How is fasting going?

Today is the fourth day this Lent (and ever) that I have tried fasting. At this halfway mark, I thought I might reflect briefly on the experience.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, the reason I have decided to fast once a week this year is that my churches and I are doing a hunger series for Lent, so as a part of my education about this important issue, I am letting myself feel what it's like to be hungry. Of course it does not even come close to what it's really like to be hungry, and I'm learning that more and more as Lent goes on. Here are some reasons:

1) The biggest one is, it's a choice. On any given Wednesday, I could wake up and say, "Nah, not today. I'm not feeling well," or, "I need my energy today, and it's in my best interest not to fast today after all." What a luxury to have that option.

2) It's only one day, and I know at the end of the day I will be treated to a wonderful soup supper. I won't even have to make my own meal! It will be laid out before me, in all of its abundance, for me to eat my fill. So all day long, I can watch the clock and say, "I just have to make it 3 more hours. You can do it, Johanna. Three more hours..." But people who are really hungry don't always know where the next meal is coming from. There's no countdown, no goal. And the meal they do get probably won't be as abundant as mine. I find that Thursdays I'm much hungrier than usual, making up for not eating on Wednesdays. This, too, is not an option for those in the situation I'm trying to simulate.

3) I have food. This is actually to my disadvantage. I just went to the grocery store, so my fridge is loaded. I have a couple of beautiful grapefruits in there, a bunch of kale that is dying to be turned into kale chips, a huge pot of chili that is going to feed some friends tomorrow, a bag of apples, some cheese, a bag of guacamole... okay, I need to stop. All of that is in my fridge, taunting me. My landlady downstairs was making something this morning that smelled delicious and the scent is wafting into my apartment. Torturous. Would it be easier if my fridge were empty? Tough to say. In this case, it is not so much the hunger that taunts me as the temptation. So, it is no burden for my hunger - in fact it helps because again, I have the assurance that at the end of the day (literally), I have as much food as I can eat, and the possibility of going to buy more. But, it does present another challenge: the spiritual challenge of temptation instead of the bodily one of hunger. Although, I'm sure temptation is a challenge either way. In my case it is stealing from myself, but I suppose if I were hungry enough, desperate enough, it could be stealing from elsewhere.

On that note, someone from my church shared a very moving story. A__ did our presentation last week on local hunger, because she is on the board of one of our local food pantries. This story is what drove her to get involved. She and her husband have a small farm, including an apple orchard. They befriended a couple young neighbors, boys about 9 and 11. The boys would join them as they walked their dogs, or say hello while they waited for the school bus... but A__ kept them at arm's length. Didn't want to get too involved in their lives. One day, Columbus Day, she looked out and saw the boys in her orchard, picking apples. Curious, and maybe a little upset, she went out to see what they were doing. The older boy turned to her, caught, and said, "There's no school today, and we haven't eaten anything since school on Friday. I'm getting some food for my brother." Wow. A__ and her husband were so moved by this, seeing the face of local hunger in the tearful eyes of a little boy, that they first of all sent the boys home with some food, checked up on them to make sure they had what they needed, and then found out what else they could do. In this case, the temptation to steal apples from the neighbor led to good things. Temptation doesn't always lead to such a happy result.

4) One other thing I've noticed. As soon as I wake up on Wednesdays and realize I can't eat until dinner, I am super conscious of how my stomach feels. I notice every reference to food and long for it. I crave anything and everything (Goldfish crackers would be delicious right now, for example). I even resented my dog this morning when I put his scoop of lamb and rich food in his little bowl (this is NOT one of the things I'm currently craving, FYI). I can see why the hypocrites in Matthew's Gospel scrunch up their faces while they fast - I scrunch up mine, too, because I'm pouting. Boo-hoo, it's so hard to be me, I want to eat all of this food I have and can't. I went to Uno's last night and got a delicious pizza and now I can't eat my leftovers until tomorrow. Waahhh, poor baby. But I can imagine, if I really didn't have any food, if I was really hungry, that food would be all I could think about, much more so than is the case now. No wonder children who are hungry often don't do well in school. They lack the energy from calories, they are distracted by thoughts of food, and probably many other reasons that I don't know about.

These are good thoughts to have. Even if I won't come out of this experience with a true idea of what it is like to be hungry, I am certainly thinking about it. And I'm praying about it. And I'm a lot more involved in feeding the hungry than I would be if I were just donating food or money because I'm involving more than my bank account in the experience.

Oh! One more thing, slightly different topic. One of the challenges we have put before congregation members is to see how much food they could buy for $5, and to bring that food to church to donate it. So I did it yesterday. First challenge was that I had to get non-perishable food, because it's going to a pantry. So that cut out options like day-old bread or bruised produce or other things that could be immediately consumed. Second problem was that I went to Wegmans, which is not known for its great prices on food. If I really wanted to get a lot, I should go to a discount grocery story (like Grocery Outlet in my home town, but I don't know the equivalent here). But I did what I could. I wanted to get healthy food, so not just a bunch of Ramen or processed food, and I wanted to get a full meal, and for it to be a balanced meal. So I saw some $1 spaghetti sauce with meat. Great! Two food groups. I found some pasta for 89¢. Some green beans for 49¢. Got a bag of brown rice for 99¢, a can of tomatoes for 89¢, and a can of black beans for 79¢. Figured that could make a sort of Spanish rice dish. I also got some tuna, but realized I'd gone over. But that's not too bad! I even had 6¢ to spare. :) (Disclaimer: I may have remembered prices incorrectly, so don't add it up. The total was $4.94.) But it was a lot of going back and forth looking for deals, and some dashed hopes when I thought I could get something for cheaper than it was. Again, I got a little bit of the feeling of what it's like not to be able to just get what I want. While I was looking for a can of hearty soup (much more expensive than I thought), I saw some butternut squash soup that I thought Michael and I would enjoy... and I bought it for myself and felt really guilty about it. It would have eaten up almost my whole $5 budget, which is nothing to me and my steady income, but would only fill maybe three bellies one time, and then only when supplemented with bread. No good. But the contrast was powerful, and for that, I'm grateful.

House shopping??

Yesterday, Michael and I went house-shopping. I know, I'm shocked too. Both of us are a little like, "Whoa, seriously? This is really happening?" Like, the sparkling ring on my finger, and the many wedding reservations that have been made, and the countless conversations we have had about our lives together weren't enough to convince us that we are actually getting married. Now, now we are looking at homes and imagining our future family living in them. Every time one of us says, "This would be a good nursery," we just look at each other and grin. Nursery!!

Now, we're not ready to buy. Michael keeps telling me we need to start looking now, even though we can't buy until May at the earliest. I'm paying into a First Home Club account, which I pay into for 10 months and at the end of that (May), I get back what I paid in plus about a $7500 grant toward down payment and closing costs. (!!) But Michael, who has done this before, keeps saying, "We need to start looking!" Today someone at church told me that they looked every weekend for 9 months before they found their house. Okay, I'm convinced. The plan is that Michael will sell his house to his neighbor, then continue to rent it month to month until we buy something, at which point he and some of my stuff will move in. We can paint, etc. during that time, before everything is moved in. After the wedding in August (and when my lease is up), I'll move in, too, with the rest of my stuff. Worked out pretty well!

