss. But there is something else beside the grief. There is a kind of mending and repair, healing, and if we consider how some people are mending torn clothes today with brightly colored threats and fabrics not to hide the tear but to acknowledge it, we too can try to embrace the losses we count as our own, because they actually help to make us who we are.
When my daughter, Caitlin, was recently in Nepal, hiking in the Himalayas under the direction of a sherpa, at one of the tea houses where she stayed, she met this other sherpa, who told her his story. He had been trained by one of the best. They were teacher and pupil, very, very close, and the younger man admitted that he developed such a dependence on his teacher that he could not imagine hiking without him. I was trained to be a sherpa, to lead others up the great mountains, but I felt I could not do it without my teacher at my side. I tried a number of times, but fear led me to turn back. Fear had me in its awful clutches. And then my teacher, my beloved guide who had taught me everything I knew, died in an avalanche. Overcome by grief I certainly was, but in time the amazing result was that his death freed me from my fear and my dependence. Two months after he died, there I was leading a team up the mountain. Oh, I was still grieving, but my grief led me to a new place.”
The same would be true for Elisha. As grief stricken as he was at the loss of Elijah, he would become the prophet he was called to become. Oh, he hardly had an easy time of it, but then prophets never do. And the disciples, Peter, James and John, who accompanied Jesus up the mountain, where they saw him transfigured, holding court with Moses and Elijah, they too would later learn to deal with the grief of losing their beloved leader and teacher. He would return to them, but not in the same old way. They could not cling to him any more than Mary Magdalene could. When she saw the resurrected Christ, she tried to reach out to him, but he said to her, “Do not cling to me.” No, there would be no clinging. But there would be a new path, a new beginning, created out of the alchemy of suffering and loss. There are rips and tears and wounds in our lives. There are losses and there is grief, sometimes a grief so great we do not know how we can bear it. But the grief does not speak the final word. It is love which speaks, the love of God, assuring us that the loss or losses we thought we could not bear are indeed bearable, because we do not bear them alone. The work of mending goes on, even when we do not notice it.
February 7, 2024
Dear Friends,
As the week draws toward its close, and we consider the days that are approaching, we should remember that on February 11, 1990 Nelson Mandela was released from his prison, where he had been incarcerated for 27 years. Mandela had been convicted of advocating violent resistance against the violent regime of apartheid, and for 27 years he lived in hope that there would be a day when apartheid would be overthrown. In 1985 Mandela had been offered by President Botha release from prison, if he would agree to renounce all violent resistance. He refused. Into his daughter’s hands, Mandela placed a speech and asked her to read it. One line says it all: “Let Botha renounce violence. Let him say that he will dismantle apartheid. “
On February 10, 1990 the new President of South Africa, F.W. de Klerk came to the prison where Mandela was being held and told him he would be released the following day. When Mandela walked out of the prison, holding the hand of his wife, Winne, he raised his other hand in a fist of victory. Apartheid was dismantled and four years later Mandela was elected President of South Africa. His words then can be applied to us now: “It always seems impossible, until it is done.”
February 12 is the birthday of two renown persons: Charles Darwin and Abraham Lincoln. Apparently, when he was a young man, Darwin had a dream to become a pastor, but soon he developed another passion---science. When he was only 22 years old, he voyaged to the Galapagos Islands, where he took copious notes about all he observed there. The Islands were spaced far enough apart that Darwin concluded the various creatures inhabiting them had evolved into different species. His notes became the basis for this theory of natural selection, which he published as a book 20 years later. Though lesser minds than his would accuse him of atheism, Darwin did believe in a Creator God, and in his book on natural selection he wrote, “There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed by the Creator into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and wonderful have been and are being evolved.”
Most of us are well aware that Abraham Lincoln’s birthday is also February 12, a day schools and government buildings were closed until President’s Day replaced the tradition of celebrating both Lincoln’s and Washington’s birthdays.
Abraham Lincoln was born in Kentucky and spent his childhood in terrible, abject poverty without almost any formal education. Yet in his 20’s he determined to study law in Illinois, which led him on the road to his political future. Early on he claimed his strong opposition to slavery, and quoting from Jesus, he repeated, “A House divided against itself cannot stand.” Furthermore, he said, “I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free.” And so ,war came, and it was Lincoln who shepherded the nation through the bloody trials that left dead 360,022 Union soldiers and 258,000 Confederate troops---the bloodiest war in American history. On April 14, 1865, five days after the war ended, Lincoln was shot while attending a play at Ford’s Theater in Washington, D.C. At his death, Edward Stanton, the nation’s Secretary of War said, “Now he belongs to the Ages.” It is worth noting that while Stanton came to have great respect and affection for Lincoln, at first, he did not like Lincoln at all, calling him “a gorilla, an imbecile, and a disgrace.” Lincoln did not care about Stanton’s personal opinion of him, because Stanton was known to be a brilliant administrator, and that was reason enough for Lincoln to appoint him as Secretary of War. Lincoln was deeply magnanimous. On this point all scholars agree.
On February 13, 1633 Galileo arrived in Rome to face charges of heresy because he said that’s the earth was not the center of the universe. The. Church used the writings of Aristotle and Ptolemy and certain biblical writings to bolster their position that the sun and moon revolved around the earth. Galileo had been studying Copernicus and he wrote a book that laid out the two positions---his and the Church’s. When the Church’s position was quickly refuted in the book, Galileo was called to Rome and ordered to recant or face the stake. Galileo said in his defense that faith and scientific knowledge can be compatible and since mind is a gift of God, human beings should never be afraid to study the evidence and think. Galileo did recant to save his life, but history has vindicated him and eventually the Church lifted its condemnation of Galileo’s ideas.
This year February 14 is not only St. Valentine’s Day, but it is also Ash Wednesday, so come to church for a service in the chapel on Wednesday evening at 7 PM, when you will learn something of the history and meaning of Ash Wednesday. As far as St. Valentine’s Day goes, there were at least three different martyred Valentines, but some think the day is named after a priest who was martyred in 270 by the Roman Emperor, Claudius ll Gothicus. Valentine wrote a letter to his jailer’s daughter, signed, Your Valentine. It was said that the priest healed the girl of her blindness. Another story is that a priest named Valentine was martyred, because he continued to marry couples to prevent the married men from being sent to war. Apparently single men were sent to war over married ones. By the 1500’s formal messages of love began to appear in Europe and by the late 1700’s commercial cards began to appear. In the United States the first commercial cards were printed in the mid-1800’s. Today, worldwide it is estimated that one billion cards and notes of devotion are sent on Valentines Day and 60 million pounds of chocolate are sold and given.
February 15 is the birthday of Susan B. Anthony, a vigorous defender of women’s rights and a fighter for women’s suffrage. Along with her friend, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, she traveled across the country giving speeches in defense of women’s rights. She helped to establish a newspaper in New York City, The Revolutionist, whose motto was: Men, their rights and nothing more; Women, their rights and nothing less.”
On February 16, 600, Pope Gregory recommended that God Bless You is an appropriate verbal response to a sneeze. A plague was raging across Europe, and it was hoped that the blessing would protect people from sickness and death.
On February 17, 1863, the International Committee of the Red Cross was founded in Geneva, Switzerland. In 1859 Henri Dunant was in northern Italy, where he witnessed a terrible battle in the war for Italian independence. 40,000 wounded and dead soldiers lay on the battlefield, virtually ignored. Dunant immediately began to organize locals to help, and this led him on a project to do something about helping victims of war. The project bankrupted him, but he continued to work on behalf of peace, and in 1901 he was the first person to be awarded the Noble Peace Prize.
As you can see, each date in the upcoming week has something about it to recommend it to our memories. We live in such a diverse and fascinating world, and the human actors in it are always up to something. No wonder someone said, “God made human beings because God loves good stories.” Well, God certainly has enough good stories to prevent the divine nature from ever being bored! And we too should never be bored. There is always something new to learn.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
As the week draws toward its close, and we consider the days that are approaching, we should remember that on February 11, 1990 Nelson Mandela was released from his prison, where he had been incarcerated for 27 years. Mandela had been convicted of advocating violent resistance against the violent regime of apartheid, and for 27 years he lived in hope that there would be a day when apartheid would be overthrown. In 1985 Mandela had been offered by President Botha release from prison, if he would agree to renounce all violent resistance. He refused. Into his daughter’s hands, Mandela placed a speech and asked her to read it. One line says it all: “Let Botha renounce violence. Let him say that he will dismantle apartheid. “
On February 10, 1990 the new President of South Africa, F.W. de Klerk came to the prison where Mandela was being held and told him he would be released the following day. When Mandela walked out of the prison, holding the hand of his wife, Winne, he raised his other hand in a fist of victory. Apartheid was dismantled and four years later Mandela was elected President of South Africa. His words then can be applied to us now: “It always seems impossible, until it is done.”
February 12 is the birthday of two renown persons: Charles Darwin and Abraham Lincoln. Apparently, when he was a young man, Darwin had a dream to become a pastor, but soon he developed another passion---science. When he was only 22 years old, he voyaged to the Galapagos Islands, where he took copious notes about all he observed there. The Islands were spaced far enough apart that Darwin concluded the various creatures inhabiting them had evolved into different species. His notes became the basis for this theory of natural selection, which he published as a book 20 years later. Though lesser minds than his would accuse him of atheism, Darwin did believe in a Creator God, and in his book on natural selection he wrote, “There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed by the Creator into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and wonderful have been and are being evolved.”
Most of us are well aware that Abraham Lincoln’s birthday is also February 12, a day schools and government buildings were closed until President’s Day replaced the tradition of celebrating both Lincoln’s and Washington’s birthdays.
Abraham Lincoln was born in Kentucky and spent his childhood in terrible, abject poverty without almost any formal education. Yet in his 20’s he determined to study law in Illinois, which led him on the road to his political future. Early on he claimed his strong opposition to slavery, and quoting from Jesus, he repeated, “A House divided against itself cannot stand.” Furthermore, he said, “I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free.” And so ,war came, and it was Lincoln who shepherded the nation through the bloody trials that left dead 360,022 Union soldiers and 258,000 Confederate troops---the bloodiest war in American history. On April 14, 1865, five days after the war ended, Lincoln was shot while attending a play at Ford’s Theater in Washington, D.C. At his death, Edward Stanton, the nation’s Secretary of War said, “Now he belongs to the Ages.” It is worth noting that while Stanton came to have great respect and affection for Lincoln, at first, he did not like Lincoln at all, calling him “a gorilla, an imbecile, and a disgrace.” Lincoln did not care about Stanton’s personal opinion of him, because Stanton was known to be a brilliant administrator, and that was reason enough for Lincoln to appoint him as Secretary of War. Lincoln was deeply magnanimous. On this point all scholars agree.
On February 13, 1633 Galileo arrived in Rome to face charges of heresy because he said that’s the earth was not the center of the universe. The. Church used the writings of Aristotle and Ptolemy and certain biblical writings to bolster their position that the sun and moon revolved around the earth. Galileo had been studying Copernicus and he wrote a book that laid out the two positions---his and the Church’s. When the Church’s position was quickly refuted in the book, Galileo was called to Rome and ordered to recant or face the stake. Galileo said in his defense that faith and scientific knowledge can be compatible and since mind is a gift of God, human beings should never be afraid to study the evidence and think. Galileo did recant to save his life, but history has vindicated him and eventually the Church lifted its condemnation of Galileo’s ideas.
This year February 14 is not only St. Valentine’s Day, but it is also Ash Wednesday, so come to church for a service in the chapel on Wednesday evening at 7 PM, when you will learn something of the history and meaning of Ash Wednesday. As far as St. Valentine’s Day goes, there were at least three different martyred Valentines, but some think the day is named after a priest who was martyred in 270 by the Roman Emperor, Claudius ll Gothicus. Valentine wrote a letter to his jailer’s daughter, signed, Your Valentine. It was said that the priest healed the girl of her blindness. Another story is that a priest named Valentine was martyred, because he continued to marry couples to prevent the married men from being sent to war. Apparently single men were sent to war over married ones. By the 1500’s formal messages of love began to appear in Europe and by the late 1700’s commercial cards began to appear. In the United States the first commercial cards were printed in the mid-1800’s. Today, worldwide it is estimated that one billion cards and notes of devotion are sent on Valentines Day and 60 million pounds of chocolate are sold and given.
February 15 is the birthday of Susan B. Anthony, a vigorous defender of women’s rights and a fighter for women’s suffrage. Along with her friend, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, she traveled across the country giving speeches in defense of women’s rights. She helped to establish a newspaper in New York City, The Revolutionist, whose motto was: Men, their rights and nothing more; Women, their rights and nothing less.”
On February 16, 600, Pope Gregory recommended that God Bless You is an appropriate verbal response to a sneeze. A plague was raging across Europe, and it was hoped that the blessing would protect people from sickness and death.
On February 17, 1863, the International Committee of the Red Cross was founded in Geneva, Switzerland. In 1859 Henri Dunant was in northern Italy, where he witnessed a terrible battle in the war for Italian independence. 40,000 wounded and dead soldiers lay on the battlefield, virtually ignored. Dunant immediately began to organize locals to help, and this led him on a project to do something about helping victims of war. The project bankrupted him, but he continued to work on behalf of peace, and in 1901 he was the first person to be awarded the Noble Peace Prize.
As you can see, each date in the upcoming week has something about it to recommend it to our memories. We live in such a diverse and fascinating world, and the human actors in it are always up to something. No wonder someone said, “God made human beings because God loves good stories.” Well, God certainly has enough good stories to prevent the divine nature from ever being bored! And we too should never be bored. There is always something new to learn.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
“Everyone Is Searching”
Preached by Sandra Olsen
Center Church on the Green in New Haven
February 8, 2009
Mark 1: 29-39
“Everyone is searching for you.” That’s what Simon Peter and his companions said to Jesus, when they finally found him. Jesus had gone off, to be alone with God, to pray, to mediate, to be at peace. His activity had been almost frenzied in its pace, moving from the synagogue, where he had cast out an unclean spirit, then to the home of Simon Peter, where he healed Peter’s mother in law, followed by multiple healings, and now to a deserted place. Everyone was searching for Jesus, because that is the human condition---looking for something we think we desperately need and want.
So yes, people wanted something from Jesus. They wanted to be healed, to be restored to their community, as the demon possessed man had been restored, to be healed, as Simon Peter’s mother in law had been healed. Jesus was in the business of serving others, and indeed the word served used for Simon’s mother in law, when the text says, “She got up and served them,” is the same word from which we derive our word, deacon, the same word used of the angels, who served or ministered to Jesus after he faced his temptations in the wilderness, the same word Mark used of Jesus, who came not to be served, but to serve. Service in Mask’s Gospel is no second class position. It is what Jesus does and what he expects his followers to do.
But in our text for today Jesus is not serving others. He is alone, almost hidden, and people are searching for him. This theme of Jesus being out of sight while others search for him runs across the pages of Mark’s gospel. So why is Jesus out of sight? Well, in this particular instance, he has a need to be alone, to recharge spiritually as he prays to God. And then there are other times Jesus withdraws or hides because certain people are out to do him harm. By the third chapter in Mark Jesus is already in big trouble with the authorities, some of whom are plotting to destroy him. And so, as Jesus travels around Galilee, Mark tells us that Jesus sometimes avoids public places, where he knows the high and mighty will be. He purposely becomes invisible to those who have the power to destroy him.
But Jesus is also invisible or hidden in another sense. He is invisible, because people do not really know or understand who he is or what he is about. They see him as some kind of miracle worker, someone with magical powers who can fix whatever ails them. And although Jesus is a healer, he is more than that. He is the Holy One of God, which as we saw in last week’s reading, no one recognized, except the demon. But Jesus’ identity is not fully known and fully visible until his crucifixion and death. That is when Jesus is recognized fully as God’s Son by a Roman centurion.
Now this theme of visibility/invisibly is also part of the church’s story. In the early centuries, when the church was threatened by the power of Rome, the church tried to be invisible, hiding in caves or private homes. Being invisible was a means of the church’s survival. Our Pilgrim and Puritan ancestors certainly had their times of hiding. In England, the Congregationalists hid from the Crown and The Church of England, because they did not want to conform to church rules and doctrine. No wonder they eventually left and came to a new world, where they hoped their hiding was over. But it was not. In New Haven, there were three men, Dixwell, Whalley and Goffe, who were among the 59 judges who signed the death warrant against Charles l, beheaded in 1649. With the restoration of the monarchy, the Crown sent agents to the new world to track down the regicides. And the church in New Haven, where I served for 10 years, did a fairly good job of hiding the men. Of course, eventually, the Congregationalists became the established church, proudly building their Meeting Houses on the town green at the town’s center. Later, in classic New England style, church spires would jut toward the heavens, communicating that here was not only architectural perfection and beauty, but also spiritual and even worldly power and presence. People knew the New England Congregationalists were here---no hiding, no invisibility.
Well, our churches are not hiding today, but they are, metaphorically speaking, invisible. WE are all but ignored. All across the nation many mainline sanctuaries like ours are near empty, and who really cares what the church has to say? Many decades ago The New York Times would actually quote from sermons preached in some of the New York prestigious churches---like Madison Ave. Presbyterian Church or St. John the Divine. Presumably people cared what was being said in the pulpits, or why would the Times have bothered. But we now inhabit a very different world. And the Church has not yet figured out how it belongs in this new world, where we do not have to hide, but we are not really visible.
Consider again our lesson from Mark. Note how the news of the healings spread so quickly that Jesus had to get away. He was probably exhausted, wanting to be left alone. But he also knew the people did not understand who he really was. They wanted a miracles worker, not the holy one of God. And so, he hid, which is something people sometimes do when they are misunderstood and cannot easily make their truth known. And the people, desperate for something, just keep searching.
Some of you may know John Irving’s novel, Cider House Rules, or perhaps the remarkable movie by the same name. The story takes place in Maine, in the 1930’s. The director of the orphanage, Dr. Larch, is training Homer, a young, sweet man, to be his assistant. Homer is searching, the way many people search, and his search will lead him to leave the orphanage, at least for a while. Every night Homer reads to the orphans, who as you would expect, are a motley crew, some beautiful, some not, some smart, some not so bright, some sick, some mentally and physically impaired, yet all wanting desperately to be adopted and yes, loved. And every night as Homer finishes reading and turns off the lights, he says to those orphans, “Good night, you Princes of Maine. Good night, you Kings of New England.”
On some level, isn’t this why people believe in God, or even want to believe in God. They want to know that they matter, that someone or something loves them and accepts them. The movie begins with Homer reading to the orphans from Charles Dickens’ famous novel, David Copperfield, whose opening lines read: Whether I shall turn out to be hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. Well, maybe most of us do want to be the hero of our own lives, but the Gospel assures us that being the hero of our own story is not the final goal. The story is not completely ours; it is God’s, and in God’s story as we Christians tell us, Jesus is the hero, who shows us that we are loved. No one will ever convince me that the world will ever outgrow the need for that message. Everyone is searching, and the Gospel reminds us that God is the one who searches until all are finally found.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
Center Church on the Green in New Haven
February 8, 2009
Mark 1: 29-39
“Everyone is searching for you.” That’s what Simon Peter and his companions said to Jesus, when they finally found him. Jesus had gone off, to be alone with God, to pray, to mediate, to be at peace. His activity had been almost frenzied in its pace, moving from the synagogue, where he had cast out an unclean spirit, then to the home of Simon Peter, where he healed Peter’s mother in law, followed by multiple healings, and now to a deserted place. Everyone was searching for Jesus, because that is the human condition---looking for something we think we desperately need and want.
So yes, people wanted something from Jesus. They wanted to be healed, to be restored to their community, as the demon possessed man had been restored, to be healed, as Simon Peter’s mother in law had been healed. Jesus was in the business of serving others, and indeed the word served used for Simon’s mother in law, when the text says, “She got up and served them,” is the same word from which we derive our word, deacon, the same word used of the angels, who served or ministered to Jesus after he faced his temptations in the wilderness, the same word Mark used of Jesus, who came not to be served, but to serve. Service in Mask’s Gospel is no second class position. It is what Jesus does and what he expects his followers to do.
But in our text for today Jesus is not serving others. He is alone, almost hidden, and people are searching for him. This theme of Jesus being out of sight while others search for him runs across the pages of Mark’s gospel. So why is Jesus out of sight? Well, in this particular instance, he has a need to be alone, to recharge spiritually as he prays to God. And then there are other times Jesus withdraws or hides because certain people are out to do him harm. By the third chapter in Mark Jesus is already in big trouble with the authorities, some of whom are plotting to destroy him. And so, as Jesus travels around Galilee, Mark tells us that Jesus sometimes avoids public places, where he knows the high and mighty will be. He purposely becomes invisible to those who have the power to destroy him.
But Jesus is also invisible or hidden in another sense. He is invisible, because people do not really know or understand who he is or what he is about. They see him as some kind of miracle worker, someone with magical powers who can fix whatever ails them. And although Jesus is a healer, he is more than that. He is the Holy One of God, which as we saw in last week’s reading, no one recognized, except the demon. But Jesus’ identity is not fully known and fully visible until his crucifixion and death. That is when Jesus is recognized fully as God’s Son by a Roman centurion.
Now this theme of visibility/invisibly is also part of the church’s story. In the early centuries, when the church was threatened by the power of Rome, the church tried to be invisible, hiding in caves or private homes. Being invisible was a means of the church’s survival. Our Pilgrim and Puritan ancestors certainly had their times of hiding. In England, the Congregationalists hid from the Crown and The Church of England, because they did not want to conform to church rules and doctrine. No wonder they eventually left and came to a new world, where they hoped their hiding was over. But it was not. In New Haven, there were three men, Dixwell, Whalley and Goffe, who were among the 59 judges who signed the death warrant against Charles l, beheaded in 1649. With the restoration of the monarchy, the Crown sent agents to the new world to track down the regicides. And the church in New Haven, where I served for 10 years, did a fairly good job of hiding the men. Of course, eventually, the Congregationalists became the established church, proudly building their Meeting Houses on the town green at the town’s center. Later, in classic New England style, church spires would jut toward the heavens, communicating that here was not only architectural perfection and beauty, but also spiritual and even worldly power and presence. People knew the New England Congregationalists were here---no hiding, no invisibility.
Well, our churches are not hiding today, but they are, metaphorically speaking, invisible. WE are all but ignored. All across the nation many mainline sanctuaries like ours are near empty, and who really cares what the church has to say? Many decades ago The New York Times would actually quote from sermons preached in some of the New York prestigious churches---like Madison Ave. Presbyterian Church or St. John the Divine. Presumably people cared what was being said in the pulpits, or why would the Times have bothered. But we now inhabit a very different world. And the Church has not yet figured out how it belongs in this new world, where we do not have to hide, but we are not really visible.
Consider again our lesson from Mark. Note how the news of the healings spread so quickly that Jesus had to get away. He was probably exhausted, wanting to be left alone. But he also knew the people did not understand who he really was. They wanted a miracles worker, not the holy one of God. And so, he hid, which is something people sometimes do when they are misunderstood and cannot easily make their truth known. And the people, desperate for something, just keep searching.
Some of you may know John Irving’s novel, Cider House Rules, or perhaps the remarkable movie by the same name. The story takes place in Maine, in the 1930’s. The director of the orphanage, Dr. Larch, is training Homer, a young, sweet man, to be his assistant. Homer is searching, the way many people search, and his search will lead him to leave the orphanage, at least for a while. Every night Homer reads to the orphans, who as you would expect, are a motley crew, some beautiful, some not, some smart, some not so bright, some sick, some mentally and physically impaired, yet all wanting desperately to be adopted and yes, loved. And every night as Homer finishes reading and turns off the lights, he says to those orphans, “Good night, you Princes of Maine. Good night, you Kings of New England.”
On some level, isn’t this why people believe in God, or even want to believe in God. They want to know that they matter, that someone or something loves them and accepts them. The movie begins with Homer reading to the orphans from Charles Dickens’ famous novel, David Copperfield, whose opening lines read: Whether I shall turn out to be hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. Well, maybe most of us do want to be the hero of our own lives, but the Gospel assures us that being the hero of our own story is not the final goal. The story is not completely ours; it is God’s, and in God’s story as we Christians tell us, Jesus is the hero, who shows us that we are loved. No one will ever convince me that the world will ever outgrow the need for that message. Everyone is searching, and the Gospel reminds us that God is the one who searches until all are finally found.
