Sermon: Good news, for those who will admit it (Jan. 27, 2013)

3^rd Sunday after Epiphany

January 27, 2013

Luke 4:14-12; 1 Cor. 12:12-31a

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you O God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

This past week, millions of Americans watched or listened to the second inauguration of President Obama. As per usual, a key part of this ceremony was the inaugural address. This is traditionally a time when the newly elected or re-elected president lays out his (or someday, maybe her!) priorities and intentions for the upcoming term. Thanks to social media, I have a pretty good sense of what my many friends from around the country, who fall on various points along the political spectrum, thought about the president’s words, and about the event in general. One seminary friend, who is interested in interfaith dialogue, commented with some disappointment that the whole event was rather Christian for a country that is such a mixed bag of religion. Another guy, to whom I became acquainted through the year I spent as a missionary in Slovakia, sent an angry email lamenting that not once was the name of Jesus evoked. The same material, falling on two sets of devout Christian ears, elicited completely opposite reactions.

Why does that happen? Well, there are lots of factors. Experience is a big one. What we have each experienced in our lives shapes how we see the world. I lived for a year in Slovakia, so when I discovered that a woman in my choir is Slovak, she suddenly became one of my favorite people. You might have thought that she was interesting, but I felt a kinship to her.

Another factor is life and family history. When I read in the Bible about being a slave to Christ, I translate that into something metaphorical that makes sense in my life. But what if I was of African descent, and my ancestors had been slaves? I would hear that very differently, wouldn’t I? Yet another factor that affects how we hear things is our current life situation. What if I were reading our text today from 1^st Corinthians about the Body of Christ, and I was a paraplegic? Someone with every part of their body still intact is going to hear the metaphor differently from someone missing their limbs.

Jesus’ words today are no exception to this rule. In Luke’s Gospel, this is Jesus’ first public appearance as an adult. He goes to his hometown, his home synagogue, and teaches, reading first from the prophet Isaiah, and then interpreting it. This is, in some way, Jesus’ inaugural address, isn’t it? He is laying out his own mission. We know this because of those words, “Good news.” The Spirit of the Lord is upon him, anointing him to bring good news to the poor. He then goes on, quoting Isaiah, to say all the ways that this good news will become a reality.

But just like the president’s inaugural address, these words are heard differently by different hearers. Those present in the synagogue that day would have heard them differently than we do, certainly, because their context was so completely different. But even among us gathered here today, different parts stuck out differently to different people. Here, I’ll show you. I’ll read Jesus’ speech again, and you get a pencil ready. As you listen, jot down what part sticks out the most to you, whether it is for a good reason or a bad reason. Whatever you notice, jot it down. Ready?

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor… Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” [wait]

         Okay, so what did you jot down? [wait for responses] So you didn’t all write down the same thing, huh? If you know, would anyone be willing to share why they jotted down the line that they did? 

         My guess is that some of you wrote down something because it rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe, for example, “release to the captives” may not sound so good to you if you are concerned about keeping “the bad guys” in jail. But some of you probably jotted down what you did because indeed it was good news to you! Maybe your eyesight is getting worse as you age, and so “recovery of sight to the blind” sounds like pretty good news! Blogger David Lose points out that while Jesus calls what he is proclaiming “good news,” “this good news is only good if you are willing to admit what is hard in your life, what is lacking, what has been most difficult. It is not ‘good news’ in general, but rather good news for the poor. It is not just release, but release to those who are captive, sight to those who are blind, freedom to those who are oppressed.”

         Makes sense. But it is not always easy to admit those areas in our lives where we need some good news. If we are looking for something positive, it is because we are experiencing something negative, something that needs help, something we are unable to accomplish on our own. It is admitting a weakness, admitting that we are somehow vulnerable. This sort of admission can be scary and difficult, and we humans have developed all kinds of ways to live in denial about our weaknesses or shameful experiences, rather than admit them.

         Most people are familiar at least in passing with 12-step programs such as AA. These programs are designed primarily to help people overcome addictions, things in their life that they no longer have control over. Whether or not you are familiar with the program as a whole, all 12 steps, most everyone knows at least the first step, which is what? Admitting you have a problem. But it is more than that, actually. The way the manual states it, the first step is, “We admit that we are powerless against…” whatever it is that you’re there for.