We have already started a list of houses we like that are worth looking at - there are about 30 on the list. We saw three of them yesterday. The first was really nice, and the more we thought and talked about it, the more we liked it. Very useable floor plan, good space, beautiful deck and yard, lots of things we are looking for, fabulous basement, lots of random stuff they left behind (pool table, a couple vacuums, a dehumidifier, some couches in the basement)... some dated cosmetic things that would be easy to fix. It was a little far for me to drive to work, but fairly accessible to the expressway, so not impossible. It was also RIGHT next to the high school parking lot, with no fence in between, so that's not ideal. But, all this doesn't matter, because that very same day, someone made an offer on it, and given that I'm not even approved for a mortgage yet, there was nothing we could do about it. (Note: I'm buying the house because I qualify for First Home Club. Michael's giving me money too, obviously, and his name will go on the deed later.)

The second was cute enough on the outside, but had a lot of strange quirks. There were several changes made to the bottom floor that seemed bizarre, like a built in insert in the wall for the big screen TV - a TV now several years out of date - including surround sound, that is at the opposite end of the room from the beautiful fireplace. So, which way do you orient the long, skinny room - toward the TV(which is also right by the front door), or the fireplace? The laundry room had been moved upstairs, and was right off the master bedroom. Upstairs had several rooms, all of which were tiny. None would accommodate a queen bed, for example, with any room for anything else. So, we crossed it off the list. The third one was in an awesome part of town called the Flats, which is this sort of wooded area right in the middle of the city. Very cool. The house was on the lower end of the square footage we are looking for, and we could tell. Downstairs felt very cramped, and was not laid out well. Also some strange choices, like a drop ceiling in the living room, and wood paneling in the living and dining room. Upstairs, where all the bedrooms were, was lovely. (Strange quirk: the only bathroom downstairs was a full bathroom... off the garage?? The Help, anyone?) The basement was small, and the people who live there had So Much Stuff, it was hard not to feel very claustrophobic. So, we decided to cross this one off the list, too.

So after round one we've got nothing. But again, we didn't want to find our dream house yet, because we're not ready to put in an offer. What we did get was a clearer sense of what we are looking for. We have learned that we like a more open floor plan (the word "claustrophobic" was thrown around quite a bit). We saw that twin beds for kids fit just fine in some of those littler rooms. We have a better eye for cheaply/quickly done updating. And perhaps the best part of all (in my book), is that after our adventure of the house with all the people's stuff, Michael went home and sold a bunch of his stuff, determined that we would never get that bad. *sigh of relief* (Note - I should probably do the same! Having just moved, I don't have TOO much extra stuff, but I don't want to get lazy about it!)

Stay tuned for more in the adventures of house hunting!

Sermon: Hungering for Safety (Feb. 24, 2013)

Lent 2C

Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18; Ps. 27; Luke 13:31-35

         A lot of people have asked me how Michael and I met. I love “how we met” stories, so I’m happy to share: we met online, on a free dating site. The best part of sharing that fact is seeing what reaction we get from people. If they are in our generation, then usually it’s, “Oh yeah, I’m on the site, too,” or “Oh, I met my spouse there, too.” This might even be the response from an older crowd – I know more and more couples, even retirement age, who met online, including my uncle! But there are always some, and likely even many of you, who think, “Online dating?? Is that even safe?!”

         Thing is, the stories you hear in the news about weirdos finding people online and stalking them and doing bad stuff – those are only the stories you hear about. There are many, many more stories that are not newsworthy, like, “Two people went out on a date, and then they fell madly in love and got married.” I could just as easily meet someone in a bar, at a dinner party, or even in church who is dangerous, and in that case, I wouldn’t even have had a chance to do a Google background check on them! (Yeah, I did that for Michael… he did it for me, too! Turns out, neither of us is crazy!) Online dating is just as safe – or as dangerous – as any sort of dating, maybe even safer.

         But ours is a culture that often gets caught up in fear and safety. We find so many things in this life to be afraid of, and at some point even perfectly safe things become boogie-men to us: big scary things that are going to come and get us, but that are, in reality, only in our imagination. Still, we take extra precaution, because among the many sorts of hungers that we feel, we have a hunger for safety.

         Just look at our Psalm for today. The Psalms are wonderful for many reasons, one of which is that they often speak directly to our very human emotions and experience. Throughout this Psalm, the Psalmist refers to several things that cause us to fear, things from which we seek safety: evildoers, foes and enemies; war; loneliness; family strife; violence… Even centuries later, these are the very sorts of things that we still fear, from which we seek safety. Even if we feel safe at this particular moment, there’s no telling when loneliness will creep up on us, or sadness, or anxiety, or any number of things from which we long to keep ourselves safe and protected.

         One looming danger from which we hunger for safety is apparent in our Old Testament reading, and that is doubt. In the part of the Abraham story we hear today, Abraham (who at this point is still Abram), is having some serious doubts. He is old and despite that God has assured him countless descendants, he still hasn’t had even one proper heir. He has just one child, but that is the son of Abram’s slave girl, and this fact embarrasses Abram. But he and his wife Sarai are old, so he is understandably doubtful that they will ever conceive a child together.

         We have been there – we know in theory that God will provide and protect, be our “shield,” as God promises Abram, but sometimes that is just really hard to believe, and we find ourselves overcome by doubt. I guess God has a plan, we think, but it sure isn’t apparent to me right now. I know I should believe this or that, but I just have a really hard time getting on board with that. Surely God will make something good of this, but right now, that is hard to believe. Even as we try to trust and believe God, doubt sometimes gets the best of us.

         And that’s what we need safety from: not doubt, but letting doubt get the best of us. Because doubt, in and of itself, is not a bad thing. I feel a lot better about doubt than I do about blind, thoughtless belief, because even as doubt challenges faith, it has the potential ultimately to strengthen our relationship with God. Furthermore, there is biblical precedent for doubt. Abraham is the shining biblical example of faith and trust, and yet here he is, doubting. See, doubt and faith are not opposites; they are a part of each other. But what puts us in danger of doubt getting the best of us is letting it eat away at us without acknowledging it, keeping it hidden away, secret, and consequently letting it drive us into despair. Don’t keep your doubt shoved in a bottle! It is okay to ask questions. I love it when you ask me questions! Abram asks questions. The Psalmist does it. Jesus’ disciples do it. I certainly do it. When we are willing to ask questions, we leave ourselves available for God to come into us, and consequently, to keep us safe, to be our “shield,” as he promises to Abram.

         Another thing from which we seek safety, and what the Psalmist especially dwells on, is our enemies. The way the Psalms talk about enemies can be confusing to us sometimes. When we think of enemies, we normally think of people, and those of us who are so lucky might then think, “But I don’t have any enemies.” So let’s broaden the definition, then. One classic way to think about enemies, especially in the Psalms, is as sin. That is, your enemy is anything that pulls you away from a relationship with God. Last week we talked about being captive to addictions or to illness – these can certainly be considered enemies. An unhealthy behavior can be an enemy – maybe you spend too much time at work and not enough with your family. Maybe you are a stress eater, and so food becomes your enemy. There are lots of little enemies that creep into our lives, sometimes without our even knowing it. How do we keep safe from them?

         As with doubt, it’s not so much that we need to keep safe from the enemies themselves. Like with doubt, it’s not unusual to have an experience with one of these enemies, and after your struggling with it you come out on the other side stronger, wiser, or closer to God. So again, it’s not so much the enemies themselves that are a problem, but rather, it is when we let our enemies have power over us.