February 1, 2024
Dear Friends,
February is Black History Month, a time we are both challenged to remember and to embrace new knowledge about Black people---their history and culture. As I write this, it is February 1, the birthday of Langston Hughes, one of the great literary figures of the 20th century. Hughes was born in Joplin, Missouri in 1902, but he spent most of his growing up years in Lawrence, Kansas, where he lived with his grandmother. Unfortunately, his grandmother was very poor, so he never had enough food to eat or clothes to wear.
His mother became a single parent, when her husband, James, left the family shortly after Langston was born. James had been educated as a lawyer, but he was not allowed to practice law because he was black, and so he settled in Mexico, where he worked as a lawyer and became a successful landowner. He never returned to the United States. In 1919 Langston lived for a short time with his father in Mexico, but the two never had a close relationship, and Langston soon left Mexico to return home. Langston’s mother, Carolina Mercer, was a writer, actress and activist, who encouraged Black women to become involved in politics. She did not always have an easy time making a living, which is why the young Langston went to live with his grandmother. Though life with his grandmother was hard, she did tell him stories about heroes, who worked to free slaves, like her first husband, who was killed in a raid with John Brown, who was later executed for his raid on Harpers Ferry in Virginia.
In Lawrence Langston discovered the public library with which he immediately fell in love. It was the only integrated public building in the city, and Langston spent as much time as he could there. Langston said, “In the library books began to happen to me, and I began to believe in nothing but books.” The young boy always yearned for a happy family and a happy home, and he learned that in books people could write about their longings and their unhappiness. “In the wonderful world of books,” he said, “if people suffered, they suffered in beautiful language, not in monosyllables as we did in Kansas.”
And so, Langston Hughes wanted to be a writer and fill books with beautiful language. In 1926, when he was 24 years old, he published his first book of poetry, The Weary Blues. He also wrote what became a renown essay, “The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain,” written to defend African-American art and culture. He was called a poet and writer of the people since his work was accessible to a wide-ranging audience and showed great deference to the common man and woman. He wrote, “Then there are the low down folks, the so-called common element, and they are the majority---may the Lord be praised! The people who have their nip of gin on Saturday nights and are not too important to themselves or the community, or too well fed, or too learned to watch the lazy world go round. Their joy runs---bang into ecstasy! Their religion soars to a shout. They furnish a wealth of colorful, distinctive material for any artist because they still hold their own individuality in the face of American standardization.”
Langston Hughes wrote 16 books of poetry, 20 plays, 10 collections of short stories as well as a host of essays, novels, and children’s books. He was a critic of culture and religion, and to him Christianity often failed, because, he said, “it was often “bought and sold to the highest bidder,” which for him meant that what was preached and practiced was not the real message of Jesus. For Hughes Jesus was a radical, who upset the conventional run of his society by reminding people that in God’s realm,” the first shall be last and the last shall be first.”
Here are two poems to ponder and then consider: What would Jesus have to say not only about the poems but also about the people that actually lived them?
I, Too by Langston Hughes
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.
Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--
I, too, am America.
Harlem by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
February is Black History Month, a time we are both challenged to remember and to embrace new knowledge about Black people---their history and culture. As I write this, it is February 1, the birthday of Langston Hughes, one of the great literary figures of the 20th century. Hughes was born in Joplin, Missouri in 1902, but he spent most of his growing up years in Lawrence, Kansas, where he lived with his grandmother. Unfortunately, his grandmother was very poor, so he never had enough food to eat or clothes to wear.
His mother became a single parent, when her husband, James, left the family shortly after Langston was born. James had been educated as a lawyer, but he was not allowed to practice law because he was black, and so he settled in Mexico, where he worked as a lawyer and became a successful landowner. He never returned to the United States. In 1919 Langston lived for a short time with his father in Mexico, but the two never had a close relationship, and Langston soon left Mexico to return home. Langston’s mother, Carolina Mercer, was a writer, actress and activist, who encouraged Black women to become involved in politics. She did not always have an easy time making a living, which is why the young Langston went to live with his grandmother. Though life with his grandmother was hard, she did tell him stories about heroes, who worked to free slaves, like her first husband, who was killed in a raid with John Brown, who was later executed for his raid on Harpers Ferry in Virginia.
In Lawrence Langston discovered the public library with which he immediately fell in love. It was the only integrated public building in the city, and Langston spent as much time as he could there. Langston said, “In the library books began to happen to me, and I began to believe in nothing but books.” The young boy always yearned for a happy family and a happy home, and he learned that in books people could write about their longings and their unhappiness. “In the wonderful world of books,” he said, “if people suffered, they suffered in beautiful language, not in monosyllables as we did in Kansas.”
And so, Langston Hughes wanted to be a writer and fill books with beautiful language. In 1926, when he was 24 years old, he published his first book of poetry, The Weary Blues. He also wrote what became a renown essay, “The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain,” written to defend African-American art and culture. He was called a poet and writer of the people since his work was accessible to a wide-ranging audience and showed great deference to the common man and woman. He wrote, “Then there are the low down folks, the so-called common element, and they are the majority---may the Lord be praised! The people who have their nip of gin on Saturday nights and are not too important to themselves or the community, or too well fed, or too learned to watch the lazy world go round. Their joy runs---bang into ecstasy! Their religion soars to a shout. They furnish a wealth of colorful, distinctive material for any artist because they still hold their own individuality in the face of American standardization.”
Langston Hughes wrote 16 books of poetry, 20 plays, 10 collections of short stories as well as a host of essays, novels, and children’s books. He was a critic of culture and religion, and to him Christianity often failed, because, he said, “it was often “bought and sold to the highest bidder,” which for him meant that what was preached and practiced was not the real message of Jesus. For Hughes Jesus was a radical, who upset the conventional run of his society by reminding people that in God’s realm,” the first shall be last and the last shall be first.”
Here are two poems to ponder and then consider: What would Jesus have to say not only about the poems but also about the people that actually lived them?
I, Too by Langston Hughes
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.
Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--
I, too, am America.
Harlem by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
THE IRONIC GOSPEL
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
January 28, 2024
Mark 1: 21-28
Here we are today in the first chapter of Mark, where a great deal has already happened. Jesus has been baptized, when the Spirit told him, “You are my Son, the Beloved.” Then he was driven into the wilderness, where he was tempted by Satan. And after his victory against Satan and after John the Baptist’s arrest, Jesus began his ministry in Galilee, calling his first disciples, Andrew, James and James’ brother John. And now in today’s lesson, still in the first chapter, we see them immediately go to Capernaum, where Jesus began teaching. And the text says, “They were astounded at this teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.”
Now consider this word, authority. We know what it is, and we also know we live in a society, where the notion of authority is under attack. Teachers and parents have much less of it than they used to, and so do doctors, lawyers, and members of the clergy, not to mention politicians. Scientists still seem to have much authority with the public, but even that has been downgraded, especially when their work concerns medicine, as we saw in the recent pandemic. But when scientists speak about other topics, like the universe, for example, the physicists, who work on the James Webb telescope and show us these stunning images of worlds beyond our own, they still have authority and get the public’s admiration and respect.
And so, the people of Capernaum believed that Jesus was worth paying attention to. His teachings were authoritative. Now the interesting thing about Mark is that although he characterizes Jesus’ work as teaching, Mark does not tell us too much about the content of the teaching. Jesus teaches by doing, and in this morning’s lesson the teaching begins with the healing of a man possessed by an unclean spirit. Today we would most likely call the man mentally ill; perhaps he was schizophrenic, hearing voices and seeing apparitions.
In calling the spirit unclean Mark is telling us something important. He is letting us know that this illness is the domain of the scribes and the priests. You see in Jesus’ day it was the temple priesthood who declared a person clean or unclean. Some illness, leprosy and in this case “demon possession,” were deemed unclean. And it was the priests, who decided whether you had a particular unclean disease. One of my seminary professors insisted there was an economic basis to disease---not simply because the poor were not as well cared for, but also because the rich (who could pay money to the Temple) would sometimes receive a favorable diagnosis while a poor person would not. The rich hardly ever ended up in lepers’ colonies, for example, even if they had leprosy, because the priests rarely declared them to have this unclean disease!
So, when Mark tells us this man has an unclean spirit, he is telling us that it is the Temple leaders who have authority over him---that is, the authority to name him clean or unclean, sick, or well. If a person’s health improved, he or she could apply to the priesthood to be declared “healed” or clean. So, make no mistake about it: Jesus is stepping on toes here; he is crossing lines of authority and taking authority he simply did not have, according to the rules of his society. Notice too the irony. It isn’t the people or the authorities, who recognize Jesus, but rather it is the unclean spirit. “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” While the religious leaders don’t have a clue who this man is and while others, including Jesus’ own disciples are often at a loss to understand, it is the unclean spirit, who can see what Jesus is really all about---liberating and healing people from the forces that bind them to a diminished and unclean life.
And then the text tells us that Jesus silenced the unclean spirit and commanded it to come out of the man. In ancient Israel to call someone by name is more than mere recognition. It is to have some kind of power over him or her, so the rules of social interaction meant that a person of higher social standing would say the name of a person of lower status first. Notice, the unclean spirit called Jesus’ name first, so when Jesus told the spirit to be silent, he was refusing to give the Spirit any kind of power over him, and he was also trying to keep his identity a secret. Mark’s gospel has something scholars call the Messianic secret, that is, Jesus’ true identity is not to be revealed until the appropriate time, and in Mark’s Gospel it is at his death, when a Roman centurion recognizes him as God’s Son. The irony: the people who should have known, his followers as well as the religious leaders, did not know who Jesus was, but the unclean spirits and the so called enemy (the Roman centurion) knew. Mark’s Gospel is full of irony because that is the human condition----ironic!
William Willimon was for years the Dean of the Chapel at Duke University. An ordained Methodist minister, he had and has great sympathy for the social gospel, and most people would characterize his politics as left leaning. Some years ago, at a preaching seminar, I heard him tell a story about his early years in the ministry. He was serving a small church, I think, a congregation of hard working, responsible people, who were by Wilimon’s standards, at least, pretty conservative. Early one Sunday morning, he was in his church office, putting the finishing touches on his sermon about the obligation of Christian service in the world, when he happened to overhear a conversation concerning legislation about welfare.
“I say give ‘em a job digging ditches, and if they don’t take it, let them starve. We’ve been generous to them. Now it is time for them to pick up the shovel and work!” There was a chorus of agreement. Willimon began to seethe. Here he was about to preach a sermon on Christian service, and he had to listen to some church members bash the poor! Why don’t they bash the rich? he thought to himself. That is what Jesus did! He got up from his desk and was about to charge out of his office, and tell them exactly what he thought, when he was suddenly met at the door by one of the men, Harry, who was probably the most politically conservative member of the congregation.
“ Hi Pastor, what are you up to?”
“Just putting the finishing touches on my sermon,” Willimon replied.
“Don’t we give you enough time during the week to do your work?” Harry asked.
Willimon glared, but Harry did not notice, because he was too busy pulling something out of his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing a $5000 check to the pastor. “This is for the church to buy breeder pigs for people in Haiti. I want you to see if we can raise $5000 more by Easter. The swine flu is killing off the pigs and the people there are dying of starvation.”
“How do you know so much about Haiti?” Willimon wanted to know.
“Oh, Edna and I go down there every year, when I get my vacation from the plant, where I work. I help with a lot of different projects. Great people with great need. Do you think we can raise another $5000?” Harry asked.
“We certainly can try,” Willimon said. “I was astonished”, confessed Willimon, “and a little ashamed of myself. It was not at all what I expected, and staring down at the check I held in my hands, I pondered the ironic human condition.” We think we know; we think we understand, and, we think we have other people figured out. But we don’t. Just when you think someone is blind, they show you they see. Just when you think you see, you discover you are blind. It’s ironic, but that is the human condition.
We should not be surprised. But we are, time and time again. The Gospel tells us these stories, shows us the human condition in all its irony not so we will know so much more about what life was like then. Oh, that’s interesting, and if we are curious people, we like to learn. But what the Gospel really tries to do is show us what we are like—the irony of our human condition.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
January 28, 2024
Mark 1: 21-28
Here we are today in the first chapter of Mark, where a great deal has already happened. Jesus has been baptized, when the Spirit told him, “You are my Son, the Beloved.” Then he was driven into the wilderness, where he was tempted by Satan. And after his victory against Satan and after John the Baptist’s arrest, Jesus began his ministry in Galilee, calling his first disciples, Andrew, James and James’ brother John. And now in today’s lesson, still in the first chapter, we see them immediately go to Capernaum, where Jesus began teaching. And the text says, “They were astounded at this teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.”
Now consider this word, authority. We know what it is, and we also know we live in a society, where the notion of authority is under attack. Teachers and parents have much less of it than they used to, and so do doctors, lawyers, and members of the clergy, not to mention politicians. Scientists still seem to have much authority with the public, but even that has been downgraded, especially when their work concerns medicine, as we saw in the recent pandemic. But when scientists speak about other topics, like the universe, for example, the physicists, who work on the James Webb telescope and show us these stunning images of worlds beyond our own, they still have authority and get the public’s admiration and respect.
And so, the people of Capernaum believed that Jesus was worth paying attention to. His teachings were authoritative. Now the interesting thing about Mark is that although he characterizes Jesus’ work as teaching, Mark does not tell us too much about the content of the teaching. Jesus teaches by doing, and in this morning’s lesson the teaching begins with the healing of a man possessed by an unclean spirit. Today we would most likely call the man mentally ill; perhaps he was schizophrenic, hearing voices and seeing apparitions.
In calling the spirit unclean Mark is telling us something important. He is letting us know that this illness is the domain of the scribes and the priests. You see in Jesus’ day it was the temple priesthood who declared a person clean or unclean. Some illness, leprosy and in this case “demon possession,” were deemed unclean. And it was the priests, who decided whether you had a particular unclean disease. One of my seminary professors insisted there was an economic basis to disease---not simply because the poor were not as well cared for, but also because the rich (who could pay money to the Temple) would sometimes receive a favorable diagnosis while a poor person would not. The rich hardly ever ended up in lepers’ colonies, for example, even if they had leprosy, because the priests rarely declared them to have this unclean disease!
So, when Mark tells us this man has an unclean spirit, he is telling us that it is the Temple leaders who have authority over him---that is, the authority to name him clean or unclean, sick, or well. If a person’s health improved, he or she could apply to the priesthood to be declared “healed” or clean. So, make no mistake about it: Jesus is stepping on toes here; he is crossing lines of authority and taking authority he simply did not have, according to the rules of his society. Notice too the irony. It isn’t the people or the authorities, who recognize Jesus, but rather it is the unclean spirit. “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” While the religious leaders don’t have a clue who this man is and while others, including Jesus’ own disciples are often at a loss to understand, it is the unclean spirit, who can see what Jesus is really all about---liberating and healing people from the forces that bind them to a diminished and unclean life.
And then the text tells us that Jesus silenced the unclean spirit and commanded it to come out of the man. In ancient Israel to call someone by name is more than mere recognition. It is to have some kind of power over him or her, so the rules of social interaction meant that a person of higher social standing would say the name of a person of lower status first. Notice, the unclean spirit called Jesus’ name first, so when Jesus told the spirit to be silent, he was refusing to give the Spirit any kind of power over him, and he was also trying to keep his identity a secret. Mark’s gospel has something scholars call the Messianic secret, that is, Jesus’ true identity is not to be revealed until the appropriate time, and in Mark’s Gospel it is at his death, when a Roman centurion recognizes him as God’s Son. The irony: the people who should have known, his followers as well as the religious leaders, did not know who Jesus was, but the unclean spirits and the so called enemy (the Roman centurion) knew. Mark’s Gospel is full of irony because that is the human condition----ironic!
William Willimon was for years the Dean of the Chapel at Duke University. An ordained Methodist minister, he had and has great sympathy for the social gospel, and most people would characterize his politics as left leaning. Some years ago, at a preaching seminar, I heard him tell a story about his early years in the ministry. He was serving a small church, I think, a congregation of hard working, responsible people, who were by Wilimon’s standards, at least, pretty conservative. Early one Sunday morning, he was in his church office, putting the finishing touches on his sermon about the obligation of Christian service in the world, when he happened to overhear a conversation concerning legislation about welfare.
“I say give ‘em a job digging ditches, and if they don’t take it, let them starve. We’ve been generous to them. Now it is time for them to pick up the shovel and work!” There was a chorus of agreement. Willimon began to seethe. Here he was about to preach a sermon on Christian service, and he had to listen to some church members bash the poor! Why don’t they bash the rich? he thought to himself. That is what Jesus did! He got up from his desk and was about to charge out of his office, and tell them exactly what he thought, when he was suddenly met at the door by one of the men, Harry, who was probably the most politically conservative member of the congregation.
“ Hi Pastor, what are you up to?”
“Just putting the finishing touches on my sermon,” Willimon replied.
“Don’t we give you enough time during the week to do your work?” Harry asked.
Willimon glared, but Harry did not notice, because he was too busy pulling something out of his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing a $5000 check to the pastor. “This is for the church to buy breeder pigs for people in Haiti. I want you to see if we can raise $5000 more by Easter. The swine flu is killing off the pigs and the people there are dying of starvation.”
“How do you know so much about Haiti?” Willimon wanted to know.
“Oh, Edna and I go down there every year, when I get my vacation from the plant, where I work. I help with a lot of different projects. Great people with great need. Do you think we can raise another $5000?” Harry asked.
“We certainly can try,” Willimon said. “I was astonished”, confessed Willimon, “and a little ashamed of myself. It was not at all what I expected, and staring down at the check I held in my hands, I pondered the ironic human condition.” We think we know; we think we understand, and, we think we have other people figured out. But we don’t. Just when you think someone is blind, they show you they see. Just when you think you see, you discover you are blind. It’s ironic, but that is the human condition.
We should not be surprised. But we are, time and time again. The Gospel tells us these stories, shows us the human condition in all its irony not so we will know so much more about what life was like then. Oh, that’s interesting, and if we are curious people, we like to learn. But what the Gospel really tries to do is show us what we are like—the irony of our human condition.
January 21, 2024
Dear Friends,
Michelle Norris is a journalist and now an opinion writer for The Washington Post. For some years she was the host on NPR’s All Things Considered. Not too long ago she had a very creative idea. She initially filled out 200 postcards and put them all over the place---in libraries, in magazines in a doctor’s office, in the grocery store. And she asked people to condense their thoughts on race and identity into one sentence of six words. She wasn’t expecting much of a return, and at first the postcards’ return was very slow. But then things began to speed up, so she decided to do more and more postcards. She learned that contrary to the idea that people are sick of the subject of race, she discovered that many people care deeply about the subject and wish there were greater depth and honesty about it. Here are some of the responses:
My hometown was purposefully White.
My race makes me perpetually foreign.
God loves everybody. Why don’t we?
I’m tired of explaining myself.
American Indian: proud we’re still here.
Reason I ended a sweet relationship.
Too Black for a Black man’s love.
Just a label, not a truth.
Black students won’t listen to me.
Breathing their stolen breath, I ache.
Don’t tell me what I am.
Michelle eventually received over 500,000 postcards, and now there is a website you can go on to give your own response: The Race Card Project. We think we should be color blind because we are all made and loved by the same God. As someone wrote: God loves everyone. Why can’t we? I don’t fully understand why race is such a stumbling block, but it is. We human beings are not particularly wise when it comes to dealing with THE OTHER. The stories of difference and the trouble surrounding difference are scattered throughout the Bible.
The Jews and the Samaritans read the same Bible, but the Jews thought the sacred mountain was Mt. Sinai and the Samaritans believed it was Mt. Gerizim. The Samaritans intermarried with the Assyrians, who conquered the Northern Kingdom of Judah in 722 BC, but the Jews who resided there did not. And so, they hated the Samaritans for not protecting their true identity. Were there other reasons for the suspicion? Perhaps, but the so called purity of identity was a very strong reason for the distrust. So, when Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke, everyone understood the implications. The Jews and Samaritans were enemies, and yet the Jew rendered aid and showed compassion to the Samaritan. “Who was the good neighbor?” Jesus asked. “The one who showed mercy,” was the answer. And Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.”
We should be able to “go and do likewise,” but so often we can’t, and we don’t. Divisions are sharp and ugly, and we all can see and feel the tension between Jews and Palestinians, Russians and Ukrainians and in our own nation, the tensions that mount over race. We are not colorblind, and we really cannot be so, because race impacts and sometimes even determines the parameters of one’s life. “My race makes me perpetually foreign,” someone wrote. That is his or her experience, and we cannot deny it as much as we wish it were different. Hopefully, we will one day better understand it. In the meantime, we can try to be good neighbors. As Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.” And though it might be a struggle, we can try., even if our efforts are imperfect.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Michelle Norris is a journalist and now an opinion writer for The Washington Post. For some years she was the host on NPR’s All Things Considered. Not too long ago she had a very creative idea. She initially filled out 200 postcards and put them all over the place---in libraries, in magazines in a doctor’s office, in the grocery store. And she asked people to condense their thoughts on race and identity into one sentence of six words. She wasn’t expecting much of a return, and at first the postcards’ return was very slow. But then things began to speed up, so she decided to do more and more postcards. She learned that contrary to the idea that people are sick of the subject of race, she discovered that many people care deeply about the subject and wish there were greater depth and honesty about it. Here are some of the responses:
My hometown was purposefully White.
My race makes me perpetually foreign.
God loves everybody. Why don’t we?
I’m tired of explaining myself.
American Indian: proud we’re still here.
Reason I ended a sweet relationship.
Too Black for a Black man’s love.
Just a label, not a truth.
Black students won’t listen to me.
Breathing their stolen breath, I ache.
Don’t tell me what I am.
Michelle eventually received over 500,000 postcards, and now there is a website you can go on to give your own response: The Race Card Project. We think we should be color blind because we are all made and loved by the same God. As someone wrote: God loves everyone. Why can’t we? I don’t fully understand why race is such a stumbling block, but it is. We human beings are not particularly wise when it comes to dealing with THE OTHER. The stories of difference and the trouble surrounding difference are scattered throughout the Bible.
The Jews and the Samaritans read the same Bible, but the Jews thought the sacred mountain was Mt. Sinai and the Samaritans believed it was Mt. Gerizim. The Samaritans intermarried with the Assyrians, who conquered the Northern Kingdom of Judah in 722 BC, but the Jews who resided there did not. And so, they hated the Samaritans for not protecting their true identity. Were there other reasons for the suspicion? Perhaps, but the so called purity of identity was a very strong reason for the distrust. So, when Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke, everyone understood the implications. The Jews and Samaritans were enemies, and yet the Jew rendered aid and showed compassion to the Samaritan. “Who was the good neighbor?” Jesus asked. “The one who showed mercy,” was the answer. And Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.”
We should be able to “go and do likewise,” but so often we can’t, and we don’t. Divisions are sharp and ugly, and we all can see and feel the tension between Jews and Palestinians, Russians and Ukrainians and in our own nation, the tensions that mount over race. We are not colorblind, and we really cannot be so, because race impacts and sometimes even determines the parameters of one’s life. “My race makes me perpetually foreign,” someone wrote. That is his or her experience, and we cannot deny it as much as we wish it were different. Hopefully, we will one day better understand it. In the meantime, we can try to be good neighbors. As Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.” And though it might be a struggle, we can try., even if our efforts are imperfect.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Reluctant Prophets and Saviors
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
January 21, 2024
Jonah 3: 1-5, 10
Mark 1: 14-20
Some years ago, when I was working at First Church in Middletown, one of the boys in my youth group, loudly objected to the story of Jonah. Jamie was in the 6th grade and his comment was: “You’ve got to be kidding. No one ends up in the belly of a whale and lives. If you want us to believe, you will have to do a lot better than giving us this to read!” I tried to explain that this story was not literally true. It’s very symbolic,” I said. “The important question is about meaning: What does it mean?” “Well, that is your job” Jamie said. “You tell us.”
We really are not so different from Jamie. How did such a fantastic story gain entrance into the sacred canon? A man runs away from God’s command to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh, which was probably the largest city in the Middle East at the time, about 150,000 people. The Assyrians had conquered the northern kingdom of Israel in 722 BC, and they were known for their cruelty. It was said they scorched their enemies alive to use their skin as a decoration for the walls of their pyramids. So, the Jews hated them and would have been very sympathetic to Jonah’s refusal to preach repentance to such a detested enemy. They could understand why Jonah was such a reluctant prophet.