         Powerless is a pretty strong word. And yet, admitting to it has been the first step for so many seeking healing. Admitting to vulnerability. It can be devastating; indeed it can be bad news. “I have a problem.” And Jesus’ words to us today can also be bad news. We hear about “the poor,” “the captives,” “the blind,” “the oppressed.” Does that describe any of us? If not literally, then figuratively? Are we poor in spirit? For those who are writing hunger devotions, has anyone been willing to admit, “Sometimes, I am hungry: hungry for companionship, for knowledge, for understanding”? Are we captive to addictions? To sin? (Certainly!) To a need for attention? To a need for seclusion? Are we blind to the needs of the world, to the needs of our neighbor, to the needs of our family? Are we oppressed by a bully, by a job, by a relationship? Or, are we oppressing someone else?

         Any of these things would be terribly hard to admit. They are bad news. But we have to hear them that way, as bad news, before Jesus’ words can be good news to us. Because if we can admit to our weaknesses and short-comings, we can also be open to hearing how Jesus will give us the strength to overcome them. Or, how he will work in them, using them as tools that will allow us to proclaim that same good news that we experienced to others. Going back to the AA example, the 12^th step is a commitment to share the good news that came from admitting vulnerability with others who are struggling through the same problem. This is but one way that Jesus might bring about our own release, giving us sight, freedom, healing, and more – by giving us an opportunity to share it with others in the Body of Christ, or by inviting others to come here to be fed, freed, and comforted. And suddenly, what was our bad news, maybe even so bad that we couldn’t admit it to ourselves or anyone, becomes a way for Jesus’ mission, stated in his inaugural address, to be carried out in the world.

         Let us pray. Compassionate God, we are hungry: feed us. We are captive: release us. We are blind: open our eyes. We are oppressed: set us free. Fulfill your word and your mission in and through us, Lord, so that this earthly kingdom might look more like your kingdom. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Trying to calm down, and thank you.

I feel ever so slightly calmer today than I did on Monday. It's really quite slight, the difference, but what difference there is has come from all of you who have offered such kind words of sympathy and strength, either commenting on this blog, or on facebook, or sending me a private message. I cherish each one, and thank you so much for the support. This is the payoff for being as open transparent as I am - a decision I sometimes question, but which is always confirmed when I am lifted up on the support from all you wonderful people who read this blog. Thank you.

I still want to cry every time I think about this. Maybe that will go away sometime.

In a week, I'm going home to California, and I CANNOT WAIT. It's a vacation from work, officially, but going to CA always feels a little like a vacation from life. I hope it is. While there are parts of my life I absolutely love and don't want vacation from (I'm looking at you, Michael!), I would like to forget for a week that breast cancer ever became something I think about on a daily basis. I have a feeling, however, that everyone is going to ask me about my health, because they care very deeply about my well-being. I'm going home for my dad's retirement, back to my home church - the folks who watched me grow up from age one, and who prayed me through my first bout with cancer, and my second, as well as all the other major and minor events in my life (not the least of which was my ordination!). They will want to know how I am, and so I guess I will tell them. Oh well.

I met with the plastic surgeon. It was awful.

This week, Michael and I went to talk to the plastic surgeon. I haven't decided for sure whether or not to have a mastectomy at all, nor when to have it if I do, not whether I will want reconstruction if I do, so this was merely information gathering. I almost wish I hadn't gone.

We didn't get in to see him until 40 min after my appointment, and having waited all that time, I had to run to the bathroom right away. While I was gone, the doctor came in, and when he saw I wasn't there, Michael said he looked very annoyed. This was our first sign. When he came back, I hadn't yet had an opportunity to put the gown on because the resident was talking to me, so before he even let me introduce myself, he said, "Can we get you in a gown?" Hi, my name is Johanna. We're going to be having an intimate conversation about my boobs in a minute. Nice to meet you, too. (This was our second sign.)