         Our Gospel text is a lesson in how not to let enemies get the best of us. The Jesus that we see in today’s text is… well frankly, kind of snarky! “Go tell that fox for me, listen up!” he says. Such confidence! Did he not just hear that Herod is out to kill him? That’s a warning I would think is worth heeding!

         But Jesus is unswayed. For one thing, he can probably tell that the Pharisees issuing this “warning” to him do not have his best interest in mind. They probably just want him out of town, and thought this might get the job done. Second, Herod is powerful, yes – but he is not God. And Jesus is confident that he is there doing God’s work, the very thing he was sent to do: casting out demons and performing cures. He is there to bring safety and health and salvation to God’s people, even as he prepares to turn his head toward Jerusalem, where he will bring about the ultimate salvation for God’s people – the part of the story we will get to in a few weeks. So what is to notice about Jesus’ interaction here is this: his physical enemies are after him. Perhaps his spiritual ones are as well – though Luke doesn’t go into that here. But even as his enemies are on the prowl, Jesus’ confidence remains with God, and in the fact that he is living out God’s mission. As the Psalmist writes, “The Lord is the stronghold of my life. Of whom shall I be afraid?” Certainly not that fox, Herod, nor any of our enemies!

         This week I got an email with the subject, “In God (not guns) we trust.” Receiving that in the context of working on this sermon, I thought, Wow, whatever your stance on gun control laws, I hope we can agree on that! We go to great lengths to protect ourselves, to keep ourselves safe – with more guns, with fewer guns, with more laws, with fewer laws... And yes, safety is good – I’m not telling you not to wear your seatbelt when you leave church today! But at the end of the day, we cannot find our safety only in earthly things. Guns and seatbelts and traffic laws won’t keep us safe from the ever-present threat of those spiritual dangers we face. Only God is our safety from these dangers. Our stronghold is the Lord. 

That doesn’t mean God will eliminate all those dangerous things from our lives – we will still doubt, we will still be challenged by our enemies, whether people or illness or behavior. It does mean that Christ walks with us in those things. It does mean that, if we allow God to be present with us as we endure life’s challenges, then we might just grow from them instead of be hurt by them. And it does mean that through all of our doubts, our challenges, our enemies, our questions – everything! – God will continue to love us, from now until eternity.

Let us pray… Lord God, with you as the stronghold of our lives, we have nothing to fear. Guide us to satisfy our hunger for safety by looking to your Son, who feeds us and loves us and walks along with us through all of our fears, doubts, and challenges. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Hungering for fulfillment (Or, How to Manage Temptation)

Lent 1C

February 17, 2013

Luke 4:1-13

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         If you have been around for a while, and you see a lot of advertisements, you may have noticed an evolution of advertising strategy. A PBS documentary called “The Persuaders” points it out. (This is available to watch online, if you are interested.) It used to be that advertisers focused on the quality of their product. You still see this of course, and this is really the least manipulative way to advertise! Then celebrity endorsements got to be a big thing. Now, the most persuasive advertisements don’t so much boast about the quality of the product, or about what famous person uses said product, but rather they focus on what the product means for your life. They paint a picture of a lifestyle that you could have… if you owned this product. Perhaps you see a classic, lovely, slightly hip living room full of smiling, attractive people, and they are all holding a particular wine glass... which can be found at Target for only $4.99 per glass. If you own a set of these glasses, this lovely dinner party could happen in your own home, and you could have all the friends to go with it! Your picture of what you’d like your life to look like can be a little closer to your grasp, if you only own this wine glass, that car, of the newest Apple product.

         How this evolved is that companies looked at cults and other organizations, and determined why people wanted to join them, and then applied the same principle to brands. Turned out, both operate with similar principles. People “join” a brand in search of some sort of fulfillment, to feel like they belong somewhere, and so brands began to fill what had previously been filled by churches, schools, etc. Someone told me once that people in American are on average more loyal to a brand of toothpaste than they are to a church denomination. Whoa!

         But really, it’s not such a surprise. Because people are hungry to belong, hungry for fulfillment. We want to be fulfilled in our jobs, in our family life, among our friends. The trouble is, this fulfillment can be difficult to come by, and we search for it among anything we can, especially if it is close at hand.

         And that is where we run into the problem of temptation – the very problem Jesus has in our Gospel reading today. The detail that jumped out at me in this text is that “Jesus was famished.” Famished, exhausted, weak, susceptible, vulnerable. Just exactly the state the devil wanted him in when he begins his tempting ways. And the first temptation is the most carnal of all – he suggests Jesus feed himself! Wow, what I wouldn’t give to be fed after 40 days without food. And the next two aren’t any easier: Jesus turns down authority over all the kingdoms of the world, and a chance to prove himself as the Son of God. Yet all of this, he turns down.

         Of course we’re not tempted by such dramatic things as these… or are we? We, too, hunger: for love, companionship, identity, belonging, purpose. We crave power: over the various circumstances in our lives that don’t go the way we would have liked. And we long for a chance to prove ourselves to the world: as people who matter. But the difference is that where Jesus knows exactly how those needs can be fulfilled – that is, by God alone – we, on the other hand, search for anything earthly that might be close at hand to fill them for us, whether that is the latest technology, or the hottest new fashion, or dozens of clever friends, or brilliant and successful children.

         Theologians have reflected on this concept of seeking to be filled by earthly things in many various ways. Blaise Pascal, a 17^th century French philosopher, talked about a sort of God-shaped hole that lies within us. “This [hole] we try in vain to fill,” he writes, “with everything around us… [But] this infinite abyss can be filled only with an infinite and immutable object; in other words by God alone.” One contemporary theologian, Barbara Brown Taylor, compares this desperate longing we have to fill that hole with a baby’s pacifier. She writes, “Whenever we start feeling too empty inside, we stick our pacifiers into our mouths and suck for all we are worth. They do not nourish us, but at least they plug the hole.”

         What is particularly destructive is what we look for to be our un-nourishing “pacifiers.” These things become another word we are more familiar with: addictions. In our desperate attempts to plug the hole, we become tempted by whatever makes us feel better in the moment, be it alcohol, work, or shopping. And if it works once, we learn to rely on it to do the job every time – even as we know that these are only quick fixes, and not what will sustain us in the long run.

         Often, I think, we seek to fill that hole with stuff. Remember what I was saying earlier about advertising strategies? If ads can convince us that our lives are somehow lacking because we do not have this product, or put more positively, that our lives will be more whole and true if we do have this product, then it is no wonder that we go out and buy it. How tempting it then becomes to fill our God-shaped holes with stuff, and to let our stuff then define who we are. Tell me, if I were to walk into your house right now and look at your stuff, what would it say about you? Would your stuff accurately define who you are, or how you want to appear to the world?

This past week we started our midweek series on hunger. We talked about some of the hidden rules of poverty – that is, the different sets of rules that people unknowingly abide by depending on whether they dwell primarily in the lower, middle, or upper class. One set of rules is not better than another; they are just different, and often misunderstood by the other classes. One thing I often hear middle class people complain about is that people who live closer to the poverty line don’t manage well the money that they do have. Instead of saving it for when they might need it, they spend it on a big screen TV or a new iPhone. But think about it this way: when you see someone walking down the street with an iPhone, what assumptions do you make about them? It’s hip technology, it’s a slick product, it’s expensive… so this person must be: hip, “in,” and financially stable. Everything they want you to think about them. The phone becomes a way to feel fulfilled, worthy, accepted. It becomes a pacifier to fill the God-shaped hole.