Now the Book of Jonah was probably written sometime during or immediately after the exile of the Jews in Babylon. In 587 BC, the southern kingdom, Judah, fell to the Babylonian Empire, and the skilled and educated Jews were marched off to Babylon, where they lived for about 50 years---until Persia conquered Babylon and allowed the Jews who wanted to return to Jerusalem to do so. So, in the midst of all this messy change, the Book of Jonah was written. We can well imagine that it was a time of deep resentment against the Babylonians, who had conquered them, and the Jews, who stayed behind in Jerusalem but did almost nothing to repair what had been destroyed. But the writer of Jonah cleverly used the Assyrians rather than the Babylonians to proclaim the message of God’s mercy for all people, including the enemy.
So, that is the context for the Book of Jonah, and it uses hyperbole and exaggeration to communicate its meaning. Furthermore, the creators of the lectionary decided to pair Jonah with Mark’s story of Jesus calling his first disciples. Notice the immediacy of Mark’s gospel. The word immediately appears 33 time in Mark, showing the radical willingness of people to follow Jesus. Bu there is no such immediacy for Jonah. He wants nothing to do with God and his command to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh. But here’s the point: there is no escaping God. While trying to escape, Jonah ended up in the belly of a fish, and then after three days was spewed out. And this is where our lesson for today begins. Again, God gave the command, and this time Jonah listened. And so did the people of Nineveh listen. They repented. It took Jonah three days to walk across the city and five Hebrew words to get the Ninevites to repent.
But poor Jonah. This reluctant prophet was very unhappy with the repentance of Nineveh. He wanted them severely punished. But the lesson here is that God’s mercy is not completely in human hands. After all. God used human agency. It was not God who spoke to the Ninevites; it was Jonah. Jonah had a direct role to play, and though he was not happy about it---though he was a most reluctant prophet, nonetheless, he finally did what he was told to do, and it worked. They repented.
A friend of mine recently attended a seminar on the ethics of helping. There were a number of different speakers who had rendered aid to various people---the OTHERS in our world. Some had protected migrants at the southern border. Another had been in Rwanda during the great genocide there, trying to save the lives of the minority Tutsis. Another was a Serbian, who hid Muslim men being sought and murdered by other Serbians.
And then there was Armin, a man who had lived and worked in Iran as an art historian. His mother was Iranian and his father German. And through Armin’s work he became acquainted with another art historian, Solomon, who was Jewish. They did not become friends, but they were colleagues. Now many Jews were expelled from Iran in the 1950’s and then again after the Iranian Revolution in 1979. And after that Revolution, Solomon was arrested and imprisoned. He managed to escape by bribing the guards. And while in hiding, he contacted some of his colleagues, including Armin, for help. Solomon was trying to make his way to the United States, where he had some successful family members.
Armin told the seminar that he really did not want to help. He said that he knew that helping was the right thing to do, but he was afraid, afraid of a government that could be brutal. And then his sister told him how their German father had hidden some Jews during the Holocaust and helped them escape to England. “I could not believe it,” Armin said. “How was it that my sister knew this story and yet I, the son, did not?” “Mother told me,” his sister said, but she was unsure about you, because she said you harbored anti-Jewish feelings.” Armin protested against that accusation, so his sister asked him directly. “Well, then, are you going to help this man escape Iran, or are your anti-Jewish feelings going to rule your decision?” And so, Armin, looking deeply into himself did what he knew was the right thing to do. He did not want to do it, because he knew it would be the end of his life in Iran. Sooner or later the authorities would have discovered what I had done, he told the seminar, so I too left Iran and went first to Germany and later to the United States.
Armin saved a life, and there is a saying in the Jewish tradition, that if you save one life it is as if you have saved the whole world. Armin emphasized how complicated the ethical life is. “Did I do the right thing, because it was right? Not completely, he confessed. I was resentful that my sister knew something about our father I never knew, and my pride was hurt.” So yes, pride leads us to many different actions, sometimes good and sometimes bad. And some of the good in the world is done by reluctant prophets, reluctant saviors, who find themselves called to do something good they would prefer to avoid. And yet they do the right thing for reasons that are hardly pure. And such is the human condition, which embraces all of us.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
January 21, 2024
Jonah 3: 1-5, 10
Mark 1: 14-20
Some years ago, when I was working at First Church in Middletown, one of the boys in my youth group, loudly objected to the story of Jonah. Jamie was in the 6th grade and his comment was: “You’ve got to be kidding. No one ends up in the belly of a whale and lives. If you want us to believe, you will have to do a lot better than giving us this to read!” I tried to explain that this story was not literally true. It’s very symbolic,” I said. “The important question is about meaning: What does it mean?” “Well, that is your job” Jamie said. “You tell us.”
We really are not so different from Jamie. How did such a fantastic story gain entrance into the sacred canon? A man runs away from God’s command to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh, which was probably the largest city in the Middle East at the time, about 150,000 people. The Assyrians had conquered the northern kingdom of Israel in 722 BC, and they were known for their cruelty. It was said they scorched their enemies alive to use their skin as a decoration for the walls of their pyramids. So, the Jews hated them and would have been very sympathetic to Jonah’s refusal to preach repentance to such a detested enemy. They could understand why Jonah was such a reluctant prophet.
Now the Book of Jonah was probably written sometime during or immediately after the exile of the Jews in Babylon. In 587 BC, the southern kingdom, Judah, fell to the Babylonian Empire, and the skilled and educated Jews were marched off to Babylon, where they lived for about 50 years---until Persia conquered Babylon and allowed the Jews who wanted to return to Jerusalem to do so. So, in the midst of all this messy change, the Book of Jonah was written. We can well imagine that it was a time of deep resentment against the Babylonians, who had conquered them, and the Jews, who stayed behind in Jerusalem but did almost nothing to repair what had been destroyed. But the writer of Jonah cleverly used the Assyrians rather than the Babylonians to proclaim the message of God’s mercy for all people, including the enemy.
So, that is the context for the Book of Jonah, and it uses hyperbole and exaggeration to communicate its meaning. Furthermore, the creators of the lectionary decided to pair Jonah with Mark’s story of Jesus calling his first disciples. Notice the immediacy of Mark’s gospel. The word immediately appears 33 time in Mark, showing the radical willingness of people to follow Jesus. Bu there is no such immediacy for Jonah. He wants nothing to do with God and his command to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh. But here’s the point: there is no escaping God. While trying to escape, Jonah ended up in the belly of a fish, and then after three days was spewed out. And this is where our lesson for today begins. Again, God gave the command, and this time Jonah listened. And so did the people of Nineveh listen. They repented. It took Jonah three days to walk across the city and five Hebrew words to get the Ninevites to repent.
But poor Jonah. This reluctant prophet was very unhappy with the repentance of Nineveh. He wanted them severely punished. But the lesson here is that God’s mercy is not completely in human hands. After all. God used human agency. It was not God who spoke to the Ninevites; it was Jonah. Jonah had a direct role to play, and though he was not happy about it---though he was a most reluctant prophet, nonetheless, he finally did what he was told to do, and it worked. They repented.
A friend of mine recently attended a seminar on the ethics of helping. There were a number of different speakers who had rendered aid to various people---the OTHERS in our world. Some had protected migrants at the southern border. Another had been in Rwanda during the great genocide there, trying to save the lives of the minority Tutsis. Another was a Serbian, who hid Muslim men being sought and murdered by other Serbians.
And then there was Armin, a man who had lived and worked in Iran as an art historian. His mother was Iranian and his father German. And through Armin’s work he became acquainted with another art historian, Solomon, who was Jewish. They did not become friends, but they were colleagues. Now many Jews were expelled from Iran in the 1950’s and then again after the Iranian Revolution in 1979. And after that Revolution, Solomon was arrested and imprisoned. He managed to escape by bribing the guards. And while in hiding, he contacted some of his colleagues, including Armin, for help. Solomon was trying to make his way to the United States, where he had some successful family members.
Armin told the seminar that he really did not want to help. He said that he knew that helping was the right thing to do, but he was afraid, afraid of a government that could be brutal. And then his sister told him how their German father had hidden some Jews during the Holocaust and helped them escape to England. “I could not believe it,” Armin said. “How was it that my sister knew this story and yet I, the son, did not?” “Mother told me,” his sister said, but she was unsure about you, because she said you harbored anti-Jewish feelings.” Armin protested against that accusation, so his sister asked him directly. “Well, then, are you going to help this man escape Iran, or are your anti-Jewish feelings going to rule your decision?” And so, Armin, looking deeply into himself did what he knew was the right thing to do. He did not want to do it, because he knew it would be the end of his life in Iran. Sooner or later the authorities would have discovered what I had done, he told the seminar, so I too left Iran and went first to Germany and later to the United States.
Armin saved a life, and there is a saying in the Jewish tradition, that if you save one life it is as if you have saved the whole world. Armin emphasized how complicated the ethical life is. “Did I do the right thing, because it was right? Not completely, he confessed. I was resentful that my sister knew something about our father I never knew, and my pride was hurt.” So yes, pride leads us to many different actions, sometimes good and sometimes bad. And some of the good in the world is done by reluctant prophets, reluctant saviors, who find themselves called to do something good they would prefer to avoid. And yet they do the right thing for reasons that are hardly pure. And such is the human condition, which embraces all of us.
January 18, 2024
Dear Friends,
I have just finished reading a wonderful gook, American Ramble: A Walk of Memory and Renewal by Neil King Jr. I mentioned this book before in a reflection letter after reading a very positive review. The author, who is a journalist, walked from Washington, DC, where he lives, to New York City. It was a 25 day journey through battlefields and cemeteries in Maryland, Quaker and Amish farms in Pennsylvania as well as the Continental Army’s winter quarters at Valley Forge, then onto New Jersey, where he climbed onto the tallest trash heap in the country, guided by people who ran the dump! And then he moved onto Staten Island and the jewel in the crown, New York City. He met all kinds of people and heard varied reflections on life. And some of his experiences leave a deep impression.
One of the early ones was soon after he began his walk. He was in Maryland, walking through a wealthy neighborhood. Not only were the houses big and expensive, but the cars in the driveway told the same story of wealth and privilege. This one morning he has forgotten to refill his water bottle, and when a young man, dressed in an expensive suit, emerged from the house, Neil asked him where he could get some water. The man spent some time explaining how to get to the nearest store, but it would involve backtracking, something Neil did not want to do. The man’s attitude was, “That’s up to you.” What surprised Neil was that the man did not even consider taking the water bottle into the house and filling it. No, he would prefer to give complicated instructions rather than render simple aid. Neil found himself wondering if rich, successful people, the kind who inhabit such a perfectly ordered neighborhood, are unaccustomed to helping---especially when the person who needs help, does not look as if he or she comes from among the rank of the privileged.
And then there was time, Neil was sitting in a tavern and eating some fish tacos, when he was suddenly overcome by deep emotion. Struck by the simplicity of his life at that particular moment, he felt a deep pang of joy shoot through him. He could offer no explanation for the joy, but what came to mind was a line from Henry David Thoreau “We are made happy when reason can discover no occasion for it.”
In Pennsylvania he came across some Mennonite kids playing softball, girls in long dresses, but whacking the ball as hard as had ever seen and in the outfield running to catch the ball with their mitts. Their school was called The Farmerville Mennonite School, and Neil was completely entranced. The kids were warm and friendly, delighted that King had stopped and was curious about their lives. When a teacher asked Neil if he would like to hear the kids sing a few hymns, Neil was delighted and so were the kids. They had been outside, playing softball, followed by lunch, and talking to the curious walker, who had made his way to their school. But the hymns they sang were not about NOW, not about the delight of being alive on a beautiful spring day, but the hymns concerned another life in a time beyond time. “Someday my heart will pulse no more. I’ll slip away to heaven’s shore./ This earthly life will fade away/ into a never ending day./ Someday I’ll find a better place./ Someday I’ll run the final race/ My weary feet will cease to roam./ Someday I’m coming home.
“They sang, wrote Neil, without the slightest whiff of obligation or duty or because Mr. Weaver, the teacher, said they should. They were doing it for joy, and to thank me for being there, for having wandered onto their playground and for talking pleasure in what they did.” And Neil could not help but shed some tears of joy.
One of Neil’s goals was the mighty Edgeboro Landfill, the largest landfill in the country, situated in New Jersey. When he requested permission to walk to the top of the landfill, he expected a 50-50 chance of getting what he wanted. But the Middlesex County Utilities Authority sent back an affirmative note from Robert Leslie, the Landfill engineer. And joined by Brian Murray, the site manager, the three of them walked up the mound. Many cultures build mounds to commemorate this or that person or event. There were Mound Builders of Middle America who built mounds to honor animals or to mark a season, or an event, like a solar of lunar eclipse. The mounds are all they left behind.
What will the distant future say about the mounds we leave behind, a trash heap of history that embraces everything, including chickens and cows that came to the dump when a truck crashed on the New Jersey Turnpike? When the trucks make their dumps, a Caterpillar compactor drives back and forth to pack the trash deposits down. Each layer of the dump is sealed in durable membranes to keep it from polluting the water table. The top of the landfill sprawls over an expanse equal to a hundred football fields. Taking care of trash is quite an enterprise and a responsibility. We throw things away all the time but think very little about the work involved in caring for all that junk. And care is indeed what happens. One must take care of the trash.
When Neil finally arrived in New York City, he made his way to where the World Trade Towers had once stood. There is a huge gap, where the two towers had once stood, which Neil calls “a hole in the sky.” The names of the dead are all over the place, and you simply cannot avoid them. There are names and stories Neil remembered reading about, like Patrick Sullivan, 32 years old, from Brooklyn, whose brother, Greg, a cop, frantically looked for Patrick that horrible day. Patrick was a trader at Cantor Fitzgerald, and the company lost 2/3 of its total workforce, 658 people on 9/11. Anyone who arrived at the North Tower to work at Cantor Fitzgerald died that day when American Airlines Flight 11 smashed into the building two floors beneath them. The stories of tragedy are all around, but so too is there life. A pear tree grows near the huge gap. The original tree had been charred, but parts of it had been coaxed back to life in a Bronx nursery, and then planted at Ground Zero again. And it has come to full life, protected by a small rail fence.
Walking is a very human activity, walking from place to place, not sure what will be found there, but convinced that something good can be learned and experienced. One day, while standing at a river, fishing, Neil wondered if the supremely human activity is the capacity to “stop, drop everything, forget the fishing, let the line go slack, and just stand there in awe. Perhaps our ability to behold is what truly sets us apart.” The Bible says something quite similar when it praises our ability to be at awe. The Bible says “The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom,” but my Old Testament professor, Harrell Beck, said that the word awe gets at the meaning of the emotion better than the word fear. And so, be in awe.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
I have just finished reading a wonderful gook, American Ramble: A Walk of Memory and Renewal by Neil King Jr. I mentioned this book before in a reflection letter after reading a very positive review. The author, who is a journalist, walked from Washington, DC, where he lives, to New York City. It was a 25 day journey through battlefields and cemeteries in Maryland, Quaker and Amish farms in Pennsylvania as well as the Continental Army’s winter quarters at Valley Forge, then onto New Jersey, where he climbed onto the tallest trash heap in the country, guided by people who ran the dump! And then he moved onto Staten Island and the jewel in the crown, New York City. He met all kinds of people and heard varied reflections on life. And some of his experiences leave a deep impression.
One of the early ones was soon after he began his walk. He was in Maryland, walking through a wealthy neighborhood. Not only were the houses big and expensive, but the cars in the driveway told the same story of wealth and privilege. This one morning he has forgotten to refill his water bottle, and when a young man, dressed in an expensive suit, emerged from the house, Neil asked him where he could get some water. The man spent some time explaining how to get to the nearest store, but it would involve backtracking, something Neil did not want to do. The man’s attitude was, “That’s up to you.” What surprised Neil was that the man did not even consider taking the water bottle into the house and filling it. No, he would prefer to give complicated instructions rather than render simple aid. Neil found himself wondering if rich, successful people, the kind who inhabit such a perfectly ordered neighborhood, are unaccustomed to helping---especially when the person who needs help, does not look as if he or she comes from among the rank of the privileged.
And then there was time, Neil was sitting in a tavern and eating some fish tacos, when he was suddenly overcome by deep emotion. Struck by the simplicity of his life at that particular moment, he felt a deep pang of joy shoot through him. He could offer no explanation for the joy, but what came to mind was a line from Henry David Thoreau “We are made happy when reason can discover no occasion for it.”
In Pennsylvania he came across some Mennonite kids playing softball, girls in long dresses, but whacking the ball as hard as had ever seen and in the outfield running to catch the ball with their mitts. Their school was called The Farmerville Mennonite School, and Neil was completely entranced. The kids were warm and friendly, delighted that King had stopped and was curious about their lives. When a teacher asked Neil if he would like to hear the kids sing a few hymns, Neil was delighted and so were the kids. They had been outside, playing softball, followed by lunch, and talking to the curious walker, who had made his way to their school. But the hymns they sang were not about NOW, not about the delight of being alive on a beautiful spring day, but the hymns concerned another life in a time beyond time. “Someday my heart will pulse no more. I’ll slip away to heaven’s shore./ This earthly life will fade away/ into a never ending day./ Someday I’ll find a better place./ Someday I’ll run the final race/ My weary feet will cease to roam./ Someday I’m coming home.
“They sang, wrote Neil, without the slightest whiff of obligation or duty or because Mr. Weaver, the teacher, said they should. They were doing it for joy, and to thank me for being there, for having wandered onto their playground and for talking pleasure in what they did.” And Neil could not help but shed some tears of joy.
One of Neil’s goals was the mighty Edgeboro Landfill, the largest landfill in the country, situated in New Jersey. When he requested permission to walk to the top of the landfill, he expected a 50-50 chance of getting what he wanted. But the Middlesex County Utilities Authority sent back an affirmative note from Robert Leslie, the Landfill engineer. And joined by Brian Murray, the site manager, the three of them walked up the mound. Many cultures build mounds to commemorate this or that person or event. There were Mound Builders of Middle America who built mounds to honor animals or to mark a season, or an event, like a solar of lunar eclipse. The mounds are all they left behind.
What will the distant future say about the mounds we leave behind, a trash heap of history that embraces everything, including chickens and cows that came to the dump when a truck crashed on the New Jersey Turnpike? When the trucks make their dumps, a Caterpillar compactor drives back and forth to pack the trash deposits down. Each layer of the dump is sealed in durable membranes to keep it from polluting the water table. The top of the landfill sprawls over an expanse equal to a hundred football fields. Taking care of trash is quite an enterprise and a responsibility. We throw things away all the time but think very little about the work involved in caring for all that junk. And care is indeed what happens. One must take care of the trash.
When Neil finally arrived in New York City, he made his way to where the World Trade Towers had once stood. There is a huge gap, where the two towers had once stood, which Neil calls “a hole in the sky.” The names of the dead are all over the place, and you simply cannot avoid them. There are names and stories Neil remembered reading about, like Patrick Sullivan, 32 years old, from Brooklyn, whose brother, Greg, a cop, frantically looked for Patrick that horrible day. Patrick was a trader at Cantor Fitzgerald, and the company lost 2/3 of its total workforce, 658 people on 9/11. Anyone who arrived at the North Tower to work at Cantor Fitzgerald died that day when American Airlines Flight 11 smashed into the building two floors beneath them. The stories of tragedy are all around, but so too is there life. A pear tree grows near the huge gap. The original tree had been charred, but parts of it had been coaxed back to life in a Bronx nursery, and then planted at Ground Zero again. And it has come to full life, protected by a small rail fence.
Walking is a very human activity, walking from place to place, not sure what will be found there, but convinced that something good can be learned and experienced. One day, while standing at a river, fishing, Neil wondered if the supremely human activity is the capacity to “stop, drop everything, forget the fishing, let the line go slack, and just stand there in awe. Perhaps our ability to behold is what truly sets us apart.” The Bible says something quite similar when it praises our ability to be at awe. The Bible says “The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom,” but my Old Testament professor, Harrell Beck, said that the word awe gets at the meaning of the emotion better than the word fear. And so, be in awe.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
RULES FOR THE ROAD: FOLLOW, COME AND SEE
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
January 14, 2024
Psalm 139: 1-12
John 1: 43-51
All of us who drive undoubtedly recall reading and studying the book about the rules of the road. Before you get a driver’s license, you must pass not only a road test, but also a written test. All states have driving rules, and sometimes the rules differ within a state. For example, though New York State allows right turns on red, the city of New York does not, and woe to the one who does not know that rule. In Little Rock, Arkansas, “no person shall sound the horn on a vehicle any place where cold drinks or sandwiches are served after 9 P.M. In Oregon, you are allowed to make a left hand turn on a red light, if you are turning into a one way street and Tennessee has a rule, which says it is illegal to shoot at any animal from a car, unless the animal happens to be a whale!
So, it is important to know the rules, and the same thing can be said about being a Christian. The United Church of Christ is pretty light on rules. While other denominations and traditions may insist that you consent to certain beliefs, the UCC is not a confessing denomination. While Christ is the head of the church, we have the freedom to discern and decide what that means for our lives. We are a covenantal church, meaning that we are called to walk together with one another in faith. We are called to be Christians in community. Christianity is not a solo enterprise.
Consider now our reading from John. The first thing Jesus does is call followers to from a community. He does not give these followers a list of beliefs about himself and God to which they must consent. In the section right before today’s lesson, Andrew and Simon join up quickly with no questions asked at all. In fact, Jesus is the one who asks a question: What are you looking for? They answer by asking him where he is staying and he tells them, “Come and see.”
Our lesson for today begins with Jesus’ decision to go to Galilee. Now that might seem like a trivial point to you, but it is actually quite important, because Galilee was an ethnically diverse region, removed from the stricter religious rules of Jerusalem. It was also home to a great deal of anti-Roman sentiment, the site of much political turmoil, so Jesus’ journey there signals him as someone who is willing to move outside the conventional, mainstream circles. And in this diverse place Jesus found Philip to whom he gave the command, “Follow me.” Where I go, you go too. And, of course, no one had any idea where such following would take them. Neither Andrew, nor Peter, nor Philip were offered any guarantees or promises or projections about the future. Jesus simply issued a command, “Follow me.” And they did.
Philip immediately recognized Jesus as the one predicted by the Hebrew Scriptures, and so, exactly as Andrew had done, getting his brother, Simon, Philip went and got his brother, Nathaniel. But notice this difference. While Philip, Simon and Andrew immediately went and followed, Nathaniel is more circumspect. He is suspicious, and when he learns that Jesus is from Nazareth, in Nathaniel’s mind, a kind of backwater, boring place, he asks a question: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” But though he does not get a satisfactory answer, he still goes. Philip had the sense to invite Nathaniel without pressuring him.
And so, Nathaniel came and was impressed, especially when Jesus recognized him as an Israelite without deceit, sitting under a fig tree. In the rabbinic tradition the fig tree is compared to the Torah and searching for figs is a metaphorical way of referring to the study of Torah. John only uses the word Israelite here; all other times he uses Jew or Jews. So, Nathaniel is here being contrasted with Jacob, the trickster, who cheated his brother, Esau, out of his birthright and their father’s blessing.
Jacob wrestled with a man, who wounded him in the thigh, when Jacob refused to let the man go unless he received a blessing. He not only received a blessing, but also a name change: Israel, which means one who strives with God. This too is what discipleship looks like: Strive with God; argue with God, if you must, but do so without guile or deceit. And if you do these things, you will see. As Jesus promised Nathaniel, “You will see greater things than this.” So, these three words: follow, come, and see are the essence of Christian discipleship. Something else to note, which is easy to ignore: Andrew and Philip are Greek names, while Simon and Nathaniel are Jewish ones, which suggests a cultural diversity in the followers of Jesus from the very beginning.