When I was finally properly clothed and in the right place, and the doctor, two residents, and I had been introduced (no one asked who the heck Michael was), we got a brief introduction, then the doc did an exam. Then he said, "Okay, go ahead and take off your robe, I'm going to get some pictures." Not, "Is it okay if I get some pictures? I need them for such-and-such." Not, "Is it okay if all these people are in the room while I take topless pictures of you?" None of that. Just pictures of my topless self at all angles in front of all those people. Okay.

I put the gown back on (would have been nice to be able to get fully dressed, given that I was clearly cold), and then began the powerpoint presentation. A 2010 New York law requires that people be informed about reconstruction options, so this satisfied that requirement. He asked if it was okay to look at some pictures of mastectomy patients, and I said it was. I thought I could stomach it, but it is hard to look at pictures of women who have had mastectomies, especially when you imagine yourself looking that way. And it really started wearing on me, and especially when it went along with learning about the grueling surgeries that brought women to this point. Don't get me wrong - they can do amazing things, and the final product looks pretty darn similar to a real boob. They can tunnel tissue up through your torso, they can disconnect it and reconnect it, they can swing it around, they can combine with implants, or do implants alone... So many different ways to reconstruct.

And so much information to take in. About a quarter of the way into the presentation, I could feel the color had drained from my face, my brow was furrowed, my eyes stung, and all I could focus on was not crying. If I'd had any more strength, I would have said, "You need to stop talking," (which was all I could think) "and you need to give me a chance to process what you have already said." But all I could do was bite my lip. At one point, I did speak up. He was talking about using cadaver skin (don't remember what for), and at the top of the slide, it said in parentheses, "Pig skin." I thought, "Pig skin? Is that the kind of cadaver he's talking about?" So I said, "Are you talking about human cadavers?" Yes, he was. I said, "Because it says pig skin on your slide." He said, "Oh, yeah, that's a typo. It's been brought up a few times. I should fix that." I said, with considerable force, "I would put that on the
TOP of your to-do list. That is a terrible typo." "Yeah, yeah, I should..."

Finally, at one point, I did have real tears in my eyes, but I did not get the impression this was an okay place to cry, so I held them in with all my might. He did finally notice this, and moved a box of kleenex closer, and then proceeded. I learned in CPE that giving someone a kleenex when they cry is like saying, "Wipe up those tears. This is not the place for crying." Now I totally get it. The box made me even more upset, upset at the utter lack of compassion. Don't give me kleenex! Give me time! Ask if I'm okay, or if I have any questions. Ask if I need a minute to myself before shoving any more information down my throat. Ask if I'd like him to step out for a minute. But don't tell me it's not okay to cry when I'm looking at pictures of scarred and mangled breasts, and the scarred body parts that donated their tissue to the cause of recreating a fake boob. Don't give me a f***ing kleenex!! (Yes, I was very upset.)

After all was said and done, he turned off the presentation, gave me a sorry excuse for a sympathetic look, and said, "So. What are you thinking?" I said, "I'm thinking there is no part of me that wants to do this." He said something lame like, "I know it's a lot of information." I started asking questions about recovery time. He couldn't really give me a straight answer, just kept saying it depended on how I manage pain. I said I get 90 days of disability each year, and he said, "Take it all." I asked what is the best option for me. He said really the only option for me, given my physique and medical history, is to swing a latissimus dorsi flap around and put in an implant for a mound. I asked how one is to recovery when there are major surgery sites on the front and the back, and he said he probably couldn't do both sides at once. So now we're talking two major surgeries, that may take as long as 12 or 15 hours each and require a few weeks recovery for basic tasks, longer for more strenuous ones, probably 2-3 months away from work each time, since I can't drive on narcotic pain killers. All this for putting on some fake boobs that won't even have any feeling anyway. I asked how long before I would be able to bear children, until my body would be healed enough to sustain another life, and then push it out of me (especially if they are taking some muscle tissue for this procedure). He said, "We don't really have a lot of pre-childbearing patients." Can you make a guess? "Less than 5 years, more than 6 months." Oh thank you, that's very helpful. He said, "We'll let you think about it. We'll give you a call in about a week." Now I sort of exploded (insofar as I ever explode). "A week?? I'm not even sure I'm going to do this at all! [Something I had told him at least 2-3 times already.] If I do, it will be at least 9 months from now, and I may not even do reconstruction, but could be as much as 5 years from now! A week isn't going to cut it!" He said I could just call when I was ready. Oh, okay. Thanks.