We all have God-shaped holes, and we all are tempted by quick-fix pacifiers to plug the hole. But these things do not nourish us. Jesus knew that, of course, and so his response to the devil is to quote the word of God, Scripture, because that is something he knows he can trust, and something that is nourishing and sustaining. In other words, he lets God fill that hole, because indeed God is the only one who can.

This whole sermon, I’ve been referring to a place in us that seems to be lacking, that is a hole, a place where we experience hunger. What if instead of imagining that we are lacking, we imagine that this hollowness within us is not something bad or wrong, but rather, an uncluttered place in our soul into which God can enter and rule? If you feel loneliness, for example, don’t reach immediately for something to fill it – something earthly and fleeting. Instead, name the feeling, let yourself feel it, and imagine God entering into that emptiness. If you feel sadness: let yourself feel that hole, then let God come into it and nourish it. If you feel anxiety: notice that you feel anxious, then breathe deeply, letting the Spirit enter you just as it entered Jesus when he was led into the wilderness. And as you breathe out, let God remain in that place, fulfilling you and nourishing you in a way that nothing on earth ever can.

As you come forward to this table in a few minutes, hungry for fulfillment, remember these things. As you reach out your hands for bread, ask for this sacrament to fulfill you. As you feel it going down your throat, know that God is going into that part of yourself that needs filling. And as you return to your seats, remember that Christ goes with you, fulfilling and nourishing you, wherever you go.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Hunger Sermon: Fighting hunger by building relationships

Because our theme this Lent is hunger, and because we were looking for more opportunities to celebrate the Eucharist together (both congregations), we planned a thematic joint worship service the first Saturday of Lent (yesterday). It was meant to be a full body experience (more than usual), because hunger is a full body problem. We asked people to fast before, so they would experience coming to Communion truly hungry, and had a time of active reflection during which people participated in several "stations" with different ways of praying. This is my sermon from that service, which I did more conversationally and extemporaneously, but it started with this manuscript. (The service was, by the way, a great success - people really got a lot out of it. Yay!)

Sermon for Joint Service (hunger)

February 16, 2013

Isaiah 58:6-11; Matthew 25:31-46

I bring you grace and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         The Gospel lesson we just read is probably the most oft-quoted passage of the Bible when it comes to texts about serving our neighbor. “As you did it to the least of these, you did it to Christ.” It’s such a solid argument, no wonder it is so frequently quoted.

One of my favorite expressions of this passage, however, comes from an unassuming, unpretentious, sweet little book called Walking Across Egypt. Has anyone heard of it or read it?  It’s a quick read, and I’d encourage you to look into it. You could probably read it in an afternoon if you put your mind to it. And if you don’t want to read it, there is also a movie based on it, though I’ve not seen it. (Note: it is rated PG-13 so it’s not for families with small children!)

         The plot follows Mattie, an elderly and devout Christian woman in the Deep South. She is lonely, as her kids have moved away, and she is aching for some companionship. She befriends the local dogcatcher, and subsequently becomes acquainted with the dogcatcher’s nephew, Wesley – a troubled, foul-mouth, juvenile delinquent, currently serving time in juvenile detention for a recent car theft. Obviously, this young man makes Mattie uncomfortable at first, but she had been taught at church that you should be kind to “the least of these my brethren,” and she is pretty sure that this boy must be exactly who Christ meant when he said that. The story goes on with Mattie befriending the boy, the struggles she has with that, including skepticism from her friends and neighbors, and the boy’s uncertainty about why she would do such a thing in the first place.

         It’s sweet because of Mattie’s unassuming nature. It’s also frustrating because I find myself thinking, “Well, isn’t that quaint that she is no naïve she invited a criminal into her home. At least I know better than to do that!” And I wish I didn’t think that. Maybe I wish I didn’t feel like I have to think that. Ah, we’re awfully good at excuses, aren’t we? I know what Jesus says. I heard what Isaiah said in our responsive reading today, about setting free the oppressed, and sheltering the homeless and feeding the hungry. But the barriers to this sort of life always catch me – they catch all of us, do they not? I mean, when was the last time you invited a homeless person on the street to stay in your guestroom for the night?

         Perhaps you saw the recent rendering of the famous musical, Les Miserables. Yes? Since I first became acquainted with the story in middle school, I have been simply captivated by the scene with the bishop. The prisoner Jean Valjean shows up at his door and the bishop invites him in, only to find that later that night Valjean takes advantage of the bishop’s generosity by taking off with all the silver. Once a criminal, always a criminal, and that is exactly why those of us who are wise to the world would never do such a silly thing, right? For a moment, we feel sadness for the naiveté of the bishop, and anger at horrible people who would do something like take advantage of an old man, and a man of the cloth no less! But the bishop’s response is not anger, or sadness, but further grace: when Valjean is caught by the authorities, the bishop claims he has given him the silver, and adds the fine candlesticks into the mix as well, thus keeping Valjean free from prison and showing him the grace that only God can provide.

         What strikes me about both of these literary examples is that it’s not just about giving. Sure, Mattie offers Wesley something to eat, but it is not a cake that fulfills what she perceives – and rightly so – as her Christian duty. She wants to treat Wesley exactly as she would treat Christ, and that means inviting him into her home, and having a conversation with him. The bishop doesn’t thrust some money in Valjean’s hand and send him away. He invites him in, feeds him a meal, lets him stay the night, and offers him grace upon grace to show him that even if he is a convict, he is a beloved creature of God, worthy of receiving God’s grace, which knows no bounds.

         So what about us? Where does all this leave us? How far are we willing to go to heed these difficult commands we hear today from Isaiah and from Jesus? As far as donating money or food? As far as volunteering at a community meal? As far as inviting someone into your home?

         Do this for me: think of a time when you befriended or were befriended by a stranger… What was the context or circumstance? Perhaps it was in school, on the playground… or on an airplane… or at church… Think about how it felt to approach a stranger, or to be approached by a stranger. Did the other person smile? How long did that relationship last? Was it a positive experience, in the end? Thinking back on it, did you see God at work in that encounter? How?

         Now, turn to someone sitting near you, and tell them about that experience.

Now tell me: how did it feel to share that story with your neighbor? Or, how did it feel to hear that story?

         What we’ve just done, friends, is build relationships. Sharing stories is one of the best and most time-tested ways to build and deepen relationships. And what’s more: I believe that it is in such storytelling and relationship building that we find God.

Another oft-quoted Bible verse says that where two or three are gathered, God is present. That’s no accident. Our very understanding of God is as relational: God is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, one in three and three in one. God came to earth as a human in order to develop a close relationship with us, and to allow us to be in closer relationship with God. This would not have been impossible from some far off place.

In the aftermath of the Pope’s shocking announcement this week of his resignation, I was listening to some interviews with members of the global Catholic community. One that I found interesting was from the Latinos in Central and South America. They said they would like the next Pope to be more like John Paul II, because he actually came to their countries and met them, where Pope Benedict never did. Rome could support them all they wanted, but it was an effort to build a relationship with them that really made them feel like they mattered to Rome.

         What if we fought hunger like this? What if we found people who are hungry – for food, for safety, for love, for conversation – and we not only gave them food, but also listened to them? Heard their story? Discovered how they got to be in their particular place in life. You have shared and heard some stories this evening – and it was fun! Why not do it some more?