Tomorrow is Martin Luther King Day. Whatever King’s limitations and failings, and there were many, no one can deny he helped to change the consciousness and the laws of our nation. King never wanted to lead the Civil Rights movement, and after he was drafted to lead the Montgomery Bus Boycott, he tried to resign when death threats came his way, but his resignation was refused. Unlike Nathaniel, who was invited to become a disciple with no pressure, King felt tremendous pressure. He was pushed pulled and prodded to follow, come, and see Christ in so many different places----Montgomery, Selma, Birmingham, Washington, Chicago, Memphis. Late, one winter evening, King, overwhelmed by fear after receiving another death threat, sat in his kitchen and bowed his head, calling on the one who would make a way out of no way. In the darkness of that night, Jesus came calling, and King said he was never the same. Taking up his cross, King followed; he came, and he saw. And we remember his journey and so many other journeys of saints and disciples in the hope that our own journeys might be strengthened and uplifted by remembering theirs.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
January 14, 2024
Psalm 139: 1-12
John 1: 43-51
All of us who drive undoubtedly recall reading and studying the book about the rules of the road. Before you get a driver’s license, you must pass not only a road test, but also a written test. All states have driving rules, and sometimes the rules differ within a state. For example, though New York State allows right turns on red, the city of New York does not, and woe to the one who does not know that rule. In Little Rock, Arkansas, “no person shall sound the horn on a vehicle any place where cold drinks or sandwiches are served after 9 P.M. In Oregon, you are allowed to make a left hand turn on a red light, if you are turning into a one way street and Tennessee has a rule, which says it is illegal to shoot at any animal from a car, unless the animal happens to be a whale!
So, it is important to know the rules, and the same thing can be said about being a Christian. The United Church of Christ is pretty light on rules. While other denominations and traditions may insist that you consent to certain beliefs, the UCC is not a confessing denomination. While Christ is the head of the church, we have the freedom to discern and decide what that means for our lives. We are a covenantal church, meaning that we are called to walk together with one another in faith. We are called to be Christians in community. Christianity is not a solo enterprise.
Consider now our reading from John. The first thing Jesus does is call followers to from a community. He does not give these followers a list of beliefs about himself and God to which they must consent. In the section right before today’s lesson, Andrew and Simon join up quickly with no questions asked at all. In fact, Jesus is the one who asks a question: What are you looking for? They answer by asking him where he is staying and he tells them, “Come and see.”
Our lesson for today begins with Jesus’ decision to go to Galilee. Now that might seem like a trivial point to you, but it is actually quite important, because Galilee was an ethnically diverse region, removed from the stricter religious rules of Jerusalem. It was also home to a great deal of anti-Roman sentiment, the site of much political turmoil, so Jesus’ journey there signals him as someone who is willing to move outside the conventional, mainstream circles. And in this diverse place Jesus found Philip to whom he gave the command, “Follow me.” Where I go, you go too. And, of course, no one had any idea where such following would take them. Neither Andrew, nor Peter, nor Philip were offered any guarantees or promises or projections about the future. Jesus simply issued a command, “Follow me.” And they did.
Philip immediately recognized Jesus as the one predicted by the Hebrew Scriptures, and so, exactly as Andrew had done, getting his brother, Simon, Philip went and got his brother, Nathaniel. But notice this difference. While Philip, Simon and Andrew immediately went and followed, Nathaniel is more circumspect. He is suspicious, and when he learns that Jesus is from Nazareth, in Nathaniel’s mind, a kind of backwater, boring place, he asks a question: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” But though he does not get a satisfactory answer, he still goes. Philip had the sense to invite Nathaniel without pressuring him.
And so, Nathaniel came and was impressed, especially when Jesus recognized him as an Israelite without deceit, sitting under a fig tree. In the rabbinic tradition the fig tree is compared to the Torah and searching for figs is a metaphorical way of referring to the study of Torah. John only uses the word Israelite here; all other times he uses Jew or Jews. So, Nathaniel is here being contrasted with Jacob, the trickster, who cheated his brother, Esau, out of his birthright and their father’s blessing.
Jacob wrestled with a man, who wounded him in the thigh, when Jacob refused to let the man go unless he received a blessing. He not only received a blessing, but also a name change: Israel, which means one who strives with God. This too is what discipleship looks like: Strive with God; argue with God, if you must, but do so without guile or deceit. And if you do these things, you will see. As Jesus promised Nathaniel, “You will see greater things than this.” So, these three words: follow, come, and see are the essence of Christian discipleship. Something else to note, which is easy to ignore: Andrew and Philip are Greek names, while Simon and Nathaniel are Jewish ones, which suggests a cultural diversity in the followers of Jesus from the very beginning.
Tomorrow is Martin Luther King Day. Whatever King’s limitations and failings, and there were many, no one can deny he helped to change the consciousness and the laws of our nation. King never wanted to lead the Civil Rights movement, and after he was drafted to lead the Montgomery Bus Boycott, he tried to resign when death threats came his way, but his resignation was refused. Unlike Nathaniel, who was invited to become a disciple with no pressure, King felt tremendous pressure. He was pushed pulled and prodded to follow, come, and see Christ in so many different places----Montgomery, Selma, Birmingham, Washington, Chicago, Memphis. Late, one winter evening, King, overwhelmed by fear after receiving another death threat, sat in his kitchen and bowed his head, calling on the one who would make a way out of no way. In the darkness of that night, Jesus came calling, and King said he was never the same. Taking up his cross, King followed; he came, and he saw. And we remember his journey and so many other journeys of saints and disciples in the hope that our own journeys might be strengthened and uplifted by remembering theirs.
January 10, 2023
Dear Friends,
Most of you know the story of the creation in the Book of Genesis. It is not a literal description of how the creation came to be, but its theological point is clear: All that God has made is good. On the 6th day, the story goes that God created humanity in God’s image, “male and female he created them” at the same time. (It is only in Genesis 2 that Eve is created out of Adam’s rib.). And then God blessed the humans and gave them dominion over all living things. Now people have argued over this word dominion, claiming that responsibility would be a preferable word, since dominion suggests a control and dominance that has certainly done harm to the earth and all its many species. But whatever we want to say about human control and responsibility concerning the earth and its creatures, it is true that we humans have often been less than respectful toward animals. We are at the top of the intelligence pyramid, we are fond of pointing out, and though that is most likely the case, it is certainly worth noting that animal intelligence is far more impressive than we humans have dared to acknowledge. Very recently I came across three stories that undermine our human arrogance.
We have all heard the words, “bird brain.” It is an insult to suggest that someone has the intelligence of a bird, and yet scientists are discovering that some birds are very intelligent. For example, ravens are smart, very smart. They can use tools, recognize and remember human faces and even plan for the future. Ravens show strong preference for people who treat them kindly, and they hold grudges against those who have been cruel to them. And these preferences have been known to last for years. In some cases, scientists have discovered that raven intelligence is comparable to that of chimpanzees, which have been considered the smartest of the animals. And ravens are not the only birds with smarts: crows, jays, and magpies also evidence problem solving intelligence. So, be careful about using the term, bird brain, as a put down.
And then there is the fascinating story of a bear named Wojtek, whose life began in Iran. A shepherd traded him, when the bear was a small orphaned cub, for some chocolate and a Swiss army knife. The Polish soldiers, who made the trade, received the little cub in a burlap bag, and they were delighted with the trade. All the soldiers in the unit loved him, and they even named him Private Wojtek, which means “joyful warrior.” The year was 1944 and Wojtek meant far more to the soldiers than entertainment. When the unit was assigned to Italy, at the Battle of Monte Cassino, Wojtek carried artillery shells and crates for ammunition across the battlefield, and when the battle was over, the unit changed its insignia to a bear holding an artillery shell. And they promoted Wojtek to corporeal. After the war Wojtek was taken to the Edinburgh Zoo in Scotland, where he lived from 1947 to 1963, when he died. In fact, next to the famous Edinburgh Castle stands a statute of Polish soldiers and a bear, both, designated as heroes of the Second World War!
And then there are horses. When I was growing up, one of my cousins, who lived in Pennsylvania, had some horses. Both she and her mother rode, and I remember Pamela telling me that though horses were great fun to ride, they were not very smart. She told me how horses would run back into their stall sin a burning barn. “How dumb is that!” Pamela insisted. But research is now indicating that horses are not only intelligent but also intuitive. Horses are great learners and recently scientists have discovered that they are very good at communicating with humans. One study showed that a horse could tell a person if it wanted a blanket by “nudging” a board that had icons of a blanket on it. And if a horse knew where an object was that a human being wanted but did not know its location, the horse would push the person toward the object. And horses can react to a person’s emotional state. There are many examples of horses responding to a person’s sadness by nuzzling with them or their happiness by neighing and gently stamping their feet.
What an incredibly amazing world we live in. The variety of vegetation and animals is astounding, and now we are beginning to appreciate that the animal kingdom’s intelligence is far greater than our minds and hearts ever imagined. Animals can be our companions, but they are far more than OUR companions. They have in them “the power of being,” something to be respected and honored. We should remember that God made all that is and named it good.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Most of you know the story of the creation in the Book of Genesis. It is not a literal description of how the creation came to be, but its theological point is clear: All that God has made is good. On the 6th day, the story goes that God created humanity in God’s image, “male and female he created them” at the same time. (It is only in Genesis 2 that Eve is created out of Adam’s rib.). And then God blessed the humans and gave them dominion over all living things. Now people have argued over this word dominion, claiming that responsibility would be a preferable word, since dominion suggests a control and dominance that has certainly done harm to the earth and all its many species. But whatever we want to say about human control and responsibility concerning the earth and its creatures, it is true that we humans have often been less than respectful toward animals. We are at the top of the intelligence pyramid, we are fond of pointing out, and though that is most likely the case, it is certainly worth noting that animal intelligence is far more impressive than we humans have dared to acknowledge. Very recently I came across three stories that undermine our human arrogance.
We have all heard the words, “bird brain.” It is an insult to suggest that someone has the intelligence of a bird, and yet scientists are discovering that some birds are very intelligent. For example, ravens are smart, very smart. They can use tools, recognize and remember human faces and even plan for the future. Ravens show strong preference for people who treat them kindly, and they hold grudges against those who have been cruel to them. And these preferences have been known to last for years. In some cases, scientists have discovered that raven intelligence is comparable to that of chimpanzees, which have been considered the smartest of the animals. And ravens are not the only birds with smarts: crows, jays, and magpies also evidence problem solving intelligence. So, be careful about using the term, bird brain, as a put down.
And then there is the fascinating story of a bear named Wojtek, whose life began in Iran. A shepherd traded him, when the bear was a small orphaned cub, for some chocolate and a Swiss army knife. The Polish soldiers, who made the trade, received the little cub in a burlap bag, and they were delighted with the trade. All the soldiers in the unit loved him, and they even named him Private Wojtek, which means “joyful warrior.” The year was 1944 and Wojtek meant far more to the soldiers than entertainment. When the unit was assigned to Italy, at the Battle of Monte Cassino, Wojtek carried artillery shells and crates for ammunition across the battlefield, and when the battle was over, the unit changed its insignia to a bear holding an artillery shell. And they promoted Wojtek to corporeal. After the war Wojtek was taken to the Edinburgh Zoo in Scotland, where he lived from 1947 to 1963, when he died. In fact, next to the famous Edinburgh Castle stands a statute of Polish soldiers and a bear, both, designated as heroes of the Second World War!
And then there are horses. When I was growing up, one of my cousins, who lived in Pennsylvania, had some horses. Both she and her mother rode, and I remember Pamela telling me that though horses were great fun to ride, they were not very smart. She told me how horses would run back into their stall sin a burning barn. “How dumb is that!” Pamela insisted. But research is now indicating that horses are not only intelligent but also intuitive. Horses are great learners and recently scientists have discovered that they are very good at communicating with humans. One study showed that a horse could tell a person if it wanted a blanket by “nudging” a board that had icons of a blanket on it. And if a horse knew where an object was that a human being wanted but did not know its location, the horse would push the person toward the object. And horses can react to a person’s emotional state. There are many examples of horses responding to a person’s sadness by nuzzling with them or their happiness by neighing and gently stamping their feet.
What an incredibly amazing world we live in. The variety of vegetation and animals is astounding, and now we are beginning to appreciate that the animal kingdom’s intelligence is far greater than our minds and hearts ever imagined. Animals can be our companions, but they are far more than OUR companions. They have in them “the power of being,” something to be respected and honored. We should remember that God made all that is and named it good.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Called to Manage our Memories
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
January 7, 2024
Mark 1: 4-11
I have a good friend, who spent a year in a state mental hospital. While he did have some serious mental health issues, what really kept him at CVH for so long was that he had no place to live. He needed subsidized housing, but the system was not working on his behalf, and so there he sat for a year until a lawyer pulled some strings and managed to get him out into a subsidized apartment. But he has been traumatized by his experience, suffering from post- traumatic stress syndrome. One of his friends said to me, “He cannot manage his memories of that horrible experience very well.
Manage memories. The only other time I heard the term “manage memories” was about John McCain, who said in an interview that he bore no anger or bitterness about his experiences in a North Viet Nam prison. “I had to leave that experience behind me, he said, and forgive my captors.” A commentator remarked, “Sometimes people do manage their memories well.”
All kinds of memories need to be managed: memories of childhood and school and siblings, marriage, divorce, even death. History is about managing memories. How we talk about the past matters. So, we should all be quite interested in recent comments made by a contender for the Presidency, when she was asked what caused the Civil War, and she did not initially mention the word slavery. How do we remember the past? How do we manage our memories of a past that is not always something to be proud of?
Managing memories is something we all are called to do. Some of you know that I was born less than a year after my parents lost a 2 year old boy to leukemia. Bobby’s pictures were all around the house, so I knew about death long before most children do. Even at age 2 and 3, I remember being sad that I would never know him, and sometimes I would even crawl under my bed and cry. No one knew I did so, and I finally told my mother about it, when she was 90. She was shocked by the depths of my feelings about someone whom I never knew. But his death impacted me, and I had to manage my memory of it---though I was not even born when he died.
Manage memories: We can think of the gospel writers as managers of memory, memories of Jesus Christ. But memories are always more than a mere collection of facts and stories. They are about meaning. What is the meaning of the story? We have four different gospels and the stories they tell are not the same. We have just come through the Christmas season, and we should note that the gospels do not tell the same story of Jesus’ birth. Luke is the only gospel that has the Holy Family travel to Bethlehem for a census, where Jesus was born in a stable because there was no room for them in an inn. Matthew says that Jesus was born at home in Bethlehem. There are no angels announcing the birth to shepherds as in Luke, but Matthew has wise men, who are gentiles and travel to Bethlehem to pay honor to the new born king. John’s gospel is completely different. There is no conventional birth scene at all. John begins at the beginning: In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.
And then there is Mark, the oldest of the four gospels, which begins its memory of Jesus with a baptism. So, understand that while Luke and Matthew present Jesus as special from the moment of his conception and birth, and John pushes Jesus’ identity as God’s chosen back to the beginning, Mark’s earliest memories of Jesus are his coming to a wild man named John, who was offering a baptism of repentance. And that is when the Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus. “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” This is the moment Jesus became God’s Son, according to Mark.
Now these different memories of Jesus had to be managed, and we can well imagine that the early church had its struggles with these differences. Most people in the pews don’t much notice the differences, but you can be sure the leaders in the church did. Why, for example did Jesus need to be baptized? The church developed the doctrine of Jesus’ sinlessness, which means that Jesus was born without the stain of original sin and maintained a relationship with God unbroken or disrupted by sin. John offered a baptism of repentance, so why did Jesus submit to the baptism, if he had nothing for which to repent? And so, in time Jesus’ baptism was remembered as his solidarity with humankind. In other words, he is remembered as one of us. The meaning that is attached to the event actually helps to determine how the event is remembered. And that lesson applies to life---how we human beings manage our memories.
Some years ago, when Connecticut was going through the process of banning capital punishment, I went to a number of meetings and rallies about this. I heard a number of incredible stories, and one of them was from a woman, whose 19 year old daughter had been brutally murdered by a man, who was sentenced to life in prison. This horror had happened in upstate New York over 20 years before. The entire family were ardent opponents of the death penalty, so they were relieved the murderer was not executed. But the mother said she was tortured by what she imagined her daughter’s final moments. She could not get the images out of her mind. Nothing helped her---not therapy, not medication or meditation, not prayer, her own or the prayers of others. So, finally, in desperation, ten years after the murder, she determined she would go to the prison where the murderer was incarcerated and talk with him. She told the group that she and her husband did not even attend his trial, because they could not bear to look at the murderer. So, she went to the prison, and she said the first miracle was that he agreed to see her. And she went again and again and again until a relationship actually developed. “You come more than my own mother,” he told her. “She can never forgive me, he said, and I don’t expect you can forgive me either.” “Maybe in time I will,” was her response. And in time that is what she did. That is the second miracle, she told our group. And the third miracles is that the horrible images of her daughter’s murder finally left her. I can remember my daughter as she was and how her life ended as horrible as it was no longer tortures me.
Managing memories. The gospels do it. The Church does it, and so do we. The events that really matter---in the gospels as well as in our lives--- are never simply one moment frozen in time. Their meaning emerges, growing and changing over time.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
January 7, 2024
Mark 1: 4-11
I have a good friend, who spent a year in a state mental hospital. While he did have some serious mental health issues, what really kept him at CVH for so long was that he had no place to live. He needed subsidized housing, but the system was not working on his behalf, and so there he sat for a year until a lawyer pulled some strings and managed to get him out into a subsidized apartment. But he has been traumatized by his experience, suffering from post- traumatic stress syndrome. One of his friends said to me, “He cannot manage his memories of that horrible experience very well.
Manage memories. The only other time I heard the term “manage memories” was about John McCain, who said in an interview that he bore no anger or bitterness about his experiences in a North Viet Nam prison. “I had to leave that experience behind me, he said, and forgive my captors.” A commentator remarked, “Sometimes people do manage their memories well.”
All kinds of memories need to be managed: memories of childhood and school and siblings, marriage, divorce, even death. History is about managing memories. How we talk about the past matters. So, we should all be quite interested in recent comments made by a contender for the Presidency, when she was asked what caused the Civil War, and she did not initially mention the word slavery. How do we remember the past? How do we manage our memories of a past that is not always something to be proud of?
Managing memories is something we all are called to do. Some of you know that I was born less than a year after my parents lost a 2 year old boy to leukemia. Bobby’s pictures were all around the house, so I knew about death long before most children do. Even at age 2 and 3, I remember being sad that I would never know him, and sometimes I would even crawl under my bed and cry. No one knew I did so, and I finally told my mother about it, when she was 90. She was shocked by the depths of my feelings about someone whom I never knew. But his death impacted me, and I had to manage my memory of it---though I was not even born when he died.
Manage memories: We can think of the gospel writers as managers of memory, memories of Jesus Christ. But memories are always more than a mere collection of facts and stories. They are about meaning. What is the meaning of the story? We have four different gospels and the stories they tell are not the same. We have just come through the Christmas season, and we should note that the gospels do not tell the same story of Jesus’ birth. Luke is the only gospel that has the Holy Family travel to Bethlehem for a census, where Jesus was born in a stable because there was no room for them in an inn. Matthew says that Jesus was born at home in Bethlehem. There are no angels announcing the birth to shepherds as in Luke, but Matthew has wise men, who are gentiles and travel to Bethlehem to pay honor to the new born king. John’s gospel is completely different. There is no conventional birth scene at all. John begins at the beginning: In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.
And then there is Mark, the oldest of the four gospels, which begins its memory of Jesus with a baptism. So, understand that while Luke and Matthew present Jesus as special from the moment of his conception and birth, and John pushes Jesus’ identity as God’s chosen back to the beginning, Mark’s earliest memories of Jesus are his coming to a wild man named John, who was offering a baptism of repentance. And that is when the Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus. “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” This is the moment Jesus became God’s Son, according to Mark.
Now these different memories of Jesus had to be managed, and we can well imagine that the early church had its struggles with these differences. Most people in the pews don’t much notice the differences, but you can be sure the leaders in the church did. Why, for example did Jesus need to be baptized? The church developed the doctrine of Jesus’ sinlessness, which means that Jesus was born without the stain of original sin and maintained a relationship with God unbroken or disrupted by sin. John offered a baptism of repentance, so why did Jesus submit to the baptism, if he had nothing for which to repent? And so, in time Jesus’ baptism was remembered as his solidarity with humankind. In other words, he is remembered as one of us. The meaning that is attached to the event actually helps to determine how the event is remembered. And that lesson applies to life---how we human beings manage our memories.
Some years ago, when Connecticut was going through the process of banning capital punishment, I went to a number of meetings and rallies about this. I heard a number of incredible stories, and one of them was from a woman, whose 19 year old daughter had been brutally murdered by a man, who was sentenced to life in prison. This horror had happened in upstate New York over 20 years before. The entire family were ardent opponents of the death penalty, so they were relieved the murderer was not executed. But the mother said she was tortured by what she imagined her daughter’s final moments. She could not get the images out of her mind. Nothing helped her---not therapy, not medication or meditation, not prayer, her own or the prayers of others. So, finally, in desperation, ten years after the murder, she determined she would go to the prison where the murderer was incarcerated and talk with him. She told the group that she and her husband did not even attend his trial, because they could not bear to look at the murderer. So, she went to the prison, and she said the first miracle was that he agreed to see her. And she went again and again and again until a relationship actually developed. “You come more than my own mother,” he told her. “She can never forgive me, he said, and I don’t expect you can forgive me either.” “Maybe in time I will,” was her response. And in time that is what she did. That is the second miracle, she told our group. And the third miracles is that the horrible images of her daughter’s murder finally left her. I can remember my daughter as she was and how her life ended as horrible as it was no longer tortures me.
Managing memories. The gospels do it. The Church does it, and so do we. The events that really matter---in the gospels as well as in our lives--- are never simply one moment frozen in time. Their meaning emerges, growing and changing over time.
January 4, 2024
Dear Friends,
Arthur Brooks is a noted author, speaker, philosopher, and professor at the Harvard Kennedy School of Government as well as the Harvard Business School. His specialty is the study of happiness, and he has written extensively on the subject. He has a regular column in The Atlantic, well worth reading. He is, at least in my view, a wise man, and part of his wisdom comes from his classical learning and study. The subject of happiness is one the ancient Greeks pondered, especially Aristotle, and indeed, when a liberal arts education was more HIGHLY valued than it is today, many undergraduates were assigned Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics.
Recently I came across an article by Brooks, claiming that there are ten traits that build character and make for a happy life. Put aside the idea of happiness as all lightness and joy, devoid of struggle and suffering. For Aristotle a happy life is a deeply meaningful one, a life that knows how to accept both joy and sorrow. So, here are the 10 traits Aristotle claimed will lead to happiness.
1. Courage. Aristotle saw courage as the willingness to sacrifice for the sake of a greater good. War, of course, immediately comes to mind. Just about all Americans, for example, can see that John McCain’s willingness to forgo release from a North Vietnamese prison, because there were others, who had been imprisoned longer than he, as a noble and courageous act. Courage is the capacity to act in the face of fear rather than to surrender to it. And research has shown that the exercise of courage leads to greater resiliency after the danger has passed, and resiliency is shown to issue to greater happiness.
2. Temperance: Aristotle means self-control, the ability to discipline one’s appetites and baser impulses. When one is initially learning self-control, the research indicates that levels of happiness decrease, as one gives up what one wants and enjoys. But as people develop greater levels of self control and discipline, happiness rises. Temperance is a virtue that calls us to avoid extremes and play toward the moderate middle. So, when it comes to food and drink, for example, the temperate person does not necessarily avoid all alcohol or sweets but is very careful not to overindulge.
3. Liberality: This has nothing to do with politics but everything to do with money. Avoid stinginess; be generous without being profligate, and the happiness index will rise.
4. Magnificence: This concerns how one carries out one’s projects and duties. They should be done “most nobly and splendidly,” Aristotle insists, to help the widest range of people. Buying a yacht may be magnificent, but giving to a cause that benefits a large number of people is even more magnificent.
5. Greatness of Soul: Aristotle greatly admired Socrates, whom he considered a greatly souled person. According to Aristotle greatness of soul means being indifferent to both good and bad fortune. Life offers us all kinds of transitory pleasures, and though most of us prefer the good fortune over the bad, it is important to recognize what is truly important and life giving. So, Aristotle’s advice is: Don’t pursue pleasure. Look for what gives life meaning that lasts over time.
6. Gentleness: Aristotle believed happiness depended upon one’s ability to control tempers and cultivate kindness. Indeed, researchers have confirmed that aggression, even aggressive thoughts, can lead to greater levels of stress and unhappiness. Be gentle and watch happiness grow.
7. Self-Honesty: It is important to be honest about who one is. Aristotle counseled against both boastfulness as well as self-deprecation. We should know who we are, which also helps us to focus on who we wish to become. A gentle humility can lead to greater happiness.