After they all left, I just stood in the middle of the room and cried. Michael held me, and I cried and cried. On the way out, the girl at the front desk looked at me, concerned, and said, "Do you need a tissue?" - a question I didn't mind because she asked with some concern. I said I was fine. Michael and I went out for ice cream, except I was freezing so I got chili (not chilly, har har). I hadn't been able to articulate any of my feelings, until Michael said, "I couldn't help but think he was in this for the money." And that set me off, and everything came pouring out. I didn't want to do this. No way. He said, "You know, you don't have to get reconstruction." True, and I loved him for saying that. But looking at nothing the rest of my life... would that be worse? I don't know.

But, I already decided I wouldn't do this until after we're married. So it is back on the back burner. And if I do, I will find another plastic surgeon who doesn't make me cry and who has some bedside manner.   But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

In better news, I told some of my female friends about this today, and they were appropriately sympathetic, then said that if I decide to do away with boobs forever, they would throw a boob funeral party for me. We would make a boob cake, and eat it all up. We could embrace our inner hippies and burn all my bras. This could be a blast.

By the way, if you can stomach it, there is a site for The Scar Project that has a series of artistic pictures of women who have had mastectomies. They are beautiful, though also difficult. Have a look here if you are interested.

Sermon: Wedding bloopers turned grace encounter

2^nd Sunday after Epiphany

Jan. 20, 2013

John 2:1-11

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

         Michael and I have been very busy lately planning our weddings. Yes, weddings, plural – one in California, and a reception and short ceremony here in Rochester a few weeks later. I think it will be mostly pretty traditional, though there are a few customs that have arisen over the years that we think are silly or cheesy that we are foregoing. But some superstitions we can’t let go of. For example, Michael will not see me in my dress until the day of. And, I have been on the hunt for something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. You know, I’ve also heard that, as much as every couple wants things to be perfect on their wedding day, it is good luck if something goes wrong – it rains, a groomsman (or the groom!) passes out, the bride’s heel breaks, etc. Who knows – I figure as long as we end up married at the end of the day, it will be a success, right?

         Well, if something going wrong on the wedding day is the key to a successful marriage, then the couple in today’s Gospel reading is in luck, because they are experiencing a major wedding faux pas: they have run out of wine, on only the third day of what is normally a week-long wedding reception! This is not a good sign for these young newlyweds. To run out of wine only halfway through the celebration is to not make good on promises only just after they have been made! They would be the talk of the town, and not in a good way.

         Lucky for them, they invited Jesus and his mother to the party. The way John writes the exchange that follows sounds a little stilted to our modern ears, but when you think about it, it is so very human – a conversation you have probably had with your own parents or children. Jesus has, for the first 30 years or so of his life, been lying low. I mean, he hasn’t yet “come out” as the divine Son of God. He’s just a regular guy. (This wedding event, see, is known as Jesus’ first miracle, or sign – until now, he hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary.) His mother, of course, knows better – she knows quite a bit about his potential. And so when she sees that the people throwing the wedding party are in danger of becoming the village idiots for the oversight of not having enough wine for the guests, she goes to her remarkable son. “Listen, Jesus,” she says. “They’re out of wine.” And then she gives him that look that only a mother can, silently urging him to do something about it and save face for her friends, the wedding family.

         I can just see Jesus here. I’m sure I’ve acted just like him, in fact. He’s got this whole plan, see, about when he’s going to make his grand entrance into the world as the divine Son of God. And so I can see him in this situation, looking at his mom like, “Mom, what are you doing? I’m so not concerned with this petty wedding faux pas. I got plans, and my hour has not yet come! I had a whole schedule in mind, Ma, so don’t rush me!” And his mother, in her motherly way, simply gives him that knowing look, turns to the nearby servants, and says, “Just do whatever he says, will ya?” Mother knows best, right?