         And as always, what if we prayed for these that Christ names: those who are hungry – for food or for love. Those who are thirsty – for drink or for righteousness. For those who are strangers in an unknown place – perhaps in a new town, or a new job, or getting used to a new normal. For those who are naked – without enough warm clothes, or perhaps just feeling particularly vulnerable. For those who are sick or in prison – perhaps literally in jail, or perhaps imprisoned by their own sickness or addictions, or by their own low self-esteem. Let us pray for all of these, as Christ commands, remembering that we may very well have been there ourselves, because each of us is wholly worthy to experience God in relationship, and to receive God’s grace.

         In your bulletin, you will find a slip of paper. I invite you at this time to reflect on what we’ve just talked about, and to come up with a prayer for one of “the least of these who are members of Christ’s family.” It need not be long, or it can be – your call. When you have written it, come put it in this basket. At the end of the service, we will each take one and carry it with us throughout Lent, lifting up each other’s prayers as well as our own.

         Once you are standing up to place you prayer card in the basket, you are invited to stay up, and check out the stations set up around the sanctuary. There is an explanation about each in your bulletin, as well as at each station. [Explain each: anointing/healing/prayer partner; sand bags (lay your burdens on Jesus); prayer chain (let your actions be your prayers this Lent); “What do you think?” (reflections on images having to do with hunger).] I encourage you not to just stick with what you’re comfortable with, but to do something uncomfortable for you, because it is especially when we are vulnerable that God is able to enter into our hearts.

         So come now, and let us pray…

Some Thoughts on a Faithful Fast (and an Ash Wednesday sermon)

So this year, for the first time, I am actually summoning the guts to do a good ol' fashioned fast - no food, one day a week. (Actually, dinner Tuesday to dinner Wednesday.) I've been wanting to do this for a while, but have come up with all kinds of excuses, usually amounting to, "I need my energy to get through Lent." Well, this year for Lent, my congregations are doing a hunger theme. So instead of a Bible study on Wednesdays after soup supper, we are having speakers come from different organizations to tell us about the different facets of hunger. Yesterday I did a presentation on some basics of hunger (how the poverty line is determined, what barriers keep people living in poverty, the different "rules" that govern different classes), and then a piece on hunger and the Bible, in which we broke into small groups to discuss four different texts that deal with hunger in different ways (manna from heaven, gleanings in the Holiness Code, Amos 5, and James 9 about showing partiality, if you wondered). Next week we'll have someone from the local food cupboard talk about local hunger, then someone from Meals on Wheels talking about hunger among the elderly, then someone from Rochester Roots to talk about gardening in the city, then someone from the ELCA Hunger Task Force (along with some members who just got back from Tanzania) to talk about global hunger, and finally, I'll do another presentation on hunger advocacy. Should be a great series!

So I wanted my Lenten fast this year to go along with this. As a part of my thesis on hunger advocacy, I compiled an appendix of ways a congregation can get involved in hunger, including several different fast options: a regular day-a-week fast, a "food stamp fast" (only buy what food stamps would allow), a 100-mile radius fast (all local food)... you get the idea. I decided this year was the year to try for the first time a traditional fast, so I would actually feel a little bit of what it is like to be hungry, and to let that hunger remind me to pray for people who don't have a choice to fast. 

Yesterday was my first day. It was hard. I spent the first several hours of the day thinking about all the wonderful fruit I had in my fridge to eat, and being ultra aware of how my stomach felt. "When am I going to start feeling hungry?" Not long after I got up, turns out, which is usual for me, but my hyper-vigilance about it didn't help. As the day went on, the pain grew, and at some point I even started to feel like I might throw up. Delightful. (I didn't, but I often feel this way when I am very hungry.) By the time we got to soup supper, though, I was actually okay. The anticipation of it was worse than the feeling. It will be interesting to see how that develops over these six weeks. (My mom yells at me for not even having juice. My dad has gotten sick before because of fasting like this. But juice is expensive, and if the point of this is to in some way simulate what it's like to be hungry, then I don't think juice is an option. Still reflecting on that.)

During all this, I was writing this sermon, in which I reflected a bit on the purpose of fasting. It was definitely shaped by the hunger in my belly. Have a read.

Ash Wednesday

Feb. 13, 2013

Isaiah 58:1-12

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         If there’s one thing that people outside the church know about the season of Lent, if they know anything at all, it is that it is a time when people fast. The concept of fasting may solicit a positive or a negative response. Though it is one of the most ancient practices of the Christian church, as well as a practice in many other religions, I think Lenten fasts have developed a somewhat negative appearance. There are a couple reasons for this, I suspect. One is that the sorts of traditional fasts you see may seem silly or unproductive to an outsider. To be honest, some seem silly to me, too! How is giving up chocolate supposed to bring me closer to God? My best friend is Catholic, and growing up I remember her family was insistent about meatless Fridays – though they often had fish, which I still consider a meat, so it always confused me. Also, I failed to see why fasting from meat on Fridays was a way to grow spiritually.

         Another reason Lenten fasts may seem silly is that their purpose has been perverted. I often hear things like, “I need Lent to come so I can give up sweets and finally lose that weight.” Or it becomes a second chance at a New Years resolution. Or a chance to kick a bad habit. None of these self-serving approaches are the intention of a Lenten fast.

         And it is this that Isaiah addresses in the passage we heard a moment ago. In this passage, he is speaking to the Israelites right after they have returned from exile in Babylon. He is speaking to people who didn’t have much, having been in exile and under Persian subjugation for many years, and they are longing for the Golden Age from before – an age that never really existed. They are finding life in Jerusalem harder than they remembered or imagined. They are poorer than they thought they’d be. The economy, as a whole, is terrible, and there are few if any good jobs, and the continuing Persian subjugation is making sure that this continues. Perhaps because of that pressure, they have fallen back into the old class stratification they had before – biblical accounts tell us that there was at least one servant or slave for every six people who returned from exile. And they found plenty of ways to oppress these servants.

         Spiritually, they are frustrated. They are fasting and worshiping and praying and yet God doesn’t seem to answer them. They don’t know why, and so they plead to God.

         Given that context, listen again to this passage from Isaiah, but this time I’ll read a different translation [CEV]. Listen for something you didn’t hear before.

God said to Isaiah:

Shout this message! 
Don’t hold back.
 Say to my people Israel:


You’ve sinned! You’ve turned against the Lord.

Day after day, you worship him
 and seem eager to learn
 his teachings.


You act like a nation
 that wants to do right
 by obeying his laws.


You ask him about justice,
 and say you enjoy
 worshiping the Lord.

You wonder why the Lord
 pays no attention
 when you go without eating
 and act humble.
 But on those same days
 that you give up eating,
 you think only of yourselves and abuse your workers.

You even get angry and ready to fight! No wonder God won’t listen 
to your prayers!

Do you think the Lord
 wants you to give up eating and to act as humble as a bent-over bush?
 Or to dress in sackcloth
 and sit in ashes?


Is this really what he wants
on a day of worship?

I’ll tell you
 what it really means to worship the Lord.


Remove the chains of prisoners 
who are chained unjustly.


Free those who are abused! 

Share your food with everyone 
who is hungry;


share your home
 with the poor and homeless.


Give clothes to those in need; 
don’t turn away your relatives.