8. Equity: We hear a great deal about equity these days, which we tend to equate with fairness. And it is true, if we feel we are being unfairly treated, we are less happy. But Aristotle meant something else. The equitable person, Aristotle wrote, “is one who by choice and habit does not stand on his rights unduly, but is content to receive a smaller share, although he has the law on his side.” This is a tricky one, because such a virtue can be cultivated in certain groups of people (such as it has been in women), which can make them a permanent underclass. Aristotle referred to this as a “special form of justice.”
9. Forgiveness: This one should come as no shock to Christians, who have been schooled in the virtue of forgiveness by Jesus, who taught that we should be ready to forgive again and again and again. Research on the subject of forgiveness is rich, showing that the capacity to forgive and let go of anger and resentment lowers depression and anxiety and helps water the seeds of happiness.
10. Modesty: We tend to think of modesty in terms of humility, but Aristotle defined it as refraining from shameful, though tempting behaviors, even in complete privacy, when no one would ever know what you are doing. Modesty relates to temperance, except that modesty does not move toward moderation. It is a virtue because it avoids vice. Modesty for Aristotle is only a virtue if a good person would be ashamed if he were to do the (immodest) act. In other words, one has to believe that an act is morally bad in order to be virtuous when avoiding it. If, for example, you have no trouble with alcohol but are yourself a teetotaler, avoiding drink in this case is not the virtue of modesty. Research does indicate that when people avoid immorality and try to do moral acts, their happiness does increase.
I admire Aristotle’s program of happiness development. While I read the Nicomachean Ethics now over 50 years ago, I honestly don’t remember it. I cannot even say that at the time it made much of an impression. I suspect I was too young to understand why it is so critically important to our human development. But even at 19, I did notice that while Greek philosophy reflected a great deal on happiness (eudaimonia), Jesus never used the word happiness. Yet he did intimate that loving God with the fullness of heart, mind and spirit would grow full and abundant lives, which is what the Greeks meant by happiness. So perhaps Jesus and Aristotle would be close companions, traveling along the path of life, telling each other engaging stories and having stimulating conversations.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Arthur Brooks is a noted author, speaker, philosopher, and professor at the Harvard Kennedy School of Government as well as the Harvard Business School. His specialty is the study of happiness, and he has written extensively on the subject. He has a regular column in The Atlantic, well worth reading. He is, at least in my view, a wise man, and part of his wisdom comes from his classical learning and study. The subject of happiness is one the ancient Greeks pondered, especially Aristotle, and indeed, when a liberal arts education was more HIGHLY valued than it is today, many undergraduates were assigned Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics.
Recently I came across an article by Brooks, claiming that there are ten traits that build character and make for a happy life. Put aside the idea of happiness as all lightness and joy, devoid of struggle and suffering. For Aristotle a happy life is a deeply meaningful one, a life that knows how to accept both joy and sorrow. So, here are the 10 traits Aristotle claimed will lead to happiness.
1. Courage. Aristotle saw courage as the willingness to sacrifice for the sake of a greater good. War, of course, immediately comes to mind. Just about all Americans, for example, can see that John McCain’s willingness to forgo release from a North Vietnamese prison, because there were others, who had been imprisoned longer than he, as a noble and courageous act. Courage is the capacity to act in the face of fear rather than to surrender to it. And research has shown that the exercise of courage leads to greater resiliency after the danger has passed, and resiliency is shown to issue to greater happiness.
2. Temperance: Aristotle means self-control, the ability to discipline one’s appetites and baser impulses. When one is initially learning self-control, the research indicates that levels of happiness decrease, as one gives up what one wants and enjoys. But as people develop greater levels of self control and discipline, happiness rises. Temperance is a virtue that calls us to avoid extremes and play toward the moderate middle. So, when it comes to food and drink, for example, the temperate person does not necessarily avoid all alcohol or sweets but is very careful not to overindulge.
3. Liberality: This has nothing to do with politics but everything to do with money. Avoid stinginess; be generous without being profligate, and the happiness index will rise.
4. Magnificence: This concerns how one carries out one’s projects and duties. They should be done “most nobly and splendidly,” Aristotle insists, to help the widest range of people. Buying a yacht may be magnificent, but giving to a cause that benefits a large number of people is even more magnificent.
5. Greatness of Soul: Aristotle greatly admired Socrates, whom he considered a greatly souled person. According to Aristotle greatness of soul means being indifferent to both good and bad fortune. Life offers us all kinds of transitory pleasures, and though most of us prefer the good fortune over the bad, it is important to recognize what is truly important and life giving. So, Aristotle’s advice is: Don’t pursue pleasure. Look for what gives life meaning that lasts over time.
6. Gentleness: Aristotle believed happiness depended upon one’s ability to control tempers and cultivate kindness. Indeed, researchers have confirmed that aggression, even aggressive thoughts, can lead to greater levels of stress and unhappiness. Be gentle and watch happiness grow.
7. Self-Honesty: It is important to be honest about who one is. Aristotle counseled against both boastfulness as well as self-deprecation. We should know who we are, which also helps us to focus on who we wish to become. A gentle humility can lead to greater happiness.
8. Equity: We hear a great deal about equity these days, which we tend to equate with fairness. And it is true, if we feel we are being unfairly treated, we are less happy. But Aristotle meant something else. The equitable person, Aristotle wrote, “is one who by choice and habit does not stand on his rights unduly, but is content to receive a smaller share, although he has the law on his side.” This is a tricky one, because such a virtue can be cultivated in certain groups of people (such as it has been in women), which can make them a permanent underclass. Aristotle referred to this as a “special form of justice.”
9. Forgiveness: This one should come as no shock to Christians, who have been schooled in the virtue of forgiveness by Jesus, who taught that we should be ready to forgive again and again and again. Research on the subject of forgiveness is rich, showing that the capacity to forgive and let go of anger and resentment lowers depression and anxiety and helps water the seeds of happiness.
10. Modesty: We tend to think of modesty in terms of humility, but Aristotle defined it as refraining from shameful, though tempting behaviors, even in complete privacy, when no one would ever know what you are doing. Modesty relates to temperance, except that modesty does not move toward moderation. It is a virtue because it avoids vice. Modesty for Aristotle is only a virtue if a good person would be ashamed if he were to do the (immodest) act. In other words, one has to believe that an act is morally bad in order to be virtuous when avoiding it. If, for example, you have no trouble with alcohol but are yourself a teetotaler, avoiding drink in this case is not the virtue of modesty. Research does indicate that when people avoid immorality and try to do moral acts, their happiness does increase.
I admire Aristotle’s program of happiness development. While I read the Nicomachean Ethics now over 50 years ago, I honestly don’t remember it. I cannot even say that at the time it made much of an impression. I suspect I was too young to understand why it is so critically important to our human development. But even at 19, I did notice that while Greek philosophy reflected a great deal on happiness (eudaimonia), Jesus never used the word happiness. Yet he did intimate that loving God with the fullness of heart, mind and spirit would grow full and abundant lives, which is what the Greeks meant by happiness. So perhaps Jesus and Aristotle would be close companions, traveling along the path of life, telling each other engaging stories and having stimulating conversations.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
ANNA SPEAKS
A Monologue by The Rev. Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Unionville, CT
December 31, 2023
Luke 2: 22-40
If someone asked you who Anna was and what role she played in Luke’s Gospel, you would most likely not know or remember. Come on, be honest, how many of you really recall my story? Oh, don’t be embarrassed. I don’t expect you to remember. After all, I received but two lines in Luke’s gospel. Not that I am complaining. To be honest, I am thankful that I am even mentioned, let alone named. So many of the people in Jesus’ stories don’t have names, including the wise men. It’s tradition that later gave them the names of Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar. The Bible does not name them. It doesn’t even say there were three. It is the three gifts, which has led to the conclusion of three wise men. But I am wandering far off topic.
I am here to tell you my story, which is also the story of Jesus and his family, at least as Luke tells it. No other gospel mentions me. Not that Luke and I were acquainted. We did not know each other. By the Luke wrote his Gospel, sometime around the year 80 or 85, I was long gone. I was already an old woman of 84 years when Jesus was born. A good life I had, though of course, I had my disappointments. I never had any children, and my husband died after only seven years of marriage, leaving me a dependent widow. But I was fortunate about one thing: I was not pressured into marrying again, since my family had enough wealth to care for me. You see women had no wealth of their own. They were their fathers or brothers or uncles or husband’s responsibility, and so if a woman lost her husband, she had no recourse but to return to her family of origin, unless someone immediately married her. Poor families often could not take in a widowed daughter or sister or niece, and so finding a husband was an economic necessity. I thank God I did not have that worry. One husband was enough for me. I returned to live with my parents, and when they died, I stayed with my brother and his family, but in time, my life revolved around the Temple. I became known as a holy woman, because I spent so much time in prayer.
And do you know what I prayed for? It was the liberation of my people. You see, we Jews were living under Roman occupation, and though I cannot deny that Rome had its achievements: Pax Romana, the peace of Rome, brought some good things to the world, but we Jews were never going to be satisfied as long as we were a subject people. We were proud, fiercely independent, and we looked back longingly to the days of King David, when he ruled a United Kingdom. This was how things should be, we thought. And though Rome under Julius Caesar built roads, allowing travel and commerce, and erected aqueducts and sophisticated plumbing, which did allow a civilization to flourish, still it was not our civilization, and so we Jews longed for the great liberator. Most of us expected a king and a warrior, like David, but as I grew older, I began to have doubts. Perhaps the liberator would be like nothing we had ever known or expected.
I remember the day so well: cold, gray skies and a chilling drizzle that almost froze my bones. And then there was the old man, Simeon, known in Jerusalem as a devout and righteous man, seeking, it was said, the consolation of Israel. And on this particular day, he entered the Temple, claiming that the Holy Spirit had led him there. And it was then that he noticed the couple, who entered the Temple with their newborn son of 8 days to have him circumcised. I knew immediately they were poor, because they did not sacrifice a lamb, but instead offered two turtledoves or perhaps it was pigeons, as the Law allowed. The parents were faithful Jews--- of that you could be sure. They followed the Law, and not only the spirit, but also the letter! Later both Jews and gentiles would try to deny Jesus’ Jewish roots, but I know what I saw. It was then that something very unusual happened. Simeon approached the parents and took their son from them and began to praise God. “My eyes,” he prayed,” have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for the glory of your people Israel.”
I was shocked! Why this prayer, mentioning the Gentiles? Let me tell you, the parents were shocked as well. They did not know what to do or say. They just stood there, gaping. Simeon blessed them both, and then he looked at the mother, and told her that a sword would pierce her heart. I thought it was a cruel thing to say, but when I looked at the infant, I knew with a certainty we human beings rarely ever have that this child was for the redemption of Israel. I cannot tell you exactly how it was that I knew.
Unlike the shepherds, there were no angels making an announcement. Unlike the wise men, there was no star guiding me. And unlike Simeon, the Holy Spirit did not lead me to this particular place at that particular time. I had spent a lifetime in prayer, and so when this moment arrived, I recognized it as the gift it was. I knew. It was as if my life had been moving toward this moment of recognition. There were other people in the Temple that day. They saw the same baby as Simeon and I did, but their eyes did not see what we saw. They did not know what we knew.
And that is how it often is with the spiritual life. Some see and others don’t. And it doesn’t happen in the same way for everyone. Sometimes it takes years of spiritual practice and discipline, and then you finally see. But there are others for whom the revelation comes in an instant, without much preparation at all--- like the shepherds out in the fields the night Jesus was born. Nothing had prepared them for the sight and sound of angels. And how about Mary, that young girl, what did she really know about being the mother of a savior? Nothing, really, but there it was, and I suspect she consented without fully understanding to what she was giving her consent.
God can be a bit tricky at times, which is why the Hindus are wise to have a name for God, which means “the trickster.” I have often thought that Mary got tricked into accepting a role she was not prepared for. Don’t you think Mary was like all other mothers, wanting happiness for their children, and saviors, well, their lives are not cut out for happiness. And so, Simeon warned her--- a sword shall pierce your heart. Poor thing, she looked frightened. And why shouldn’t she be? She did not know what was in store for her or for her son.
Of course, at the time none of us knew. We did not know the full implication of what we had witnessed. Neither Simeon nor I had any idea what kind of savior this baby would be, no idea what sort of redemption he would bring. There is this saying about God and the devil both being in the details. I guess that is so, which means that the burden falls on us to sort the details out. And that can take a long, long time. We are still working on those details, aren’t we, still trying to figure out what the story really means. Here you are, about 2000 years later, a few days after Christmas, and you still don’t know fully what it all means. You are still waiting for the redemption of the world. Someone once said that God gives us hints, and we must do a lot of guessing. And so, we do. But I think it is important to guess boldly, outside the box, as the saying goes. So, that is my final advice to you. Take the hints and then guess with boldness and with courage. And act boldly and courageously, leaving the rest to God.
A Monologue by The Rev. Sandra Olsen
First Church of Christ, Unionville, CT
December 31, 2023
Luke 2: 22-40
If someone asked you who Anna was and what role she played in Luke’s Gospel, you would most likely not know or remember. Come on, be honest, how many of you really recall my story? Oh, don’t be embarrassed. I don’t expect you to remember. After all, I received but two lines in Luke’s gospel. Not that I am complaining. To be honest, I am thankful that I am even mentioned, let alone named. So many of the people in Jesus’ stories don’t have names, including the wise men. It’s tradition that later gave them the names of Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar. The Bible does not name them. It doesn’t even say there were three. It is the three gifts, which has led to the conclusion of three wise men. But I am wandering far off topic.
I am here to tell you my story, which is also the story of Jesus and his family, at least as Luke tells it. No other gospel mentions me. Not that Luke and I were acquainted. We did not know each other. By the Luke wrote his Gospel, sometime around the year 80 or 85, I was long gone. I was already an old woman of 84 years when Jesus was born. A good life I had, though of course, I had my disappointments. I never had any children, and my husband died after only seven years of marriage, leaving me a dependent widow. But I was fortunate about one thing: I was not pressured into marrying again, since my family had enough wealth to care for me. You see women had no wealth of their own. They were their fathers or brothers or uncles or husband’s responsibility, and so if a woman lost her husband, she had no recourse but to return to her family of origin, unless someone immediately married her. Poor families often could not take in a widowed daughter or sister or niece, and so finding a husband was an economic necessity. I thank God I did not have that worry. One husband was enough for me. I returned to live with my parents, and when they died, I stayed with my brother and his family, but in time, my life revolved around the Temple. I became known as a holy woman, because I spent so much time in prayer.
And do you know what I prayed for? It was the liberation of my people. You see, we Jews were living under Roman occupation, and though I cannot deny that Rome had its achievements: Pax Romana, the peace of Rome, brought some good things to the world, but we Jews were never going to be satisfied as long as we were a subject people. We were proud, fiercely independent, and we looked back longingly to the days of King David, when he ruled a United Kingdom. This was how things should be, we thought. And though Rome under Julius Caesar built roads, allowing travel and commerce, and erected aqueducts and sophisticated plumbing, which did allow a civilization to flourish, still it was not our civilization, and so we Jews longed for the great liberator. Most of us expected a king and a warrior, like David, but as I grew older, I began to have doubts. Perhaps the liberator would be like nothing we had ever known or expected.
I remember the day so well: cold, gray skies and a chilling drizzle that almost froze my bones. And then there was the old man, Simeon, known in Jerusalem as a devout and righteous man, seeking, it was said, the consolation of Israel. And on this particular day, he entered the Temple, claiming that the Holy Spirit had led him there. And it was then that he noticed the couple, who entered the Temple with their newborn son of 8 days to have him circumcised. I knew immediately they were poor, because they did not sacrifice a lamb, but instead offered two turtledoves or perhaps it was pigeons, as the Law allowed. The parents were faithful Jews--- of that you could be sure. They followed the Law, and not only the spirit, but also the letter! Later both Jews and gentiles would try to deny Jesus’ Jewish roots, but I know what I saw. It was then that something very unusual happened. Simeon approached the parents and took their son from them and began to praise God. “My eyes,” he prayed,” have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for the glory of your people Israel.”
I was shocked! Why this prayer, mentioning the Gentiles? Let me tell you, the parents were shocked as well. They did not know what to do or say. They just stood there, gaping. Simeon blessed them both, and then he looked at the mother, and told her that a sword would pierce her heart. I thought it was a cruel thing to say, but when I looked at the infant, I knew with a certainty we human beings rarely ever have that this child was for the redemption of Israel. I cannot tell you exactly how it was that I knew.
Unlike the shepherds, there were no angels making an announcement. Unlike the wise men, there was no star guiding me. And unlike Simeon, the Holy Spirit did not lead me to this particular place at that particular time. I had spent a lifetime in prayer, and so when this moment arrived, I recognized it as the gift it was. I knew. It was as if my life had been moving toward this moment of recognition. There were other people in the Temple that day. They saw the same baby as Simeon and I did, but their eyes did not see what we saw. They did not know what we knew.
And that is how it often is with the spiritual life. Some see and others don’t. And it doesn’t happen in the same way for everyone. Sometimes it takes years of spiritual practice and discipline, and then you finally see. But there are others for whom the revelation comes in an instant, without much preparation at all--- like the shepherds out in the fields the night Jesus was born. Nothing had prepared them for the sight and sound of angels. And how about Mary, that young girl, what did she really know about being the mother of a savior? Nothing, really, but there it was, and I suspect she consented without fully understanding to what she was giving her consent.
God can be a bit tricky at times, which is why the Hindus are wise to have a name for God, which means “the trickster.” I have often thought that Mary got tricked into accepting a role she was not prepared for. Don’t you think Mary was like all other mothers, wanting happiness for their children, and saviors, well, their lives are not cut out for happiness. And so, Simeon warned her--- a sword shall pierce your heart. Poor thing, she looked frightened. And why shouldn’t she be? She did not know what was in store for her or for her son.
Of course, at the time none of us knew. We did not know the full implication of what we had witnessed. Neither Simeon nor I had any idea what kind of savior this baby would be, no idea what sort of redemption he would bring. There is this saying about God and the devil both being in the details. I guess that is so, which means that the burden falls on us to sort the details out. And that can take a long, long time. We are still working on those details, aren’t we, still trying to figure out what the story really means. Here you are, about 2000 years later, a few days after Christmas, and you still don’t know fully what it all means. You are still waiting for the redemption of the world. Someone once said that God gives us hints, and we must do a lot of guessing. And so, we do. But I think it is important to guess boldly, outside the box, as the saying goes. So, that is my final advice to you. Take the hints and then guess with boldness and with courage. And act boldly and courageously, leaving the rest to God.
December 28, 2023
Dear Friends,
A friend of mine recently told me that her New Year’s resolution is to improve her mental well-being. “I get too caught up in the cares of the world,” she told me. “I am always worried about something in the nation and the world, and it is really starting to have a negative impact on my mental health. I find myself sad or even depressed too much of the time. So, I am really going to work on this.”
I have a suggestion for her, because a few days later, I came across a fascinating article in the Washington Post. The question posed was: Want to improve your mental health? Pay attention to birds was the answer. I must confess, I am not a bird lover. I don’t like things flying over my head, but I do appreciate and love birdsong, so I was heartened to learn that simply hearing birds sing can have a very positive effect on one’s mental health.
According to research, birds provide a very strong connection to nature, and being out and about in the natural world is very good for one’s mental health. Research has verified this. Just taking a walk with the sky arching overhead and trees greeting one’s eyes can lift the spirits and help lessen depression. Research has now been done on the impact of birds on mental health. Since birds are everywhere, including in urban environments, they help people connect with nature, even in an unconscious way. People may not always be aware that they are hearing birds sing, but if they do focus their attention on birdsong, they find that their mood is elevated, and they feel better, lighter, more hopeful. The surprising outcome is that the benefits persist even after the bird encounter is over. Research at the Institute of Psychiatry, Psychology and Neuroscience at King’s College in London indicates that the elevated mood persists for hours after returning from an encounter with birds or birdsong.
A second study concludes that listening to short audio clips---only 6 minutes---can reduce anxiety and paranoia. It does not seem to matter if you listen to a number of different birds sing or just one or two birds. The result is the same: a more positive mental outlook. Being in nature seems to improve concentration and decrease the mental fatigue that comes from living in a stressful, overloaded environment. Though neuroscience has not yet come up with an explanation for how birdsong actually works on the human brain, it is noted that hearing birdsong decreases the activity in the pre-frontal cortex which is associated with rumination. Rumination apparently is connected with anxiety and depression, when people keep ruminating on the same thing over and over again without any resolution or change.
Natural stimuli---- such as birdsong and the (soft) sound of rain or wind----allows us to engage in what neuroscientists call “soft fascination”, which means that our attention is held but is also replenished. Stress is then reduced and so is blood pressure and levels of cortisol. (Cortisol is the stress hormone associated with increased levels of glucose in the body, which prepares the body for a fight or flight.)
So, one of the most important things we can do for ourselves is BE AWARE. When we are outside, it is so easy for us to forget that there are birds all around us, sometimes singing their hearts out. Another thing we can do is BE CURIOUS. Smartphone applications such as Merlin Bird ID and BirdNet can help identify the bird and its song. BirdCast gives maps of bird migrations in an area, helping us to be aware of just how much bird activity there is in a given area.
Researchers have actually discovered that people who pay close attention to birds can feel greater levels of joy than people who simply ignore the birds around them. The joy is the delight people experience in a world that even with all its problems and challenges is still a wonder to behold. Of course, one can delight in many different things---music, reading, walking, to name just a few.
God has gifted us with a spectacular world, and though we human beings have a deserved reputation for messing things up, still there is a beautiful world to behold and enjoy. Birds and birdsong are simply marvelous gifts that we can savor without the expenditure of money or great effort. All we need to do is go outside and look and listen. And when we do, we just might discover that our joy will grow.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
A friend of mine recently told me that her New Year’s resolution is to improve her mental well-being. “I get too caught up in the cares of the world,” she told me. “I am always worried about something in the nation and the world, and it is really starting to have a negative impact on my mental health. I find myself sad or even depressed too much of the time. So, I am really going to work on this.”
I have a suggestion for her, because a few days later, I came across a fascinating article in the Washington Post. The question posed was: Want to improve your mental health? Pay attention to birds was the answer. I must confess, I am not a bird lover. I don’t like things flying over my head, but I do appreciate and love birdsong, so I was heartened to learn that simply hearing birds sing can have a very positive effect on one’s mental health.
According to research, birds provide a very strong connection to nature, and being out and about in the natural world is very good for one’s mental health. Research has verified this. Just taking a walk with the sky arching overhead and trees greeting one’s eyes can lift the spirits and help lessen depression. Research has now been done on the impact of birds on mental health. Since birds are everywhere, including in urban environments, they help people connect with nature, even in an unconscious way. People may not always be aware that they are hearing birds sing, but if they do focus their attention on birdsong, they find that their mood is elevated, and they feel better, lighter, more hopeful. The surprising outcome is that the benefits persist even after the bird encounter is over. Research at the Institute of Psychiatry, Psychology and Neuroscience at King’s College in London indicates that the elevated mood persists for hours after returning from an encounter with birds or birdsong.
A second study concludes that listening to short audio clips---only 6 minutes---can reduce anxiety and paranoia. It does not seem to matter if you listen to a number of different birds sing or just one or two birds. The result is the same: a more positive mental outlook. Being in nature seems to improve concentration and decrease the mental fatigue that comes from living in a stressful, overloaded environment. Though neuroscience has not yet come up with an explanation for how birdsong actually works on the human brain, it is noted that hearing birdsong decreases the activity in the pre-frontal cortex which is associated with rumination. Rumination apparently is connected with anxiety and depression, when people keep ruminating on the same thing over and over again without any resolution or change.
Natural stimuli---- such as birdsong and the (soft) sound of rain or wind----allows us to engage in what neuroscientists call “soft fascination”, which means that our attention is held but is also replenished. Stress is then reduced and so is blood pressure and levels of cortisol. (Cortisol is the stress hormone associated with increased levels of glucose in the body, which prepares the body for a fight or flight.)
So, one of the most important things we can do for ourselves is BE AWARE. When we are outside, it is so easy for us to forget that there are birds all around us, sometimes singing their hearts out. Another thing we can do is BE CURIOUS. Smartphone applications such as Merlin Bird ID and BirdNet can help identify the bird and its song. BirdCast gives maps of bird migrations in an area, helping us to be aware of just how much bird activity there is in a given area.