         And then there must be some sort of realization in Jesus. What made the difference? He had been so insistent that this was not the time, that his other plan was going to be the way to go. But then he goes ahead and tells the servants to fill up with water the six stone jars there – totaling some 120 gallons or more, and when they draw water and bring it to the chief steward, of course, that water has turned to wine. And hence, God’s grace and God’s abundance is revealed to the world, and at the same time, Jesus’ own remarkable, divine nature.

         So what made him change his mind? Perhaps the key is in those words, “My hour has not yet come.” As is so often the case, much can be gleaned from looking at the original Greek text here. There are two words in Greek that we translate as “time.” Do you know what they are? Cronos, and kairos. What’s the difference? Cronos refers to the earthly time, schedules, things that we at least think we have some control over. Kairos, on the other hand, refers to God’s time, something that lies beyond our comprehension or ability to plan. Interestingly, the word we see here that is translated as “hour” is in Greek, “hora,” and usually is used in reference to kairos, not cronos. So, it refers to God’s time, not our time. Or, it refers to a divine plan, not our schedules. So even as Jesus says, “My hour (kairos) has not yet come,” he is realizing that even if his grand plan for when he would reveal himself as God incarnate has not yet come, God the Father had something else in mind. And that something was that God’s grace and abundance would be revealed right there at the wedding feast in Cana. Apparently, Father knows best!

         Even though this is happening to Jesus, is it not something so true to our own experience? We make plans, schedules, in our cronos understanding of life, but God sweeps in with His kairos and changes everything around – thus giving an opportunity to seize upon an unexpected experience of God’s grace.

         This week, a friend of mine had such an experience. He was riding the subway, and was busy texting his mom. He was so excited and expressing his delight at God’s amazing work, because his grandmother, at age 89, had gotten out of rehab five weeks ahead of the schedule the doctor laid out. He was so busy texting that he got off at the wrong stop, 100 yards away from where he normally gets off. But when he did, he saw that a woman had fallen onto the tracks and needed someone to help pull her out, and there was no one else around to help her before the next train came around. Lucky my friend was there! Lucky we have a God who puts us off our predetermined tracks in order to allow us to participate in God’s grace!

         God is always disrupting our cronos, earthly time, in order to transform it into a kairos event. It’s so frustrating when that happens, isn’t it? And understanding is not always so immediate as it was for my friend. 

Another friend of mine from seminary called me this week. She is also planning to get married – a week after Michael and I, in fact – and is just starting her final semester of seminary with plans of graduating in May and starting her first call shortly thereafter. An exciting time of life, and so carefully laid out by my very meticulous friend. She had a biopsy on her thyroid last week, and called to tell me that while they were 95% sure it was nothing, she is in the 5%, and she has what amounts to pre-cancer on her thyroid. It has to have it removed. She reminded me of myself when she said, “I’m having it done close to school so I can get back to classes as soon as possible and still graduate on time.” A collision of cronos and kairos! This girl has a schedule, and she has every intention of sticking to it! Jesus, too, had a schedule in mind, until he was given the opportunity to seize upon a disruption in that schedule, and make an ordinary wedding feast in danger of going sour into an opportunity for God’s grace and abundance to shine.

         Here’s one more wedding story for you. Several years ago in the news was a story of a bride whose would-be husband got cold feet and abandoned her on her wedding day, leaving her with only her tears, and enough food for an elaborate reception. A shame to waste the food, she thought, and she sent messengers out to gather the homeless in the city. And they partook of a beautiful, bountiful, and unexpected feast. (Christian Century, 1/13/04)

         Cronos transformed into kairos. Our time and plans transformed in God’s time and plans. Like any collision or transformation, it can be a painful process. How often we utter a plea of, “Why this, God? Why now?” And the answer that comes is not always the same, and it is not always easy to see at first, or maybe ever. But just as when Jesus puts aside his previous plan, this cronos/kairos collision often becomes a place to witness God being revealed, a feast at which to taste God’s grace, a time to be amazed by God’s abundance.