Then your light will shine 
like the dawning sun,
 and you
 will quickly be healed.
 Your honesty will protect you 
as you advance,


and the glory of the Lord 
will defend you from behind.

When you beg the Lord for help, he will answer, “Here I am!”

Don’t mistreat others 
or falsely accuse them 
or say something cruel.

Give your food to the hungry and care for the homeless.


Then your light will shine 
in the dark;

your darkest hour will be like the noonday sun.

The Lord will always guide you
 and provide good things to eat
when you are in the desert.
 He will make you healthy.


You will be like a garden 
that has plenty of water


or like a stream 
that never runs dry.

You will rebuild those houses 
left in ruins for years;
 you will be known 
as a builder and repairer
 of city walls and streets.

***

What did you hear? [Wait for responses]

I have done a lot of reflection on this text this week, because in fact, I decided that for Lent this year, I would do a good old fashioned fast one day a week, no food, only water from dinner Tuesday to dinner Wednesday. And now here is Isaiah, who seems to be telling me that God doesn’t want that.

But I’m not really sure he is saying that. Like so many things, motivation, intention, and accompanying prayer must be considered along with this. The Israelites Isaiah is talking to seem to be fasting for two reasons: for personal gain, or for show. It’s the same situation with the hypocrites that Jesus rebukes in our Gospel lesson. They want God to notice them, to pay attention to their righteous acts, and to be rewarded for it. And God’s response to that is, “You are acting like you righteous, faithful people, but your words and deeds do not match up. If you are truly a God-fearing people, don’t show me this by acting all humble and pious. Show me by serving people in need, by not oppressing those among you, by going out of your way and even putting yourself on the line to help others.”

That’s much harder than giving up chocolate. It takes a lot more of ourselves to accomplish it, and a lot more prayer. But our Lenten fasts, whether they are giving something up or taking on a spiritual practice, can help us to be this sort of faithful person. As we embark on our own Lenten fasts, there are some questions we can ask ourselves that can help us determine what a faithful fast looks like:

First: Am I doing this for personal gain? Am I hoping to lose weight, or kick a bad habit, or to finally make good on my New Years Resolution? If so, then that is probably not the right fast for you. While it is certainly okay to want to do those things, and to be the best and healthiest people we can be, if our primary motivation is self-gain, then our focus is on ourselves, and not on God, or our relationship with God, or our neighbor.

Second: Am I doing this to be noticed? This is a tough one. On the one hand, it can be helpful to be held accountable by someone. But it’s a fine line between seeking accountability and showing-off. Jesus tells us this in his observations of “the hypocrites” – who announce their almsgiving with a trumpet, and pray on street corners, and scrunch up their faces when they fast. Does that mean you shouldn’t tell anyone about your Lenten discipline? No, not necessarily. But any sharing you do, let it be in the interest of building up the body of Christ, or helping someone else, or deepening your relationship with God or your neighbor.

Third: Does this fast help me be more faithful? This is perhaps the most important question of all. Isaiah offers us a pretty powerful explanation of what right worship, faith and righteousness look like: it is to loose the bonds of injustice, let the oppressed go free, share your bread with the hungry, offer your home to the homeless, clothe the naked, and satisfy the needs of the afflicted.

One of my deepest hopes for this Lenten series on hunger is that it will help us all to understand some of these things, especially those concerning poverty, in new, different, deeper ways. The hope of that outcome is part of my reason for choosing to practice a once-a-week fast from eating. One day a week, I will feel in my belly the same pain of hunger that so many people around the world feel every day, against their will. This in turn will, I hope, motivate me to do those things that Isaiah talks about, because I will have had a small taste of it myself – though still nothing close to what someone actually living in poverty might feel. Throughout the day, the growing pain becomes a constant reminder to pray for people who don’t have a choice to go hungry. My loss of energy throughout the day is a reminder that many people have to overcome that lack of energy every day, even as they work one or two jobs, sometimes physically demanding ones at that, just to make ends meet and provide a little nourishment and a home for their family. I hope and pray that I will remember these things on the other six days of the week, so that my fast will drive me to be the person of faith that Isaiah describes, and the Christian that Jesus’ own death and resurrection make it possible for me to be. And I hope and pray that if you’ve taken on a Lenten discipline, that it, too, will help you to grow closer to God and to your neighbor.

Please pray with me: Lord God, we are so often concerned about ourselves, and do things that will benefit us before anyone else. In the coming weeks, help us to look outward, to be aware of the needs around us, and inspire us by your Holy Spirit and by Christ’s own self-giving to be a people that serves you and gives what we have to serve our neighbors. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

My dad retired.

I've been meaning to write a post about this for a week, but just haven't had the time... nor, frankly, the energy required to write adequately on it. Well here, finally, I'm giving it a moment, because it is certainly a big thing, and a head on "life meets ministry" topic.

Last Sunday, Feb. 3, my dad retired from 38 years of ordained ministry, 29 of which were spent at Peace Lutheran Church in Grass Valley, CA. I think of this church collectively as a member of my family, and it is full of individuals who I consider a part of my extended family. Dad took his call there just after I had taken my first steps (we were both taking big steps in those days!). He had spent 9 years serving the United Methodist Church, but felt called to become a Lutheran pastor, and this call was his first - and last - pastoral call in the Lutheran church.

And how blessed we were to be there! My brother and I both were given the honor of speaking at Dad's retirement luncheon, and we both reflected on life growing up at Peace. We both had keys to the church, but not our own house. We often walked there after school, when other kids walked home. We spent every Sunday there, every Wednesday during Advent and Lent, and many, many other days there as well. Life at Peace was such a part of my formation growing up, I cannot imagine where or how I would be without it.

Personally, this is the church where I first learned about the Bible - through Sunday School, through the gift of my first Bible, through the liturgy and hymns. It is where I received my first communion at age 6, and where I was confirmed at age 14. It is where I learned how to love singing (hymns and children's choir), and where I first performed solos on my clarinet and oboe. It is where I began to understand my faith more deeply through a wonderfully close youth group. It is the church that held me and my family up in prayer as I was diagnosed with and underwent treatment for Hodgkin's Lymphoma, who showered me with cards, gifts, and love all the way through. It is the church that offered me scholarships throughout my time in college, welcomed me home each summer, and hosted several of my recitals as I worked through my music major. It was Peace who helped me raise the money needed to spend a year as a missionary in Slovakia, and who prayed for and supported me throughout that very difficult year. It was Peace who rejoiced as I applied for seminary, who sponsored my candidacy for ordination, who let me preach some of my first sermons, and who told me again and again what a wonderful pastor I would be someday (what a wonderful pastor I was already!). It was Peace who gladly and gratefully celebrated my ordination with me in 2011, before the same altar where I was confirmed, and then planned a fabulous reception afterward! It was Peace who once again prayed me through breast cancer this past fall, and welcomed me home with grateful arms last weekend. And finally, it will be at Peace, this summer, where Michael and I will offer our wedding vows to each other.

(Okay, so I cried all the way through writing that paragraph. That's why I've taken so long to write this!)

It is the understanding, when a pastor retires, that he or she does not continue to attend the church last served for at least three years. Though I'm not sure if there are rules for the family, I would say the same goes for the family. The reason for this is that a pastor cannot just suddenly become a regular guy/gal. As long as Old Pastor is still around, the congregation will have a hard time seeing New Pastor as the real pastor. Part of the liturgy on Dad's final Sunday was this releasing piece, where he had to officially release the congregation as his parishioners, and they had to release him as their pastor. It was awful. Mom and I cried all the way though it (and so did Dad, especially the part where he talks about how the congregation has ministered to him). It really felt like a break-up, the kind you know you have to do even though you still love each other. (Okay, I'm crying again.) Because we do love Peace Lutheran, and always, always will.