Researchers have actually discovered that people who pay close attention to birds can feel greater levels of joy than people who simply ignore the birds around them. The joy is the delight people experience in a world that even with all its problems and challenges is still a wonder to behold. Of course, one can delight in many different things---music, reading, walking, to name just a few.
God has gifted us with a spectacular world, and though we human beings have a deserved reputation for messing things up, still there is a beautiful world to behold and enjoy. Birds and birdsong are simply marvelous gifts that we can savor without the expenditure of money or great effort. All we need to do is go outside and look and listen. And when we do, we just might discover that our joy will grow.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
CHRISTMAS, 1941: IN THE DARK STREET SHINETH
A CHRISTMAS EVE SERMON
BY: SANDRA OLSEN
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
Luke 2: 1-20
Christmas is a time that invites people to remember. People remember Christmases past---sometimes happy, sometimes sad. Someone recently told me about her memory of Christmas Eve, 1969, when her family received notice that her 21 year old brother was missing in action in Viet Nam. Her family was among the fortunate, however, because five days later, they learned he was alive and recovering from wounds. Another woman told me about Christmas, 1946, when her newly divorced mother had no money. Yet on Christmas morning under the tree was a whole set of beautiful doll clothes, which years later she realized her mother had sewn. The memory of that Christmas, she told me, grows more precious with each passing year. “My mother worked full time as a secretary, and then she had my two brothers and me to care for in the evening, but as tired as she must have been, she sewed these clothes after we kids went to bed.”
Yes, there is something about Christmas that invites, maybe even forces memory, and our memories can even stretch to times before our birth. Someone once said that if you have no memory of time before you were born, you are an orphan. And so, we gather here this afternoon because we do not want to be orphans. We remember THE STORY, the gospel story of Jesus’ birth, which has the power to inform all our other stories, making us who we are, helping us to remember who we are. Yes, Christmas invites us to remember, even to times before we were born.
Recently I came across a story about Christmas Eve, 1941. It was a dark time. Pearl Harbor had just been bombed a few weeks before, and many must have wondered where God was in all the horror of war---just as I am sure many people today wonder what God is doing--- in Ukraine, in Gaza, in the West Bank, in Sudan, to name just a few. How do you remember and celebrate the birth of the savior, when the world does not look saved? Winston Churchill, the prime minister of Great Britain and Franklin Roosevelt, President of the United States, must have pondered that question as Christmas, 1941 approached. They knew, as few others did, what they were facing, and Winston Churchill, against all advice, decided to cross the Atlantic to meet with the American President. It was quite a meeting.
On Christmas Eve from the White House balcony, the two leaders spoke to a gathered crowd of around 20,000 people. As reported in the Washington Post, “a crescent moon hung overhead as the sun dipped behind the Virginia hills, while southward loomed the Washington monument”. The site of the national Christmas tree had been moved at President Roosevelt’s request from the Ellipse to the south lawn of the White House. The President pushed a button. and the tree burst into light. “Our strongest weapon in this terrible war,” the President said, “is our conviction of the dignity and brotherhood of all, which Christmas signifies. Against enemies who would preach and practice hate, we set our faith in human love and in God’s love and care for us and for all people everywhere.”
When Mr. Roosevelt had finished speaking, Winston Churchill rose. “This is a strange Christmas Eve,” the Prime Minister acknowledged. “Almost the whole world is locked in deadly struggle, and with the most terrible weapons science can devise, the nations advance upon one another. Here in the midst of war, raging over the lands and the seas, creeping nearer to our hearts and homes, here, amid all the tumult, we have tonight the peace of the spirit in each cottage home and in every generous human heart. Therefore, we may cast aside this night the cares and dangers which beset us and make an evening of happiness in a world of storm. Here for one night only each home should be a brightly lighted island of happiness and peace.”
The next day was Christmas, and Churchill and Roosevelt went to church, accompanied by Eleanor Roosevelt and General Edwin Watson. They sang that morning the beloved carol, “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” beloved, that is, by Americans, but unknown to Churchill, who wanted to know the story of its composition.
Well, on Christmas Eve in 1865 Philip Brooks, an American clergyman, on a visit to the Holy Land, road a horse to a hill top in Jerusalem, where he imagined shepherds had gathered to tend their sheep, when suddenly the sky was ablaze with light and their hearts and minds were filled with a message of hope: “Unto you is born this day in the city of David, a savior, who is Christ the Lord.” Looking out at the peaceful scene and remembering the horror of the American Civil War, which had just ended, Brooks remembered the night Jesus was born. He remembered the words of the angels, and despite all the trouble and suffering of his time and Jesus’ time, he experienced peace.
After returning to his church in Philadelphia, Brooks put down on paper what he had felt that night, the words to “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Three years later he asked his organist, Lewis Redner, to put the poem to music that it might be sung at the Christmas service. Redner tried, but with no success. He went to bed on Christmas Eve, feeling he had utterly failed. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion, and then, in the middle of the night, he awoke, hearing an angel strain. Grabbing a sheet of paper, he wrote the treble of the tune, “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” and the carol was sung the next morning at the Christmas service.
“Yet in the dark streets shineth the everlasting light”: that is what Brooks wrote, and when Roosevelt and Churchill spoke on that Christmas Eve, now 82 years ago, that is what they too must have hoped for, that in spite of all the carnage human beings would make upon each other, the everlasting light would shine. Indeed, this everlasting light is what we hope for, a light that depends not so much on our meager and pathetic efforts, but rather a light that is the gift of a good and gracious God, who comes to us in the most unlikely of places, like a stable in Bethlehem or a cross in Jerusalem, or a homeless shelter in Hartford, or a car that is serving as someone’s home. “Yet in the dark streets shineth, the everlasting light.” That is the promise of Christmas. Receive the promise and pass it on.
A CHRISTMAS EVE SERMON
BY: SANDRA OLSEN
First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
Luke 2: 1-20
Christmas is a time that invites people to remember. People remember Christmases past---sometimes happy, sometimes sad. Someone recently told me about her memory of Christmas Eve, 1969, when her family received notice that her 21 year old brother was missing in action in Viet Nam. Her family was among the fortunate, however, because five days later, they learned he was alive and recovering from wounds. Another woman told me about Christmas, 1946, when her newly divorced mother had no money. Yet on Christmas morning under the tree was a whole set of beautiful doll clothes, which years later she realized her mother had sewn. The memory of that Christmas, she told me, grows more precious with each passing year. “My mother worked full time as a secretary, and then she had my two brothers and me to care for in the evening, but as tired as she must have been, she sewed these clothes after we kids went to bed.”
Yes, there is something about Christmas that invites, maybe even forces memory, and our memories can even stretch to times before our birth. Someone once said that if you have no memory of time before you were born, you are an orphan. And so, we gather here this afternoon because we do not want to be orphans. We remember THE STORY, the gospel story of Jesus’ birth, which has the power to inform all our other stories, making us who we are, helping us to remember who we are. Yes, Christmas invites us to remember, even to times before we were born.
Recently I came across a story about Christmas Eve, 1941. It was a dark time. Pearl Harbor had just been bombed a few weeks before, and many must have wondered where God was in all the horror of war---just as I am sure many people today wonder what God is doing--- in Ukraine, in Gaza, in the West Bank, in Sudan, to name just a few. How do you remember and celebrate the birth of the savior, when the world does not look saved? Winston Churchill, the prime minister of Great Britain and Franklin Roosevelt, President of the United States, must have pondered that question as Christmas, 1941 approached. They knew, as few others did, what they were facing, and Winston Churchill, against all advice, decided to cross the Atlantic to meet with the American President. It was quite a meeting.
On Christmas Eve from the White House balcony, the two leaders spoke to a gathered crowd of around 20,000 people. As reported in the Washington Post, “a crescent moon hung overhead as the sun dipped behind the Virginia hills, while southward loomed the Washington monument”. The site of the national Christmas tree had been moved at President Roosevelt’s request from the Ellipse to the south lawn of the White House. The President pushed a button. and the tree burst into light. “Our strongest weapon in this terrible war,” the President said, “is our conviction of the dignity and brotherhood of all, which Christmas signifies. Against enemies who would preach and practice hate, we set our faith in human love and in God’s love and care for us and for all people everywhere.”
When Mr. Roosevelt had finished speaking, Winston Churchill rose. “This is a strange Christmas Eve,” the Prime Minister acknowledged. “Almost the whole world is locked in deadly struggle, and with the most terrible weapons science can devise, the nations advance upon one another. Here in the midst of war, raging over the lands and the seas, creeping nearer to our hearts and homes, here, amid all the tumult, we have tonight the peace of the spirit in each cottage home and in every generous human heart. Therefore, we may cast aside this night the cares and dangers which beset us and make an evening of happiness in a world of storm. Here for one night only each home should be a brightly lighted island of happiness and peace.”
The next day was Christmas, and Churchill and Roosevelt went to church, accompanied by Eleanor Roosevelt and General Edwin Watson. They sang that morning the beloved carol, “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” beloved, that is, by Americans, but unknown to Churchill, who wanted to know the story of its composition.
Well, on Christmas Eve in 1865 Philip Brooks, an American clergyman, on a visit to the Holy Land, road a horse to a hill top in Jerusalem, where he imagined shepherds had gathered to tend their sheep, when suddenly the sky was ablaze with light and their hearts and minds were filled with a message of hope: “Unto you is born this day in the city of David, a savior, who is Christ the Lord.” Looking out at the peaceful scene and remembering the horror of the American Civil War, which had just ended, Brooks remembered the night Jesus was born. He remembered the words of the angels, and despite all the trouble and suffering of his time and Jesus’ time, he experienced peace.
After returning to his church in Philadelphia, Brooks put down on paper what he had felt that night, the words to “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Three years later he asked his organist, Lewis Redner, to put the poem to music that it might be sung at the Christmas service. Redner tried, but with no success. He went to bed on Christmas Eve, feeling he had utterly failed. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion, and then, in the middle of the night, he awoke, hearing an angel strain. Grabbing a sheet of paper, he wrote the treble of the tune, “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” and the carol was sung the next morning at the Christmas service.
“Yet in the dark streets shineth the everlasting light”: that is what Brooks wrote, and when Roosevelt and Churchill spoke on that Christmas Eve, now 82 years ago, that is what they too must have hoped for, that in spite of all the carnage human beings would make upon each other, the everlasting light would shine. Indeed, this everlasting light is what we hope for, a light that depends not so much on our meager and pathetic efforts, but rather a light that is the gift of a good and gracious God, who comes to us in the most unlikely of places, like a stable in Bethlehem or a cross in Jerusalem, or a homeless shelter in Hartford, or a car that is serving as someone’s home. “Yet in the dark streets shineth, the everlasting light.” That is the promise of Christmas. Receive the promise and pass it on.
December 21, 2023
Dear Friends,
In just a few days Christmas will be here, and across the world Christians will gather in churches to celebrate the birth of Jesus. In fact, for the past month or so, Christmas trees, nativity scenes and lights have been displayed in many different settings and locales all around the world. But not in the city of Bethlehem. In November the city decided there would be no Christmas festivities this year. Religious services will be held, including the traditional Midnight Mass at the Church of the Nativity, which sits over a cave, where Jesus was said to be born. But all other sights and sounds of Christmas will be muted or absent---because of the War in Gaza.
Christians in the West Bank, where the city of Bethlehem is located, decided that the war made normal celebrations impossible. How can we celebrate, when our Palestinian brothers and sisters are suffering was the question on their minds. It is hardly a trivial question, and yet it is also true that Jesus came into a world that knew suffering and death. True, Pax Romana meant that the Roman Empire had managed to make peace through armed force. It had conquered much of the known western world and compelled obedience from its subjects. Rome did allow the expression of local culture and religion---as long as Caesar was acknowledged as Lord, something the Jews simply could not do. When the angels in Luke’s Gospel sing of “peace on earth,” their words mean far more than Pax Romana. Yes, they mean a ceasing of war and violence, but they also declare a peace that is beyond anything human beings can achieve on their own. This kind of peace, which passes human understanding, is a peace that only God can give. And so, the prayer this Christmas at the midnight Mass in Bethlehem will surely be for the peace that only God can give as well as for the peace that overcomes the warring madness human beings wage.
The cancelling of Christmas festivities is a financial disaster for the West Bank, which makes about 70% of its income over the Advent/Christmas season. Shops, restaurants, and stores are closed; 70 hotels have been shuttered, which means that 6000 employees are without work. For Christians it is painful to be without the normal sights and sounds of Christmas, but most Christians in Bethlehem seem to accept that this is the right decision. There are not a huge number of Christians in the West Bank, about 50,000 out of a population of 3.2 million. In Gaza there are only 1300 Christians in a population of 2.1 million, and Israel has about 182,000 Christians in its population of 9.7 million. 73.5 % of Israelis are Jews, while 21% are Arabs, whose religious identification, while mainly Muslim, spans other religions, including Christianity.
Christians in Bethlehem and the entire West Bank are pained by the war and the reality of death and suffering. In fact, all Christians are so pained, as they (and we) are also pained by the terrorism visited upon Israel on October 7, which left over 1200 Jews dead and another 200 plus kidnapped. If we can believe the numbers, over 18,000 Palestinians have been killed in this awful war, many of them women and children. Just this past week a mother and her daughter, seeking refuge in the only Catholic Church in Gaza, were gunned down by and Israeli sniper. Pope Francis condemned the shooting, calling it an act of terrorism. The violence is gut wrenching, and we do wonder how Israel will be left safer and more secure once this all ends.
Christmas is the celebration of the birth of the Prince of Peace, and though we might attempt to comfort ourselves by acknowledging that the peace Jesus brings is beyond the cessation of war and violence, yet surely the peace of Christ should also embrace a peace that overcomes war and violence. As the prophet Isaiah so beautifully said, And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. (Isaiah 2:4). To that let all of us say, “Amen.”
Yours in Christ
Sandra
Dear Friends,
In just a few days Christmas will be here, and across the world Christians will gather in churches to celebrate the birth of Jesus. In fact, for the past month or so, Christmas trees, nativity scenes and lights have been displayed in many different settings and locales all around the world. But not in the city of Bethlehem. In November the city decided there would be no Christmas festivities this year. Religious services will be held, including the traditional Midnight Mass at the Church of the Nativity, which sits over a cave, where Jesus was said to be born. But all other sights and sounds of Christmas will be muted or absent---because of the War in Gaza.
Christians in the West Bank, where the city of Bethlehem is located, decided that the war made normal celebrations impossible. How can we celebrate, when our Palestinian brothers and sisters are suffering was the question on their minds. It is hardly a trivial question, and yet it is also true that Jesus came into a world that knew suffering and death. True, Pax Romana meant that the Roman Empire had managed to make peace through armed force. It had conquered much of the known western world and compelled obedience from its subjects. Rome did allow the expression of local culture and religion---as long as Caesar was acknowledged as Lord, something the Jews simply could not do. When the angels in Luke’s Gospel sing of “peace on earth,” their words mean far more than Pax Romana. Yes, they mean a ceasing of war and violence, but they also declare a peace that is beyond anything human beings can achieve on their own. This kind of peace, which passes human understanding, is a peace that only God can give. And so, the prayer this Christmas at the midnight Mass in Bethlehem will surely be for the peace that only God can give as well as for the peace that overcomes the warring madness human beings wage.
The cancelling of Christmas festivities is a financial disaster for the West Bank, which makes about 70% of its income over the Advent/Christmas season. Shops, restaurants, and stores are closed; 70 hotels have been shuttered, which means that 6000 employees are without work. For Christians it is painful to be without the normal sights and sounds of Christmas, but most Christians in Bethlehem seem to accept that this is the right decision. There are not a huge number of Christians in the West Bank, about 50,000 out of a population of 3.2 million. In Gaza there are only 1300 Christians in a population of 2.1 million, and Israel has about 182,000 Christians in its population of 9.7 million. 73.5 % of Israelis are Jews, while 21% are Arabs, whose religious identification, while mainly Muslim, spans other religions, including Christianity.
Christians in Bethlehem and the entire West Bank are pained by the war and the reality of death and suffering. In fact, all Christians are so pained, as they (and we) are also pained by the terrorism visited upon Israel on October 7, which left over 1200 Jews dead and another 200 plus kidnapped. If we can believe the numbers, over 18,000 Palestinians have been killed in this awful war, many of them women and children. Just this past week a mother and her daughter, seeking refuge in the only Catholic Church in Gaza, were gunned down by and Israeli sniper. Pope Francis condemned the shooting, calling it an act of terrorism. The violence is gut wrenching, and we do wonder how Israel will be left safer and more secure once this all ends.
Christmas is the celebration of the birth of the Prince of Peace, and though we might attempt to comfort ourselves by acknowledging that the peace Jesus brings is beyond the cessation of war and violence, yet surely the peace of Christ should also embrace a peace that overcomes war and violence. As the prophet Isaiah so beautifully said, And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. (Isaiah 2:4). To that let all of us say, “Amen.”
Yours in Christ
Sandra
JOSEPH SPEAKS
First Church of Christ, Unionville
December 18, 2023
Silent Joseph: that is what I have been called over the millennia of Christianity. Do you know that I do not speak ONE WORD in the Bible? Oh, I’m there in the story, but as narration, not as speech. And so, today I speak. I tell my story.
First of all, let me say there was and is so much legend about me. Human beings rush in to fill in the gaps, and imagination always has its role to play. Even the gospels have their imagination, since they were all written decades after Jesus lived and walked the earth. And each gospel has its own unique perspective, its own story to tell.
In medieval times all kinds of stories about me emerged, and some of them have hung on in the modern imagination. For example, I am still often portrayed as an old man. And Mary in the medieval imagination was not portrayed as someone of humble birth. The faithful could not bear to think of her as a lowly maiden. And so, in The Golden Legend, which sometimes was even more popular than the Bible, the story goes that upon Mary’s birth, her parents dedicated her to the Temple. When she came of age, men were invited to compete for her hand in marriage---though Mary had insisted that she was dedicated to God as a perpetual virgin. Yet God told the men to bring their staffs, and the staff that flowered was to have Mary in marriage. According to the story, I did not want to go. It said I was old with children and grandchildren of my own, so why would I want an adolescent wife? Well, no other staff flowered except mine, and though I was portrayed as the hesitant husband, I took Mary as my wife. It makes for a good story, and if you have a good story, you have the people’s attention. If you look at great art, you often see me portrayed holding a staff with a flower at its end. As I said, it makes for a good story.
But the Bible too tells a good story. And so, let’s stick with scripture. In Luke, which is probably your favorite Christmas story, my portrayal is, well, minimal. Luke tells the story of the census, which caused me to go from Nazareth, where we lived, to Bethlehem., where the Messiah was supposed to be born. Bethlehem is the city of David, and I am a descendant of the House of David. And so, Jesus’ Davidic line is traced through me---though of course the story is that I am not Jesus’ biological father. But Luke did not care about biology. He wanted to make the point that Jesus’ identity as a descendant of the House of David came through me. It is as simple (or as complicated) as that!
Now Matthew tells a very different story, and the first thing you notice is that there is no census, no need to get Mary and me to Bethlehem, because Bethlehem is where we were already living. So, both gospels cannot be right; we could not be living in two different places at the same time, so you may want me to tell you what is the right story. But I am not here to do that. The important point for you to understand is that there are different stories, because there are different points to be made, different perspectives.
Matthew is very strong on connecting the Jesus story to the Old Testament. Jesus is the new Moses, giving the new law. And Matthew connects me to the Old Testament figure of Joseph, you know the favorite son of Jacob, who gave Joseph that beautiful coat of many colors. And his jealous brothers sold him into slavery and told their father that a wild beast had killed him. Joseph was a brilliant interpreter of dreams and though he began as a slave, he became a high official in the Egyptian government, because he interpreted dreams for Pharoah and his family. And so, I, who share his name, deal in dreams. That is how Matthew tells the story.
When I discovered that Mary was pregnant, I determined to divorce her. You see, a promise to marry in ancient Israel was considered a legally binding contract, and so I needed to break that contract. But, if I had done it publicly, it would have brought not only great shame upon Mary, but also the possibility that she could have been stoned as an adulteress. So, I determined to divorce her quietly without public scandal or shame. And that is when the dream came to me and an angel of the Lord said: “Do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for her pregnancy is of the Holy Spirit.”
I’ve got to admit, that was hard to swallow, hard to believe. And can you blame me for wanting more assurance? I loved Mary and I wanted to know that my love for her was really at one with God’s love and God’s will. But the angel, Gabriel, told me I must believe and be silent. And you know something? Those words were not only for me. They are for all of us, at least some of the time. We can be so full of words that we miss the big things. We are so busy talking, so busy getting our own points across that we fail to be silent and hear the deep truth of God. And so, I was quiet, and I listened.
Listened as well to the other dreams that came: the dream that told me Herod was out for the life of the infant, and so we fled to Egypt. And then there was another dream that told me Herod was dead and so it was safe to return. But we did not return to Bethlehem. I was afraid for our safety, and so we went to Nazareth, where I made my living as “a worker with wood.” And Jesus worked with me. I taught him a great deal, and he was pretty good with wood, but I could tell his heart was not in it. And at times that could be annoying. I’ll admit to you that I did not understand him. I would see him looking off into the far distance, and he liked to spend a great deal of his time alone. When he was 12 and stayed behind at the Temple and Mary and I frantically looked for him, when we finally found him, he dismissed our worries by saying, “Did you not know I must be about my Father’s business?” And let me tell you: he did not mean MY business. I KNEW whose business he meant, and it scared the life out of me. And as the years went by, he seemed to take that business even more seriously. And it continued to scare me. And that fear became a wedge between Jesus and me. After a while I could not feel close to him. He and I were at a distance from one another, a distance that could not be crossed. And sometimes that is just the way it is. Maybe there are times it is just the way it needs to be.
If there is anything I learned from my life it is this: Though we are all God’s people and loved by God, we are different. We don’t see, experience, or understand the world in the same way. And sometimes that difference separates us, no matter how hard we try to overcome it, no matter how hard we try to understand. I think there are times we just cannot understand. We stand in different places and cannot see what the other sees. Perhaps we simply need to be more accepting of that difference and the distance it creates.
I think Mary understood that better than I did. She knew how to listen and ponder things deeply in her heart. And I think her ponderings led her to a gentle acceptance. May that be so for all of us.
First Church of Christ, Unionville
December 18, 2023
Silent Joseph: that is what I have been called over the millennia of Christianity. Do you know that I do not speak ONE WORD in the Bible? Oh, I’m there in the story, but as narration, not as speech. And so, today I speak. I tell my story.
First of all, let me say there was and is so much legend about me. Human beings rush in to fill in the gaps, and imagination always has its role to play. Even the gospels have their imagination, since they were all written decades after Jesus lived and walked the earth. And each gospel has its own unique perspective, its own story to tell.
In medieval times all kinds of stories about me emerged, and some of them have hung on in the modern imagination. For example, I am still often portrayed as an old man. And Mary in the medieval imagination was not portrayed as someone of humble birth. The faithful could not bear to think of her as a lowly maiden. And so, in The Golden Legend, which sometimes was even more popular than the Bible, the story goes that upon Mary’s birth, her parents dedicated her to the Temple. When she came of age, men were invited to compete for her hand in marriage---though Mary had insisted that she was dedicated to God as a perpetual virgin. Yet God told the men to bring their staffs, and the staff that flowered was to have Mary in marriage. According to the story, I did not want to go. It said I was old with children and grandchildren of my own, so why would I want an adolescent wife? Well, no other staff flowered except mine, and though I was portrayed as the hesitant husband, I took Mary as my wife. It makes for a good story, and if you have a good story, you have the people’s attention. If you look at great art, you often see me portrayed holding a staff with a flower at its end. As I said, it makes for a good story.
But the Bible too tells a good story. And so, let’s stick with scripture. In Luke, which is probably your favorite Christmas story, my portrayal is, well, minimal. Luke tells the story of the census, which caused me to go from Nazareth, where we lived, to Bethlehem., where the Messiah was supposed to be born. Bethlehem is the city of David, and I am a descendant of the House of David. And so, Jesus’ Davidic line is traced through me---though of course the story is that I am not Jesus’ biological father. But Luke did not care about biology. He wanted to make the point that Jesus’ identity as a descendant of the House of David came through me. It is as simple (or as complicated) as that!