         Let us pray. God, you have given us wonderful minds that can make plans and schedules, but you have also given us the promise that all time is in your hands. May we, like Jesus, be open to unexpected opportunities for your grace and abundance to be revealed to us and through us. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Trying to decide: a J's thought process

I've been doing a lot of thinking about my next big decision, trying out different things in my head, etc. The decision feels like a big task that I have to cross off my list, and my J personality hates that I can't cross it off my list. I live for crossing things off lists. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, see the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator Personality test.)

I at least know I will not be doing this in the next 8 months. We will wait until after we are married. That just makes sense for a lot of reasons. So the question becomes whether to do this shortly thereafter, or to have kids first and then do it later. So again, I'm going to my J-ness to help with the decision process. It's list time!!

Mastectomy Before Kids
Pros:
* I won't have kids and all their demands running around while I recover. This is one of the biggest.
* The risk of breast cancer is taken away earlier, saving us the stress of worry, not to mention the future medical costs of being so closely followed (every 3 months).
* With taking away this risk, we also feel less pressure to have kids quickly, although to be fair, we will probably still start trying as soon as possible.

Cons:
* How long will we have to wait before my body is ready to sustain a life inside? We are both eager to have children, both emotionally and biologically.
* Who wants to start their marriage with a major surgery? And one that significantly takes away from, you know, the things married people sometimes do? *blushing* I'd like to, you know, explore my new life with my husband to the fullest.

Mastectomy After Kids
Well, I guess just reverse the above pros and cons, but I'd like to add some further reflection... And I can, because it's my blog, and I'll do what I want!

When I first made the decision that I would go against Dana Farber's recommendation to get a bilateral mastectomy as soon as possible, but would instead focus on the 80%, I also made a decision to be very vigilant and take my health into my own hands. I've been conscious of what I eat (food without labels, if possible, and always paying attention to suggested menus for minimizing risk for breast cancer), I'm trying to exercise more, I'm taking supplements. There's a part of me that wants to see if that works! 40% is definitely scarier than 20%, but maybe I'm willing to take the risk, to just wait it out, and if something else comes up, then I'll think more seriously about getting the mastectomy.

Tempting fate, you say? Perhaps. There is always the risk that I could develop a much more threatening breast cancer than DCIS. And what if I'm pregnant when that happens? Can I be treated? Possible, but probably not the best thing, is it? Or, nothing could happen! I could get all the way through two or three pregnancies and never have a trace of breast cancer!

Also, this sounds really dumb, but part of me worries that all the things I'm doing that are so much better for my health will fall by the wayside if I don't have a really good reason, like the looming risk of breast cancer, to keep doing them. I like having that motivation. (I know, there are much healthier ways to find motivation for these things. I told you it was dumb.)

It is pretty clear from my list that the better option is to have a mastectomy before kids. But I kind of like the second option better. Why? Well, I'm sure part of it is because that way I get to put it off longer. And/or I get to deny a little longer. Perhaps in the next few months I will determine how much of the decision is based on healthy discernment, and how much is just good old fashioned denial.

The other thing I am thinking about is reconstruction vs. no reconstruction. Stay tuned for a post on my refections on this. (The fun never ends around here, I'll tell ya.)

In better news, my sweet Klaus dog is adorably sleeping and lightly snoring by my side. And our save the dates came in the mail this week. So there's two good things. Life ain't so bad.

Sermon: Lessons in Baptism (Baptism of our Lord, 1/13/13)

Baptism of Our Lord (year C)

January 13, 2013

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

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

            As I was sitting in my office this week, the phone rang – it was an unfamiliar number. I answered. “Who is this?” asked a voice. I said I was the pastor. He started off on some spiel that sounded remarkably similar to the guy who had just called a moment before trying to tell me my computer was in grave danger unless I did what he said right now, so I sort of rolled my eyes and waited for a break to say I wasn’t interested. But then he said, “And I’m interested in baptism.” Well! That caught my attention! He wondered what was involved in getting baptized at my church, and I told him. I asked why he wasn’t going to be baptized in the church where he was already connected in the city. “It’s going to take too long,” he said. “There’s this whole process, and I need this done fast!”