So now here we are, having cried many, many tears, tried to cover them up by saying things like, "See you in the grocery store and the post office!" (my parents will still live in town), and shared many wonderful memories - some funny, some touching, some embarrassing. I, of course, came back to NY and so this is in some ways a distant pain for me. I didn't see Peace people on a regular basis anyway, and that hasn't been my regular spiritual home for some time. But it still hurts, for all the reasons above. And my parents, of course, will know this pain every day (my mom's school is across the street from the church), and certainly every Sunday, and during Lent, every Wednesday as well. And every Thursday when they will no longer be going to choir practice. I'm also sure that this will add another whole layer of emotion at our wedding, as it will be the first time my parents return to worship at Peace. How will that be, for them? For me?

I'll finish this post by including what I said at my dad's luncheon last Saturday. Meanwhile, the Johnsons and Peace Lutheran Church could probably use some prayers, if you think of it...

"I used to say that I never really had a pastor. I had a dad, I had a grandpa, I had an uncle, I had my dad's colleagues - but I never felt like I had a pastor. 

I had a church, of course, and all the perks that go along with being a PK. I have memories of sneaking around the late service on Christmas Eve with my brother, walkie-talkies in hand, spying on the ushers; of walking "home" after school to meet my parents at church; of feeling some sense of ownership over the whole church property as an extension of my home. A church, I had. But not a pastor.

Now a pastor myself, I realize how incredibly wrong I was. Not only did I have a pastor, I had the very best pastor I could possibly have. And in fact, I would not be the pastor I am today - or probably a pastor at all - if it hadn't been for the caring, thoughtful, supportive pastor that I had in my home congregation. 

I never meant to go to seminary, see. You may remember, I went to college to be a music major. When my pastor told me one day that I look good in black and ought to be a pastor, I scoffed and said, "Orchestra musicians wear black too, dad!" But somehow I ended up majoring in religion, and going to Slovakia for a year as a missionary. While I was there, I needed to decide what to do next, and thought about youth ministry - certainly not ordained ministry. But I heard through the mom-vine that my pastor was wondering why I didn't just apply to seminary. I scoffed at that, too... and then the next day found myself looking online at seminaries. I applied to the same school my own pastor had gone to - Yale Divinity School - just for kicks. Lots of my friends went to the same seminary their home pastors had gone to, and it turned out I was no exception. I went to Yale, which did so much to form me into the pastor I am today. I have Pastor Dick to thank for nudging me that way. The picture I have of the two of us on my graduation day is one of my greatest treasures, right up there with the one I have of us beaming together in our red stoles, right after my ordination.

Now, in my second year of ordained ministry, I am very lucky to have one of the best pastors I know on speed dial, to ask any questions that might come up - and believe me, I have been known to use this privilege several times a day. (Though mom begrudgingly pointed out that when I call home, I now more often say, "Is dad there?" than, "Is mom there?"!)

So in the end, it turns out: I do have a pastor, and one with whom I am  lucky to share the name of Pastor Johnson. So here's to Pastor Johnson, "Pastor Dad," who made me the Johanna and the Pastor Johnson that I am today! I love you, dad!"

Sermon: Take off the veil (Transfiguration, Feb. 10, 2013)

Transfiguration Sunday (C)

February 10, 2013

Exodus 34:29-35; 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2; Luke 9:28-43a

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

         A few days ago, I  returned from a wonderful week at home with my family, celebrating my dad's retirement from 38 years of ordained ministry. It was a beautiful weekend, full of bountiful expressions of love from dear people, many warm hugs and memories, and a seemingly endless supply of tears.

            And after all of that... it was time for wedding planning! Among the most exciting events of that portion of the trip was... I bought a wedding dress! (Or more accurately, my dad did - happy retirement, dad!) What the store does when you are getting close to deciding on a dress is they put a veil on you, make you look wholly like a bride from head to toe, so that everyone cries and you decide to purchase the overpriced, white, glowing gown. Well, I did buy the gown, and the word "glowing" was mentioned a few times, but I was adamantly against a veil. I have done a lot of thinking about veils over the years. Yes, it completes the bride look. But what does it represent? Historically, of course, it was to hide the woman's face from her groom until the moment they first met, right before becoming husband and wife. Uh-uh, said my inner feminist, not for me. Even if the veil wasn't to be in front of my face, I wanted nothing that might insinuate that my husband-to-be and I had not taken every effort to know and understand each other before entering the marriage covenant. As Paul says in that text so famously used for weddings, which we heard last week, "...Then we will know fully, even as we have been fully known."

         Of course I realize I'm over-reacting to veils, and I also realize that as my marriage goes on, we will discover that there is plenty that I didn't know about Michael, and that Michael didn't know about me - whether or not I wear a veil on our wedding day!

         Still, all of my convictions about veils came to mind when I read our texts today, the ones traditionally assigned for Transfiguration Sunday. First, we have Moses, who sees God face to face and who returns from the top of the mountain with his face glowing so brightly from his encounter with God that the Israelites cannot even look at him. So Moses develops this system: he would talk to God on the mountain face-to-face, would share with the Israelites what God had told him with his face shining brightly, then in everyday life he wore a veil, so as not to blind everyone with whom he came in contact.

         I wonder how many of us still practice a system like this. We bare ourselves before God in prayer, perhaps sharing things we wouldn't share with anyone else - not unlike a couple on the road to marriage. We try to be open to hearing God's word in our lives, and we seek to develop a relationship with God, striving to see God face to face. Then we come down from that glorious mountain we call prayerful encounter with God, and we share with the faithful in that glory - coming to worship together to sing praise, to pray aloud with and for each other, to participate in the sacraments and proclaim God's glory in word, song, and body. But then as we pull on our coats and hats to leave the building, we also pull our veils over our shining faces, afraid to let too much of God's glory be revealed in our day-to-day interactions - we shy from talking about our beliefs for fear of offending, we don't want to look like "one of those Christians," who force their faith on everyone else. So we pull down the veil, trying to blend in, trying not to let on that we have experienced the glory of God.

         The consequences are even more than that. Not only do we find ourselves hiding our experience of God from those we encounter in day to day life, keeping it entirely to ourselves... But our carefully placed veils also hide us from seeing the glory of God in the world. It's not just about avoiding offense; we are also shielding, protecting, preventing ourselves from fully experiencing God.

         A colleague of mine named Chuck recently shared a story with me about his brief experience as a boxer. Chuck was 5'7" and 117 pounds, and someone had the great idea to put him in competition in the lowest weight class. Chuck would win the weight class by default and the team could finally take home a trophy. The plan was good - until it turned out there was someone else in that weight class who actually knew how to box! So Chuck went in the ring, and spent the whole round like this [hold boxing mitts in front of face]. If he could simply protect himself until the other guy was tired, and then knock the guy out with one punch, he might have a shot at winning. But it didn't work. Each time the opponent punched Chuck's protective mitts, they hit his eyes, and after a while, his eyes were swollen shut. He couldn't see, and he was knocked out. His protective shield became his downfall.