Now Matthew tells a very different story, and the first thing you notice is that there is no census, no need to get Mary and me to Bethlehem, because Bethlehem is where we were already living. So, both gospels cannot be right; we could not be living in two different places at the same time, so you may want me to tell you what is the right story. But I am not here to do that. The important point for you to understand is that there are different stories, because there are different points to be made, different perspectives.
Matthew is very strong on connecting the Jesus story to the Old Testament. Jesus is the new Moses, giving the new law. And Matthew connects me to the Old Testament figure of Joseph, you know the favorite son of Jacob, who gave Joseph that beautiful coat of many colors. And his jealous brothers sold him into slavery and told their father that a wild beast had killed him. Joseph was a brilliant interpreter of dreams and though he began as a slave, he became a high official in the Egyptian government, because he interpreted dreams for Pharoah and his family. And so, I, who share his name, deal in dreams. That is how Matthew tells the story.
When I discovered that Mary was pregnant, I determined to divorce her. You see, a promise to marry in ancient Israel was considered a legally binding contract, and so I needed to break that contract. But, if I had done it publicly, it would have brought not only great shame upon Mary, but also the possibility that she could have been stoned as an adulteress. So, I determined to divorce her quietly without public scandal or shame. And that is when the dream came to me and an angel of the Lord said: “Do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for her pregnancy is of the Holy Spirit.”
I’ve got to admit, that was hard to swallow, hard to believe. And can you blame me for wanting more assurance? I loved Mary and I wanted to know that my love for her was really at one with God’s love and God’s will. But the angel, Gabriel, told me I must believe and be silent. And you know something? Those words were not only for me. They are for all of us, at least some of the time. We can be so full of words that we miss the big things. We are so busy talking, so busy getting our own points across that we fail to be silent and hear the deep truth of God. And so, I was quiet, and I listened.
Listened as well to the other dreams that came: the dream that told me Herod was out for the life of the infant, and so we fled to Egypt. And then there was another dream that told me Herod was dead and so it was safe to return. But we did not return to Bethlehem. I was afraid for our safety, and so we went to Nazareth, where I made my living as “a worker with wood.” And Jesus worked with me. I taught him a great deal, and he was pretty good with wood, but I could tell his heart was not in it. And at times that could be annoying. I’ll admit to you that I did not understand him. I would see him looking off into the far distance, and he liked to spend a great deal of his time alone. When he was 12 and stayed behind at the Temple and Mary and I frantically looked for him, when we finally found him, he dismissed our worries by saying, “Did you not know I must be about my Father’s business?” And let me tell you: he did not mean MY business. I KNEW whose business he meant, and it scared the life out of me. And as the years went by, he seemed to take that business even more seriously. And it continued to scare me. And that fear became a wedge between Jesus and me. After a while I could not feel close to him. He and I were at a distance from one another, a distance that could not be crossed. And sometimes that is just the way it is. Maybe there are times it is just the way it needs to be.
If there is anything I learned from my life it is this: Though we are all God’s people and loved by God, we are different. We don’t see, experience, or understand the world in the same way. And sometimes that difference separates us, no matter how hard we try to overcome it, no matter how hard we try to understand. I think there are times we just cannot understand. We stand in different places and cannot see what the other sees. Perhaps we simply need to be more accepting of that difference and the distance it creates.
I think Mary understood that better than I did. She knew how to listen and ponder things deeply in her heart. And I think her ponderings led her to a gentle acceptance. May that be so for all of us.
December 14, 2023
Dear Friends,
We Christians are in the midst of celebrating Advent as we move toward Christmas. Advent is really a dark time, quite literally so in the northern hemisphere as the days shorten until the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, after which the days begin to grow longer. But even without the seasonal darkness, Advent still suggests a dark time as Christians wait for the coming of the Christ to bring new life and light into the world. John’s gospel lacks a conventional birth story, but it does say that the Word was the light and life of all people. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”
Our Jewish friends are celebrating Hanukkah, which this year began on December 8 and will end on December 15. Hanukkah is also concerned with light and darkness. When Alexander the Great, born 356 BCE, conquered territory and created an empire, extending from Greece to Rome to India, he began a process known as Hellenization, which meant that Greek language and culture became the dominant force. Greek was the language of education and many Jews, for example, no longer knew or understood Hebrew. By the middle of the second century the Seleucid king, Antiochus IV Epiphanes, who reigned from 175 to 164 BCE, was forcing practices on the Jews, which they considered to be an assault on their religious identity and a desacralization of the Temple. While many Jews were willing to go along with the changes, there was a group, the Maccabees, who fought to save their tradition. They understood Greek culture and its practices to be a defilement of their Temple, and so a battle was fought centering around the Second Temple in Jerusalem. ( Remember, the first Temple had been destroyed by the Babylonians in 587 BCE). Mattathias and his son, Judas Maccabeus, along with other loyalists, fought a battle that lasted three years. Finally, the victory was won, and Judas ordered the cleansing of the Temple and its re-dedication.
The story of this military victory is not in the Jewish bible, but it is in the Book of Maccabees, part of the Apocrypha, included in the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Old Testament but deleted in the Protestant and Jewish ones. While the Book of Maccabees tells a military story, the Talmud tells the story of the miracle of oil. When Judas Maccabeus entered the Temple., he found only a very small amount of oil, barely enough for one day of candle burning. Miraculously, the oil burned for eight days, until consecrated oil could be found, and the Temple rededicated. Thus, the celebration of Hanukkah is mandated to last for eight days.
Apparently as time went on, many rabbis did not want to emphasize the militarism of the story, and so they chose to concentrate on the miracle of the oil. One rabbi suggested that the real miracle of Hanukkah concerns the continuing survival of the Jews throughout history---though time and time again there have been efforts to erase them from the face of the earth. Hanukkah is about celebrating the light, which overcomes the darkness. It is the victory of hope over despair. These are fully human experiences, open to people of many different faiths or no faith at all. All human beings know what it is to be tempted by hopelessness and despair. The ritual of candle lighting symbolically casts away the darkness.
Over the years I have heard some Jews complain that Hanukkah is only a minor religious holiday, but because it comes so close to the season of Advent and Christmas, its celebration is pushed as a Jewish response to Christmas. I don’t know if that is true or not, but it does seem to me that celebrating the victory of hope over despair is certainly a humanly vital act, one worthy of time and effort. Christians and Jews together can celebrate the coming of the light.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
We Christians are in the midst of celebrating Advent as we move toward Christmas. Advent is really a dark time, quite literally so in the northern hemisphere as the days shorten until the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, after which the days begin to grow longer. But even without the seasonal darkness, Advent still suggests a dark time as Christians wait for the coming of the Christ to bring new life and light into the world. John’s gospel lacks a conventional birth story, but it does say that the Word was the light and life of all people. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”
Our Jewish friends are celebrating Hanukkah, which this year began on December 8 and will end on December 15. Hanukkah is also concerned with light and darkness. When Alexander the Great, born 356 BCE, conquered territory and created an empire, extending from Greece to Rome to India, he began a process known as Hellenization, which meant that Greek language and culture became the dominant force. Greek was the language of education and many Jews, for example, no longer knew or understood Hebrew. By the middle of the second century the Seleucid king, Antiochus IV Epiphanes, who reigned from 175 to 164 BCE, was forcing practices on the Jews, which they considered to be an assault on their religious identity and a desacralization of the Temple. While many Jews were willing to go along with the changes, there was a group, the Maccabees, who fought to save their tradition. They understood Greek culture and its practices to be a defilement of their Temple, and so a battle was fought centering around the Second Temple in Jerusalem. ( Remember, the first Temple had been destroyed by the Babylonians in 587 BCE). Mattathias and his son, Judas Maccabeus, along with other loyalists, fought a battle that lasted three years. Finally, the victory was won, and Judas ordered the cleansing of the Temple and its re-dedication.
The story of this military victory is not in the Jewish bible, but it is in the Book of Maccabees, part of the Apocrypha, included in the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Old Testament but deleted in the Protestant and Jewish ones. While the Book of Maccabees tells a military story, the Talmud tells the story of the miracle of oil. When Judas Maccabeus entered the Temple., he found only a very small amount of oil, barely enough for one day of candle burning. Miraculously, the oil burned for eight days, until consecrated oil could be found, and the Temple rededicated. Thus, the celebration of Hanukkah is mandated to last for eight days.
Apparently as time went on, many rabbis did not want to emphasize the militarism of the story, and so they chose to concentrate on the miracle of the oil. One rabbi suggested that the real miracle of Hanukkah concerns the continuing survival of the Jews throughout history---though time and time again there have been efforts to erase them from the face of the earth. Hanukkah is about celebrating the light, which overcomes the darkness. It is the victory of hope over despair. These are fully human experiences, open to people of many different faiths or no faith at all. All human beings know what it is to be tempted by hopelessness and despair. The ritual of candle lighting symbolically casts away the darkness.
Over the years I have heard some Jews complain that Hanukkah is only a minor religious holiday, but because it comes so close to the season of Advent and Christmas, its celebration is pushed as a Jewish response to Christmas. I don’t know if that is true or not, but it does seem to me that celebrating the victory of hope over despair is certainly a humanly vital act, one worthy of time and effort. Christians and Jews together can celebrate the coming of the light.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
The Golden Legend: St. Nicholas, A Saint of Advent
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
FIRST CHURCH OF CHRIST, UNIONVILLE, CT
DECEMBER 10, 2023
Mark 1: 1-8
It is the second Sunday of Advent, and our reading this morning from Mark gives us John the Baptist, who was, by all accounts, rather eccentric. (Matthew and Luke make him seem even more so.) John was baptizing people for the forgiveness of sins, and the text tells us that everyone from Jerusalem and the Judean countryside came out to be baptized. He was clothed with a camel haired shirt, ate honey and wild locusts, and we can imagine him almost shouting his message: “Someone greater than I is coming, and I am unworthy to stoop down and untie the throng of his sandal.” So, John was definitely different.
And then in verse 9, which is not part of the lectionary text for the day, it simply says, Jesus came from Nazareth to be baptized by John. And that line sounds so quiet, Jesus coming without a lot of noise or drama. It does feel peaceful, doesn’t it? And who does not want and need some peace? I don’t mean peace as simply the absence of war---though Lord knows, that would be a very welcome relief. But the peace that passes all understanding, which only God can give. Rarely do we know that kind of peace, though we long for it, and certainly imagine it. And on this Second Sunday of Advent, in a world filled with prejudice, war, dissension and confusion, we all know the feeling of wanting peace, even if the peace we get does not really pass human understanding. There are days we are willing to settle for far less than that kind of peace. Some days almost any kind of peace will do.
In the 13th century a member of the Dominican Order, Jacobus de Voragine, born in 1228 or 1229, wrote a book, The Golden Legend. For almost three centuries, it was a best seller, sometimes outselling the Bible. It is a collection of stories about saints, but it is really more than that. It is an attempt to tell the story of human time by putting it into a sacred perspective. Since in Jesus Christ God enters the human story, nothing human is beyond God’s grace. In the most ordinary of moments, God meets us and even in those times, which seem so empty of God’s presence and God’s grace, still, God is there. From Psalm 139: O where can I flee from your spirit? If I ascend to the heavens or descend to the depths, still you are there. There is no place I can go, where God is not.
Now the Middle Ages was a violent time. There was no police force, and crime against persons including theft, assault and even murder was not uncommon. And yet in the midst of that violent time, a man wrote a compelling story about human time, filled with all the problems that human beings have, and yet he gave to this story a God shaped vision. As filled with trouble and even violence as some of the stories of The Golden Legend are, still hope, peace, joy and love prevail.
The book is divided into chapters, which tell the story of Jesus Christ through the liturgical calendar. So, for example, the chapter called the time of renewal is the season of Advent, a time of waiting and hoping for light to come into the world and overcome the darkness. And for Advent Jacobus includes the stories of four saints: Andrew, Nicholas, Lucy, and Thomas. Now Andrew and Thomas were disciples of Jesus, so they have pride of place, St. Lucy wanted her family to give away all its wealth to the poor, and when she refused her suitor, insisting she will remain a virgin, he was so enraged that he would not have access to her wealth or body, he reported her to the authorities as a Christian and she was eventually executed. And then there is St. Nicholas.
We don’t know a great deal about St. Nicholas, but he was made Bishop of Myra (now Turkey) while still a young man. He was born wealthy and was incredibly generous, often saving people from dire fates, like the young women he saved from prostitution, when he gave them gold bars as dowries. He is also said to have saved sailors from catastrophic storms at sea and children from persons who would do them great harm.
This past Wednesday was St. Nicholas Day, when at the Y, I was speaking to an Episcopal priest, Daniel, who was raised Roman Catholic. Daniel grew up hearing all kinds of stories about saints., and he told me his favorite was St. Nicholas. “We hung up stockings on the night of Dec. 5,” he said, “and the next day they were filled with small goodies, candy, fruit, maybe a pair of socks, or mittens, modest gifts, not as big as Christmas.” And then Daniel told me this story.
Many years ago, a few days before St. Nicholas Day, it was a snowy day in Vermont when all the neighborhood kids were out sledding, and then so quickly it happened, Daniel’s brother, Mark, was hit by a car. He had a lot of internal injuries, including his spleen, which had to be removed. And his kidneys were mush, smashed, and so he would need a kidney, or else it would be dialysis. His family submitted themselves for testing, to see if anyone would be a proper match, and so did the neighbors, very close friends, who lived across the street. And one of those neighbors, Paul, the oldest brother of Daniel’s best friend, was an excellent match. Mark’s family could not believe it! How could a neighbor be a better match than blood relations? I asked my husband about this, who teaches such things, and he told me that yes, it is possible. (And then he proceeded to give me far more information than I wanted or needed.) No one in Mark’s family would dare to ask Paul, who had just turned 20, for such a sacrifice. But a few days after St. Nicholas’ Day, when the family finally got around to looking into the stockings that had been hanging there for a few days, in Mark’s stocking was a note from Paul: You’ve got a donor, the note said.
We could not believe the generosity, Daniel told me. My brother was still in the hospital, and it would be a while before he could have the new kidney, but eventually he had the operation, and it worked. Life went on well and healthfully for 20 years, and then Paul began to have serious kidney issues with his one remaining kidney. He needed a new kidney, and this time Daniel was the best match. He returned the blessing his brother Mark had received 20 years before, so that Paul, who helped to save Mark’s life, would have another chance at full and abundant life.
How ironic and grace filled is this story---that two different families, connected as friends, should become bound to each other as donors. Daniel told me that to this day he believes it had made a profound difference in all their lives that they had grown up hearing stories of the saints. “Some of the stories were silly, like a saint finding a pair of eyes and putting them into a blind person’s eye sockets. But there were other stories, like those of St. Nicholas, that did not have the flavor of fairy tales but were about real people with real needs. WE could believe them as patterns for human life. You know, he said, the Bible says that faith comes by hearing. It is true. We heard something that made a difference to the way we lived our lives.
And so on this Second Sunday of Advent, a few days after St Nicholas Day, which was December 6, peace is the theme. John the Baptist might have raged about the need to repent, and then along came Jesus, quietly and unobtrusively. And when he came, he brought with him the promise of a peace that passes human understanding. May we know that peace and hear the words and the stories that bring such peace into our lives.
Preached by: Sandra Olsen
FIRST CHURCH OF CHRIST, UNIONVILLE, CT
DECEMBER 10, 2023
Mark 1: 1-8
It is the second Sunday of Advent, and our reading this morning from Mark gives us John the Baptist, who was, by all accounts, rather eccentric. (Matthew and Luke make him seem even more so.) John was baptizing people for the forgiveness of sins, and the text tells us that everyone from Jerusalem and the Judean countryside came out to be baptized. He was clothed with a camel haired shirt, ate honey and wild locusts, and we can imagine him almost shouting his message: “Someone greater than I is coming, and I am unworthy to stoop down and untie the throng of his sandal.” So, John was definitely different.
And then in verse 9, which is not part of the lectionary text for the day, it simply says, Jesus came from Nazareth to be baptized by John. And that line sounds so quiet, Jesus coming without a lot of noise or drama. It does feel peaceful, doesn’t it? And who does not want and need some peace? I don’t mean peace as simply the absence of war---though Lord knows, that would be a very welcome relief. But the peace that passes all understanding, which only God can give. Rarely do we know that kind of peace, though we long for it, and certainly imagine it. And on this Second Sunday of Advent, in a world filled with prejudice, war, dissension and confusion, we all know the feeling of wanting peace, even if the peace we get does not really pass human understanding. There are days we are willing to settle for far less than that kind of peace. Some days almost any kind of peace will do.
In the 13th century a member of the Dominican Order, Jacobus de Voragine, born in 1228 or 1229, wrote a book, The Golden Legend. For almost three centuries, it was a best seller, sometimes outselling the Bible. It is a collection of stories about saints, but it is really more than that. It is an attempt to tell the story of human time by putting it into a sacred perspective. Since in Jesus Christ God enters the human story, nothing human is beyond God’s grace. In the most ordinary of moments, God meets us and even in those times, which seem so empty of God’s presence and God’s grace, still, God is there. From Psalm 139: O where can I flee from your spirit? If I ascend to the heavens or descend to the depths, still you are there. There is no place I can go, where God is not.
Now the Middle Ages was a violent time. There was no police force, and crime against persons including theft, assault and even murder was not uncommon. And yet in the midst of that violent time, a man wrote a compelling story about human time, filled with all the problems that human beings have, and yet he gave to this story a God shaped vision. As filled with trouble and even violence as some of the stories of The Golden Legend are, still hope, peace, joy and love prevail.
The book is divided into chapters, which tell the story of Jesus Christ through the liturgical calendar. So, for example, the chapter called the time of renewal is the season of Advent, a time of waiting and hoping for light to come into the world and overcome the darkness. And for Advent Jacobus includes the stories of four saints: Andrew, Nicholas, Lucy, and Thomas. Now Andrew and Thomas were disciples of Jesus, so they have pride of place, St. Lucy wanted her family to give away all its wealth to the poor, and when she refused her suitor, insisting she will remain a virgin, he was so enraged that he would not have access to her wealth or body, he reported her to the authorities as a Christian and she was eventually executed. And then there is St. Nicholas.
We don’t know a great deal about St. Nicholas, but he was made Bishop of Myra (now Turkey) while still a young man. He was born wealthy and was incredibly generous, often saving people from dire fates, like the young women he saved from prostitution, when he gave them gold bars as dowries. He is also said to have saved sailors from catastrophic storms at sea and children from persons who would do them great harm.
This past Wednesday was St. Nicholas Day, when at the Y, I was speaking to an Episcopal priest, Daniel, who was raised Roman Catholic. Daniel grew up hearing all kinds of stories about saints., and he told me his favorite was St. Nicholas. “We hung up stockings on the night of Dec. 5,” he said, “and the next day they were filled with small goodies, candy, fruit, maybe a pair of socks, or mittens, modest gifts, not as big as Christmas.” And then Daniel told me this story.
Many years ago, a few days before St. Nicholas Day, it was a snowy day in Vermont when all the neighborhood kids were out sledding, and then so quickly it happened, Daniel’s brother, Mark, was hit by a car. He had a lot of internal injuries, including his spleen, which had to be removed. And his kidneys were mush, smashed, and so he would need a kidney, or else it would be dialysis. His family submitted themselves for testing, to see if anyone would be a proper match, and so did the neighbors, very close friends, who lived across the street. And one of those neighbors, Paul, the oldest brother of Daniel’s best friend, was an excellent match. Mark’s family could not believe it! How could a neighbor be a better match than blood relations? I asked my husband about this, who teaches such things, and he told me that yes, it is possible. (And then he proceeded to give me far more information than I wanted or needed.) No one in Mark’s family would dare to ask Paul, who had just turned 20, for such a sacrifice. But a few days after St. Nicholas’ Day, when the family finally got around to looking into the stockings that had been hanging there for a few days, in Mark’s stocking was a note from Paul: You’ve got a donor, the note said.
We could not believe the generosity, Daniel told me. My brother was still in the hospital, and it would be a while before he could have the new kidney, but eventually he had the operation, and it worked. Life went on well and healthfully for 20 years, and then Paul began to have serious kidney issues with his one remaining kidney. He needed a new kidney, and this time Daniel was the best match. He returned the blessing his brother Mark had received 20 years before, so that Paul, who helped to save Mark’s life, would have another chance at full and abundant life.
How ironic and grace filled is this story---that two different families, connected as friends, should become bound to each other as donors. Daniel told me that to this day he believes it had made a profound difference in all their lives that they had grown up hearing stories of the saints. “Some of the stories were silly, like a saint finding a pair of eyes and putting them into a blind person’s eye sockets. But there were other stories, like those of St. Nicholas, that did not have the flavor of fairy tales but were about real people with real needs. WE could believe them as patterns for human life. You know, he said, the Bible says that faith comes by hearing. It is true. We heard something that made a difference to the way we lived our lives.
And so on this Second Sunday of Advent, a few days after St Nicholas Day, which was December 6, peace is the theme. John the Baptist might have raged about the need to repent, and then along came Jesus, quietly and unobtrusively. And when he came, he brought with him the promise of a peace that passes human understanding. May we know that peace and hear the words and the stories that bring such peace into our lives.
December 8, 2023
Dear Friends,
Geoffrey Holt was a quiet, shy guy. He liked it that way. He never wanted to call attention to himself. He told his sister once that if you are noticed, it only opens you to criticism, and so he liked to remain under the radar. People would often see him sitting on a bright orange mower by the side of the road. He not only moved his own lawn, but he also moved the lawn of other people. He lived in Hinsdale, New Hampshire, in a very modest mobile home, situated in Stearns Mobile Home Park, where he worked---- cutting grass, doing odd jobs around the place, fixing this and that.
Geoffrey Holt was born in Indianapolis and moved to Hinsdale in the 1960’s. At first, he worked as a social studies teacher as well as teaching driver education. Later, he worked in a grain mill and when he retired, he moved into his mobile home. That is when he became friendly with Edwin Smith, the man who owned the mobile home park, where Holt eventually lived. The relationship began very slowly, since Geoffrey Holt was very shy, but Edwin Smith stuck at it, and in time he discovered that Geoffrey felt passionate about some things. He collected die cast cars and model trains, and he could tell you the history of practically every car that was ever made. His home and shed were filled with model trains and cars, things he took great pride in.
Most people in Hinsdale never knew about Holt’s hobbies. They saw him as a quiet guy, who puttered around the mobile home park and then spent time outside, sitting by the roadside or near a brook that flowed past his home. People sometimes saw him driving his orange mower through the wooded grounds of the mobile home park. He had an old car, but never drove it. When he needed to buy something at the local Walmart, he would drive his mower to the store and buy what he needed. He dressed humbly and simply and hardly ever replaced his clothes with new ones.
But Holt had a big secret about which few people knew except for his sister and his friend, Edwin Smith. One day Holt told Smith, “I’ve made investments in my life, beginning early and they have done very, very well.” Smith did not know how much those investments were, but when Holt died last June at the age of 82, he left 3.8 million dollars to the town of Hinsdale. His sister told him she did not need his money, and so Holt decided to leave it to the town he loved and lived in and served for five decades.
The announcement was made to the town last September, and you can just imagine the shock. The quietest, most humble man was the town’s greatest benefactor! To most people Geoffrey Holt lived an odd life, but to Edwin Smith, it made sense. “Geoffrey Holt was a content man,” Smith said, “and you could see the contentment in Holt’s simple routine.” Yes, he was content and humble, and though very wealthy, he chose to leave his wealth to the town he called home for the past 60 years.
I know nothing about Holt’s religious views, if he had any, but somehow I think Jesus would approve of this guy, who lived simply and passed on his wealth to a place he called home.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Dear Friends,
Geoffrey Holt was a quiet, shy guy. He liked it that way. He never wanted to call attention to himself. He told his sister once that if you are noticed, it only opens you to criticism, and so he liked to remain under the radar. People would often see him sitting on a bright orange mower by the side of the road. He not only moved his own lawn, but he also moved the lawn of other people. He lived in Hinsdale, New Hampshire, in a very modest mobile home, situated in Stearns Mobile Home Park, where he worked---- cutting grass, doing odd jobs around the place, fixing this and that.
Geoffrey Holt was born in Indianapolis and moved to Hinsdale in the 1960’s. At first, he worked as a social studies teacher as well as teaching driver education. Later, he worked in a grain mill and when he retired, he moved into his mobile home. That is when he became friendly with Edwin Smith, the man who owned the mobile home park, where Holt eventually lived. The relationship began very slowly, since Geoffrey Holt was very shy, but Edwin Smith stuck at it, and in time he discovered that Geoffrey felt passionate about some things. He collected die cast cars and model trains, and he could tell you the history of practically every car that was ever made. His home and shed were filled with model trains and cars, things he took great pride in.
Most people in Hinsdale never knew about Holt’s hobbies. They saw him as a quiet guy, who puttered around the mobile home park and then spent time outside, sitting by the roadside or near a brook that flowed past his home. People sometimes saw him driving his orange mower through the wooded grounds of the mobile home park. He had an old car, but never drove it. When he needed to buy something at the local Walmart, he would drive his mower to the store and buy what he needed. He dressed humbly and simply and hardly ever replaced his clothes with new ones.
But Holt had a big secret about which few people knew except for his sister and his friend, Edwin Smith. One day Holt told Smith, “I’ve made investments in my life, beginning early and they have done very, very well.” Smith did not know how much those investments were, but when Holt died last June at the age of 82, he left 3.8 million dollars to the town of Hinsdale. His sister told him she did not need his money, and so Holt decided to leave it to the town he loved and lived in and served for five decades.
The announcement was made to the town last September, and you can just imagine the shock. The quietest, most humble man was the town’s greatest benefactor! To most people Geoffrey Holt lived an odd life, but to Edwin Smith, it made sense. “Geoffrey Holt was a content man,” Smith said, “and you could see the contentment in Holt’s simple routine.” Yes, he was content and humble, and though very wealthy, he chose to leave his wealth to the town he called home for the past 60 years.
I know nothing about Holt’s religious views, if he had any, but somehow I think Jesus would approve of this guy, who lived simply and passed on his wealth to a place he called home.
Yours in Christ,
Sandra
Hope Amid the Darkness
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
The First Sunday in Advent
December 3, 2023
Isaiah 64: 1-9
Mark 13: 24-37
My father was a World War ll veteran, and like many of his generation, he did not speak very much about his personal experiences, but he did like to talk about the generals he came across. He was not in combat; he worked on the supply line in the Headquarters of the First Army, commanded by General Omar Bradley. He admired Bradley as the soldier’s soldier, someone who cared deeply about the ordinary soldier. And he had great praise for General Eisenhower, a man, who hated war, unlike General Patton, whom my father detested, because Patton loved war. And then there was the English General Montgomery, whom everyone found impossible to deal with, except Eisenhower, who could actually coax cooperation out of Montgomery. But no one, my father said, could talk to defeated troops the way Montgomery did. They could have just suffered the most stinging, humiliating defeat, yet he could make them feel as if they had just won a tremendous victory. He was a leader, my father insisted, who gave his troops great hope, and there is nothing more valuable than hope when you are fighting a war. Hope, of course, is valuable in more than war. What would life be without hope?
Hope is so important religiously that the medieval theologians named its opposite, despair, as one of the deadly sins. Suicide, for example, in Christian theology has been treated very harshly until the modern era. A suicide could not have a Christian burial, because suicide was understood to be a rejection of God’s grace, a rejection of hope. Mercifully, we have moved beyond such a cruel assessment of human mental and physical pain. Today, when you see the seven deadly sins listed, you will not see the word despair. It was collapsed into the sin of acedia, or sloth, understood not simply as a physical laziness, but also a spiritual one, a refusal to look and see the new thing God can and will do. To hope means to look toward a future that will not be a repeat of the past.
Judaism also has a high assessment of hope. I read a story about a rabbi, who was considering what God might ask him in the Great Judgment. Did you pursue justice and love mercy? Did you care for the widow and the orphan? Did you love God with the fullness of heart, mind, and spirit? But then he considered another question: Did you hope? Did you hope for the Messiah when it appeared that the Messiah would never come? Did you hope when everyone around you was hopeless?
Well, here we are on the first Sunday of Advent. We have lit the candle of hope, and have read scriptures, which perhaps on the surface, do not look so hopeful. We have Isaiah, written at a time of great loss and even despair. The empire of the Babylonians had defeated the southern kingdom of Judah and had carried off to Babylon people of education and great skill. The Temple had been destroyed, and the Temple was a central symbol of Judaism, the site where sacrifice was made to God. In the Temple’s inner sanctuary, God was said to reside, and so what were the Jews to make of this destruction? Had God simply abandoned them? Had God left the Temple? Despair was undoubtedly more than a temptation. It was an existential reality. And yet in the midst of such great suffering, a prayer was spoken: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down. Make your name known to your adversaries.” And who were these adversaries? Surely the Babylonians, but not only that enemy. The prophet said that Judah had strayed from the Covenant and the path of faithfulness. Isaiah tried hard to help the people face and account for their sins, which he saw as the reason for their defeat at the hands of the Babylonians. And yet despite sin, Isaiah reminded them, God is our God. And because that is so, hope rises. God can and will do a new thing, even if the people are blind to it.
And this new thing is what Jesus is referring to in this 13th chapter of Mark. This text seems to most of us a rather strange text to be reading the first Sunday of Advent, because it does not sound very hopeful. Jesus is here describing a cataclysmic event: a darkened sun and moon, stars falling from heaven, surely events which would be terrifying to witness. But we are not biblical literalists. The language here is metaphorical and symbolic. The point is to be awake and aware, open to the new thing God is doing, even when, especially when we cannot directly see it.
Now the Gospel of Mark was written sometime around the year 70, the same year the Romans destroyed the Jewish Temple. In this scene, Jesus has just emerged from the Temple, right before he will go to the Garden of Gethsemane, where he will struggle to remain faithful. Herod the Great, the Jewish King, who was also a lackey to the Romans, had expended great effort and wealth in remodeling the Temple. No wonder the disciples were impressed by the great size of the stones---37.5 feet long, 18 feet wide and 12 feet thick. And they wanted to know when the great things Jesus had been talking about would come to pass. And that is when Jesus gave them this description, reminding them to live hopefully toward a future, which would come, though no one knew when.
Hope is the thing, isn’t it? Years ago, when I worked as a chaplain in a state psychiatric center, where most of the patients had been residents for decades I used to wander those hallways, repeating words from Isaiah, “Oh truly, you are a God who hides yourself!” God certainly seemed to be hiding from Jesse, who spent her time bouncing a small, pink rubber ball around, for days and months on end, for years, the staff told me. The staff had the sense to have a supply of such balls, because if Jesse lost hers, she became very agitated. It drove me crazy that this is all Jesse would do. What kind of life is it that spends its days and years bouncing a ball? And then, one day another patient, Herbie, asked the staff if he too could have a ball just like Jesse’s. And the two of them began bouncing the balls together. “O this is just great, “I said to Father Tom, the Roman Catholic chaplain. “Now we have the two of them locked in their ball bouncing psychosis.” Father Tom looked at me with keen annoyance and said: “It’s relationship. They are making some kind of connection. Look at them. They look at each other and smile as they bounce. Jesse’s face never cracked a smile before. I think, he said, this is a God moment.”
It was true. Jesse and Herbie smiled as they bounced their balls together. And sometimes they would even laugh. One of the nurses, who had been there for decades, told me she had never heard Jesse laugh before. But it is not enough; it seems so pathetically little for human lives to be reduced to ball bouncing, I said to Father Tom. No, it isn’t enough, he agreed. But it is a beginning, Father Tom insisted, and when it finally ends, it will end in God’s grace. That is the hope, isn’t it? Indeed, it was and is. Sometimes hope is what we cling to, and sometimes it speaks the word we need to hear.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
The First Church of Christ in Unionville, CT
The First Sunday in Advent
December 3, 2023
Isaiah 64: 1-9
Mark 13: 24-37
My father was a World War ll veteran, and like many of his generation, he did not speak very much about his personal experiences, but he did like to talk about the generals he came across. He was not in combat; he worked on the supply line in the Headquarters of the First Army, commanded by General Omar Bradley. He admired Bradley as the soldier’s soldier, someone who cared deeply about the ordinary soldier. And he had great praise for General Eisenhower, a man, who hated war, unlike General Patton, whom my father detested, because Patton loved war. And then there was the English General Montgomery, whom everyone found impossible to deal with, except Eisenhower, who could actually coax cooperation out of Montgomery. But no one, my father said, could talk to defeated troops the way Montgomery did. They could have just suffered the most stinging, humiliating defeat, yet he could make them feel as if they had just won a tremendous victory. He was a leader, my father insisted, who gave his troops great hope, and there is nothing more valuable than hope when you are fighting a war. Hope, of course, is valuable in more than war. What would life be without hope?
Hope is so important religiously that the medieval theologians named its opposite, despair, as one of the deadly sins. Suicide, for example, in Christian theology has been treated very harshly until the modern era. A suicide could not have a Christian burial, because suicide was understood to be a rejection of God’s grace, a rejection of hope. Mercifully, we have moved beyond such a cruel assessment of human mental and physical pain. Today, when you see the seven deadly sins listed, you will not see the word despair. It was collapsed into the sin of acedia, or sloth, understood not simply as a physical laziness, but also a spiritual one, a refusal to look and see the new thing God can and will do. To hope means to look toward a future that will not be a repeat of the past.
Judaism also has a high assessment of hope. I read a story about a rabbi, who was considering what God might ask him in the Great Judgment. Did you pursue justice and love mercy? Did you care for the widow and the orphan? Did you love God with the fullness of heart, mind, and spirit? But then he considered another question: Did you hope? Did you hope for the Messiah when it appeared that the Messiah would never come? Did you hope when everyone around you was hopeless?
Well, here we are on the first Sunday of Advent. We have lit the candle of hope, and have read scriptures, which perhaps on the surface, do not look so hopeful. We have Isaiah, written at a time of great loss and even despair. The empire of the Babylonians had defeated the southern kingdom of Judah and had carried off to Babylon people of education and great skill. The Temple had been destroyed, and the Temple was a central symbol of Judaism, the site where sacrifice was made to God. In the Temple’s inner sanctuary, God was said to reside, and so what were the Jews to make of this destruction? Had God simply abandoned them? Had God left the Temple? Despair was undoubtedly more than a temptation. It was an existential reality. And yet in the midst of such great suffering, a prayer was spoken: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down. Make your name known to your adversaries.” And who were these adversaries? Surely the Babylonians, but not only that enemy. The prophet said that Judah had strayed from the Covenant and the path of faithfulness. Isaiah tried hard to help the people face and account for their sins, which he saw as the reason for their defeat at the hands of the Babylonians. And yet despite sin, Isaiah reminded them, God is our God. And because that is so, hope rises. God can and will do a new thing, even if the people are blind to it.
And this new thing is what Jesus is referring to in this 13th chapter of Mark. This text seems to most of us a rather strange text to be reading the first Sunday of Advent, because it does not sound very hopeful. Jesus is here describing a cataclysmic event: a darkened sun and moon, stars falling from heaven, surely events which would be terrifying to witness. But we are not biblical literalists. The language here is metaphorical and symbolic. The point is to be awake and aware, open to the new thing God is doing, even when, especially when we cannot directly see it.
Now the Gospel of Mark was written sometime around the year 70, the same year the Romans destroyed the Jewish Temple. In this scene, Jesus has just emerged from the Temple, right before he will go to the Garden of Gethsemane, where he will struggle to remain faithful. Herod the Great, the Jewish King, who was also a lackey to the Romans, had expended great effort and wealth in remodeling the Temple. No wonder the disciples were impressed by the great size of the stones---37.5 feet long, 18 feet wide and 12 feet thick. And they wanted to know when the great things Jesus had been talking about would come to pass. And that is when Jesus gave them this description, reminding them to live hopefully toward a future, which would come, though no one knew when.
Hope is the thing, isn’t it? Years ago, when I worked as a chaplain in a state psychiatric center, where most of the patients had been residents for decades I used to wander those hallways, repeating words from Isaiah, “Oh truly, you are a God who hides yourself!” God certainly seemed to be hiding from Jesse, who spent her time bouncing a small, pink rubber ball around, for days and months on end, for years, the staff told me. The staff had the sense to have a supply of such balls, because if Jesse lost hers, she became very agitated. It drove me crazy that this is all Jesse would do. What kind of life is it that spends its days and years bouncing a ball? And then, one day another patient, Herbie, asked the staff if he too could have a ball just like Jesse’s. And the two of them began bouncing the balls together. “O this is just great, “I said to Father Tom, the Roman Catholic chaplain. “Now we have the two of them locked in their ball bouncing psychosis.” Father Tom looked at me with keen annoyance and said: “It’s relationship. They are making some kind of connection. Look at them. They look at each other and smile as they bounce. Jesse’s face never cracked a smile before. I think, he said, this is a God moment.”
It was true. Jesse and Herbie smiled as they bounced their balls together. And sometimes they would even laugh. One of the nurses, who had been there for decades, told me she had never heard Jesse laugh before. But it is not enough; it seems so pathetically little for human lives to be reduced to ball bouncing, I said to Father Tom. No, it isn’t enough, he agreed. But it is a beginning, Father Tom insisted, and when it finally ends, it will end in God’s grace. That is the hope, isn’t it? Indeed, it was and is. Sometimes hope is what we cling to, and sometimes it speaks the word we need to hear.
When No One Gets It
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
November 26, 2023
Matthew 25: 31-46
When I was a senior in high school, I had this brilliant English teacher, who not only had us read great literature and write on it, but he was also in the habit of asking us tough questions about life---things to ponder. I remember when he asked us: If we had to choose between being stupid or mean, what would we choose? But we don’t like those choices, we protested. This is an advanced English class and none of us is stupid, and who wants to be thought of as mean? But Mr. Verreau insisted we had to choose one or the other and then write a one page essay, defending our choice. It was one of the hardest assignments he gave us, and I can still remember pondering what to choose and what to say in my essay. Finally, I decided it was preferable to be stupid rather than mean. I argued that stupidity is sometimes ignorance, which can be improved upon with time and knowledge. A mean person, I wrote, often does not want to outgrow the meanness, while a stupid person can desire to learn and to change.
Well, the interesting thing about our lesson from Matthew this morning is that everyone, that is, both the sheep and the goats look stupid. Neither gets it. They both end up asking the same question: Lord, when did we see you hungry and give you something to eat, or when were you in prison and we visited you? Neither knew that as they did it to the least of these, they did it to Christ. Both lacked knowledge and understanding, and yet one of them, the sheep, did the right thing and the goats did not. Why?
It is not because the sheep are more intelligent. In fact, sheep are rather stupid. For example, sheep will climb up onto a ledge from which they cannot get down. And they will bleat their lives away if there is no one to rescue them. They do need a shepherd. Goats, on the contrary, are not only more surefooted, but they are also more intelligent. They don’t make the mistake of going up on a ledge from which they cannot get down. So, is being a goat preferable to being a sheep?
Not according to the Bible. Being a smart goat was, biblically speaking, no advantage. There was this scapegoat thing, when the sins of the people were put upon the goat before it was driven out into the wilderness, where it probably became supper for a hungry beast. Sheep, on the other hand, were valuable not only for their wool, but also as sacrificial animals. There was something piously noble in being the unblemished lamb---well, at least from the Jewish point of view. And, of course, we remember that Jesus is called the good shepherd, and his followers are referred to as his sheep, and as we see time and time again, many of his followers, including his disciples do seem rather stupid.
You have heard me say many times that Matthew wrote in a tension filled era. There was great tension between Jews, who were becoming Christians, and Jews who were remaining Jews, following the Pharisees, who kept Judaism alive through the synagogue movement. The Temple had been destroyed in the year 70 by the Romans, and the Sadducees, the aristocratic priestly class, thought that such destruction meant the end of Jewish identity. Not so, the Pharisees insisted. It is not the Temple, which makes us Jews, they said, but rather fidelity to the law, and fidelity to God’s Word does not require the Temple. Now Matthew often gives the impression that the Temple’s destruction was God’s curse upon the Jews for not embracing Jesus as the Christ. Matthew unfortunately gives us a lot of woes and curses visited upon the Jews. And so, we might expect that in this final judgment scene we would hear another woeful curse upon the Pharisees and those Jews, who remained Jews.
But no, Matthew does not use formal religious identity to separate. Instead, he uses ethics---how it is one treats the least of these. Neither the sheep nor the goats recognized Christ’s presence in the least of these. Those on the right wanted to know when it was that they had clothed and fed Christ or visited him in prison, just as the ones on the left demanded to know when it was they had failed to offer Christ hospitality. Neither of them got it; neither realized that Jesus Christ is actually connected to deeds of compassion and mercy. One side simply did good things, because doing good is the right thing to do. They had no expectation of a reward, just as the others had no expectation of punishment. So, Matthew reminds us that faithfulness is not about being part of a particular religious group. It isn’t how sophisticated or smart we are. It is about how we respond to the hurt that is all around us, particularly the hurt we find in the least of these.
It is sobering to realize that no government in the world had more PhD’s than Nazi Germany. It was the most highly educated government in the history of the world, and yet, it was also the most evil, or at least among the most evil of governments. It is simply an observable fact that intelligence does not guarantee goodness.
Martin Niemoller was a German theologian and pastor, who initially voted for Adolph Hitler, because he believed a strong national leader was needed, and he also approved of Hitler’s espousal of Christianity’s role in a renewal of national morality. Later, as he saw the racial purity laws determine who could be considered a true Christian, meaning no Jew was allowed to convert, he became an ardent opponent of the Nazi regime and was imprisoned for seven years. He failed to see and understand what Dietrich Bonhoeffer, another pastor and theologian, saw and understood from the very beginning---that Hitler was the enemy of Germany and the world and the enemy of the gospel, the enemy of goodness and truth. Both men were highly intelligent; both men were devout Christians, but one saw and understood something the other failed to know and understand until later. Niemoller admitted later that he harbored some antisemitism, which made him stupid about the Hazis.
When I was a senior in high school, I wrote about stupidity as if it could be reduced to ignorance. At 17 I did not understand the difference between ignorance and stupidity. How could I possibly know? But one of my heroes, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, wrote, Stupidity is a more dangerous enemy of the good than malice. Against stupidity, we are defenseless. Neither protests nor force accomplish anything against stupidity. Facts are irrefutable, but the stupid person pushes them aside as inconsequential, as incidental. This much is certain: stupidity’s essence is not an intellectual defect, but a human one. Upon examination, it becomes apparent, that every strong upsurge of power in the public sphere, be it of a political or of a religious nature, infects a large part of humankind with stupidity. Bonhoeffer wrote this in 1938. He knew of what he spoke.
Our lesson from Matthew was written in a time of great conflict between Jews and Christians, an upsurge of power both politically and religiously. But note: Matthew does not say that Christians are sheep and Jews are goats. The test is what is done to the least of these. And that does not come down to intelligence or knowledge: It comes down to character, the depths of one’s humanity, which is always an enemy of stupidity.
Preached by Sandra Olsen
First Church in Unionville, CT
November 26, 2023
Matthew 25: 31-46
When I was a senior in high school, I had this brilliant English teacher, who not only had us read great literature and write on it, but he was also in the habit of asking us tough questions about life---things to ponder. I remember when he asked us: If we had to choose between being stupid or mean, what would we choose? But we don’t like those choices, we protested. This is an advanced English class and none of us is stupid, and who wants to be thought of as mean? But Mr. Verreau insisted we had to choose one or the other and then write a one page essay, defending our choice. It was one of the hardest assignments he gave us, and I can still remember pondering what to choose and what to say in my essay. Finally, I decided it was preferable to be stupid rather than mean. I argued that stupidity is sometimes ignorance, which can be improved upon with time and knowledge. A mean person, I wrote, often does not want to outgrow the meanness, while a stupid person can desire to learn and to change.
Well, the interesting thing about our lesson from Matthew this morning is that everyone, that is, both the sheep and the goats look stupid. Neither gets it. They both end up asking the same question: Lord, when did we see you hungry and give you something to eat, or when were you in prison and we visited you? Neither knew that as they did it to the least of these, they did it to Christ. Both lacked knowledge and understanding, and yet one of them, the sheep, did the right thing and the goats did not. Why?
It is not because the sheep are more intelligent. In fact, sheep are rather stupid. For example, sheep will climb up onto a ledge from which they cannot get down. And they will bleat their lives away if there is no one to rescue them. They do need a shepherd. Goats, on the contrary, are not only more surefooted, but they are also more intelligent. They don’t make the mistake of going up on a ledge from which they cannot get down. So, is being a goat preferable to being a sheep?
Not according to the Bible. Being a smart goat was, biblically speaking, no advantage. There was this scapegoat thing, when the sins of the people were put upon the goat before it was driven out into the wilderness, where it probably became supper for a hungry beast. Sheep, on the other hand, were valuable not only for their wool, but also as sacrificial animals. There was something piously noble in being the unblemished lamb---well, at least from the Jewish point of view. And, of course, we remember that Jesus is called the good shepherd, and his followers are referred to as his sheep, and as we see time and time again, many of his followers, including his disciples do seem rather stupid.
You have heard me say many times that Matthew wrote in a tension filled era. There was great tension between Jews, who were becoming Christians, and Jews who were remaining Jews, following the Pharisees, who kept Judaism alive through the synagogue movement. The Temple had been destroyed in the year 70 by the Romans, and the Sadducees, the aristocratic priestly class, thought that such destruction meant the end of Jewish identity. Not so, the Pharisees insisted. It is not the Temple, which makes us Jews, they said, but rather fidelity to the law, and fidelity to God’s Word does not require the Temple. Now Matthew often gives the impression that the Temple’s destruction was God’s curse upon the Jews for not embracing Jesus as the Christ. Matthew unfortunately gives us a lot of woes and curses visited upon the Jews. And so, we might expect that in this final judgment scene we would hear another woeful curse upon the Pharisees and those Jews, who remained Jews.
But no, Matthew does not use formal religious identity to separate. Instead, he uses ethics---how it is one treats the least of these. Neither the sheep nor the goats recognized Christ’s presence in the least of these. Those on the right wanted to know when it was that they had clothed and fed Christ or visited him in prison, just as the ones on the left demanded to know when it was they had failed to offer Christ hospitality. Neither of them got it; neither realized that Jesus Christ is actually connected to deeds of compassion and mercy. One side simply did good things, because doing good is the right thing to do. They had no expectation of a reward, just as the others had no expectation of punishment. So, Matthew reminds us that faithfulness is not about being part of a particular religious group. It isn’t how sophisticated or smart we are. It is about how we respond to the hurt that is all around us, particularly the hurt we find in the least of these.
It is sobering to realize that no government in the world had more PhD’s than Nazi Germany. It was the most highly educated government in the history of the world, and yet, it was also the most evil, or at least among the most evil of governments. It is simply an observable fact that intelligence does not guarantee goodness.
Martin Niemoller was a German theologian and pastor, who initially voted for Adolph Hitler, because he believed a strong national leader was needed, and he also approved of Hitler’s espousal of Christianity’s role in a renewal of national morality. Later, as he saw the racial purity laws determine who could be considered a true Christian, meaning no Jew was allowed to convert, he became an ardent opponent of the Nazi regime and was imprisoned for seven years. He failed to see and understand what Dietrich Bonhoeffer, another pastor and theologian, saw and understood from the very beginning---that Hitler was the enemy of Germany and the world and the enemy of the gospel, the enemy of goodness and truth. Both men were highly intelligent; both men were devout Christians, but one saw and understood something the other failed to know and understand until later. Niemoller admitted later that he harbored some antisemitism, which made him stupid about the Hazis.
When I was a senior in high school, I wrote about stupidity as if it could be reduced to ignorance. At 17 I did not understand the difference between ignorance and stupidity. How could I possibly know? But one of my heroes, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, wrote, Stupidity is a more dangerous enemy of the good than malice. Against stupidity, we are defenseless. Neither protests nor force accomplish anything against stupidity. Facts are irrefutable, but the stupid person pushes them aside as inconsequential, as incidental. This much is certain: stupidity’s essence is not an intellectual defect, but a human one. Upon examination, it becomes apparent, that every strong upsurge of power in the public sphere, be it of a political or of a religious nature, infects a large part of humankind with stupidity. Bonhoeffer wrote this in 1938. He knew of what he spoke.
Our lesson from Matthew was written in a time of great conflict between Jews and Christians, an upsurge of power both politically and religiously. But note: Matthew does not say that Christians are sheep and Jews are goats. The test is what is done to the least of these. And that does not come down to intelligence or knowledge: It comes down to character, the depths of one’s humanity, which is always an enemy of stupidity.
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 2