         Whether shielding others from God's glory, or protecting yourself from the possibility of seeing God's glory in the world: what do we miss when we live life behind a veil? What opportunities for conversation have you missed? From what experience have you avoided growing? What is your veil, and how has it kept you hidden from seeing and sharing the glory of God?

         This is not a problem unique to our time and place. As is so often the case, the biblical narrative so reflects the narrative of our own lives. Look at the part of Paul's letter to the Corinthians that we heard today. He writes about what hope we have in Christ, and how that hope allows us to act with such boldness, not like the Israelites who needed for Moses to hide the glory that shone on his face behind a veil. "Their minds were hardened," Paul writes. They could not see the hope that Christ brings because they prefer to keep hidden. A life that is in Christ, he says, is not this way. "When one turns to the Lord," he writes, "the veil is removed." Furthermore, when we allow ourselves to live in the hope of Christ, where we allow the Spirit to be present, "there is freedom." Freedom! What a beautiful word to our fearful ears! Freedom to see God's glory. Freedom to share God's glory. Freedom from that claustrophobic veil that covers our eyes. Freedom from whatever it is that binds us - our own trespasses and what others do who trespass against us. Freedom from a need to impress anyone. Freedom from fear and death.

         In the Transfiguration story, the part that always makes me smile for the reality it portrays is Peter's response, and especially Luke's commentary on that response. Peter, who is weighed down by sleep, offers to build a dwelling for each of the three men he sees on that mountaintop - to hole them up in permanent shelters, to keep them and their shining faces safe from the world, and the world safe from them. And Luke adds that Peter offers this, "not knowing what he was saying." That's so real, isn't it? How quick and eager we are to keep God safe. We carefully read the scripture, we don't pray aloud for fear that we'll say something wrong, we leave all the theological talk and handling of sacred things to the pastor for fear of messing something up. And when we do all this, all we do is veil ourselves from a relationship with God, and with God's people. But the truth is: God doesn't need us to keep Him safe. Turns out, God is a pretty gutsy Dude, who has already gone to great lengths to reveal His love and glory to us - from the birth of Jesus, to a Transfiguration on a mountaintop, to death on a cross followed by an inexplicable resurrection from the dead. Who are we to hide that - from ourselves or others? Who are we to keep ourselves and others from that relationship, a relationship free of veils and hiddenness? For in Christ, we are free!

         Let us pray: God of grace and God of glory: you made us, you know us, and in many and various ways, you reveal yourself to us. Grant us the wisdom and courage to take away the veil, to let ourselves be fully known by you, and to share your glory with all whom we will meet. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Authenticity and transparency: why I write

I just spent a week at a wonderful event that was, thankfully, required for first call pastors. I say thankfully because it is rather pricey and far away, and I probably wouldn't have gone if it had not been the expectation for all first call pastors (and other rostered leaders) in their first three years of ordained/commissioned ministry to attend. Whether or not the content of the event was any good (and it most certainly was), this is always a wonderful opportunity to catch up with my friends in other synods of Region 7 (the northeast), to sit around and chat with others in a similar place in life to my own, to learn and process together, to experience meaningful worship that I had no role in except simply to worship, and to enjoy the many offerings of the retreat center (the grounds, for example, have some quite lovely walking paths, which I enjoyed with one of my dearest friends from seminary - love you Tim!). The camaraderie alone makes it worth the trek.

This year's event was focused on adaptive leadership, with additional "tracks" we could choose in an area of interest (I chose preaching - other offerings were stewardship and conflict resolution). What is adaptive leadership? you may ask. Simply put: people and bodies (the church) prefer equilibrium, so if ever a challenge arises, our first instinct is to fix it. This is fine if it is a technical problem - for example, the heater needs fixing. But if the problem deals with people's values and convictions, a quick, technical fix is not the best thing. We learned an intense but extremely fruitful process for uncovering what the true issues might be, practicing it in small groups with case studies from our particular settings, and by the end, we were pros. :) My small group, the same as last year's, is made up of all the folks who are in some sort of atypical setting. It includes a longterm care facility chaplain, two campus chaplains, a mission developer, a part-time parish pastor also finishing a PhD in pastoral counseling, and three parish pastors - myself, with my covenanted congregations, another who is in a situation that may soon become something like mine, and one whose church is building a similar sort of partnership with a nearby campus ministry. So as you can imagine, the conversations with this wonderful group of people are varied and fruitful, but we were all brought together by a passion for ministry and a deep care for living and proclaiming God's love in the world. Pretty great!

In addition to the small group time, the tracks, worship, a bit of spiritual refreshment time (aka arts of crafts, yoga, walk, nap, or catch up on emails), we had an opportunity to talk with two bishops in the region. The first night, we ended up talking a lot about vulnerability and authenticity, and also about the difference between a pastor's role and a pastor's identity. And I couldn't help but think about my cancer experience, and about this blog. When I was first diagnosed, I had to make some decisions outside of my medical decisions. Whom would I tell about this? No one? Just my leadership? The whole congregation? The whole blogosphere? Obviously, you know what I chose, but maybe you didn't know why. The reasons are just what we talked about with the bishops.

I have, since I began this call, been trying to figure out who I am: who I am as Johanna, no longer a student but rather someone who lives alone, works full time, and tries to find a social network in a new city; who I am as Pastor Johanna in general; who I am as Pastor of two wonderful but very different churches; eventually, who I am as fiance, future wife and hopefully mother. At the same time, my churches are trying to figure out who they are: who they are as covenanted congregations, who they are as churches who no longer have a full time pastor all to themselves, who they are as parishioners of this same Pastor Johanna (still in some ways TBD!), who they are in 2011, 12, 13...

So when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, this threw a monkey wrench into this whole figuring out process. I knew it would affect who I am, both as Johanna and as Pastor Johanna. It would affect my outlook on things, my approach, my ability, my values, my perspective. It seemed a disservice to keep my congregations out of this loop. While my role as pastor and my identity as Johanna are not exactly the same, I knew the two would be too intertwined in this journey to authentically keep them separate.

And so I made the decision to be completely and utterly transparent, to my congregations and to the world, because a part of my identity is made up of relationships - and how could I keep this part of my journey separate from my relationships? So I went all the way - I started a blog. I gave out all the details. And I questioned this decision all along the way. Is this too much? Should a pastor be doing this? Should anyone be doing this? Do people even care? But the return has been so enormous, I can hardly question it anymore. People have told me in spades how much they appreciate my candid reflections, my willingness to share what is happening, and have even said that reading them has given them courage to do the same. People have said my writing has taken away some of the fears they feel for whatever reason in their own lives. These comments alone would have made the whole thing worth the effort.

In addition, the relationship I have with my congregations has deepened so beautifully. Someone said to me, "You forget sometimes that pastors have problems like this, too." Suddenly, I am more human, more aware of pain, more accessible. I mean, I personally feel that I am, but I also believe that I look it to other people. I have seen my congregation minister to me. I have felt like I am a member, too, requiring the same care as any member of the Body of Christ. I have had to humble myself enough to let people see me in sweats and unshowered after surgery, to admit, "I can't do that." I have had to let people ask how I am, and be honest with them: "You know, I'm not great today." It has been a beautiful thing.

And all this because of a willingness to be vulnerable, transparent, and authentic. It is its own sort of terrifying, but the payoff is well worth the fear, and I am eager to see where else it will lead my exploration of the various "who am I" and "who are we" questions in my life. Thank you for being a part of it.