            Well, that opened another conversation entirely, during the course of which I found out that he was already baptized, but it was “just a sprinkling” and “they” said he needed to be fully immersed. (Who “they” are, I’m still not quite sure!) He was feeling God moving him to act right now, and he didn’t want to wait. He had to be fully immersed as soon as possible!

            So… what would you have said? As I was listening to him explain his situation, I was thinking, “Boy, I’m glad I have done so much research and thinking about this through my years of study, so I have a sense of how to respond to this on the spot!” But then I thought, “Not everyone has had the benefit of such focused study on baptism. So what would my congregation, or any average church-goer sitting in the pews, say if someone presented them with these questions?”

            Since today is the day we celebrate the Baptism of our Lord, it seemed a perfect opportunity to have a conversation about what we believe baptism is all about. What do you say? You game? (All right, good answer!)

            Let’s start by saying there have been volumes upon volumes written about the theology of baptism, and there’s no way I could include everything in this 10-12 min sermon. Both the theology and the history of baptism are fascinating: the imagery of sin being drowned so that we can arise as new creatures in Christ, the assertion that we are connected to Christ in our baptism because in that sacrament we also experience a death and resurrection, the evolution of the rite from Jewish rituals, through the Early Church, and into modern times… But that’s not what I’d like to talk about this morning. I’d like to talk about a few ways that an awareness of our baptism can become a deeper part of our everyday lives.

            So here’s an opening question, that I usually ask parents preparing to have their child baptized: what happens in baptism? I usually direct parents to the Small Catechism, which says a lot of what I just told you. But let’s look instead at our Gospel text for today to answer this question. The most important answer to that question is not what is happening, but who is making it happen. Look at the text again in your bulletin. Who baptizes Jesus here? … Not John, as you might assume. In fact, in the two verses omitted from our reading, Luke tells us that Herod had thrown John in prison! So who baptizes Jesus? It is the Holy Spirit! The Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. The very same Spirit that baptizes us! And who does the talking? … The Father! A voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased.”

            God does the work. Not the pastor. Not the person being baptized. Not the water, though the water is the physical element the Word is connected to, the means by which we come into physical contact with that Word. But God does the work. This is the response to why we in the Lutheran church typically baptize babies. While Christians who are of the Baptist, fundamentalist, or evangelical persuasion insist upon an adult baptism, in which the one being baptized has the opportunity to state his or her own faith, we baptize these helpless, vulnerable beings who have not done much of anything for or against God. They are mostly passive participants in the reception of God’s grace in the sacrament.

But isn’t that a wonderful image for us for how we come before God? Passive as they are in the face of God’s grace, infants remind us of how we are to receive God’s love: with humble gratitude, knowing that we don’t do anything to deserve this, but God gives it to us anyway. God acts on us and in us. God forgives us. God claims us as sons and daughters. And there’s nothing we can do to earn, or to mess up that relationship that God establishes with us. Nothing!

So that’s the first thing to remember today about baptism: God is the actor. The second thing we can learn from our text today about what happens in baptism is from that voice that comes from heaven. “You are my Son, the Beloved. With you I am well pleased.” In baptism, see, we are given an identity: we become God’s child, God’s son or daughter. Identity is not always easy to come by these days. All the things to which we have traditionally looked to constitute an identity – job, hometown, family – look different now. People change careers, they move away from home, they have complex, blended families. But in all the changes that life brings there is one part of our identity that never changes: we are God’s beloved children, through good and bad, and we always will be.

            So if ever you are faced with a situation in which someone asks you what you believe about baptism, these are two things you can always remember: 1) baptism is God’s work, not ours, and because of that there’s nothing we can do to mess up that relationship; and, 2) in baptism God claims us as His own, beloved children, and in all the changes of life, this identity never goes away. There are many more things to know about baptism, but let’s just focus on these for today!

            Of course, you don’t need to wait until someone asks you to think about your baptism. There are lots of ways that we can remember the gifts of God through baptism every day of our lives.

Tell me something: how many of you know the date of your baptism? [surprisingly few at both congregations] How many of you were given something at your baptism – a candle, a cloth, a gown? [many] How many of you still have those? [slightly fewer] How many of you still use or look at them? [not many at all]

When I was baptized, I was given a felt banner that had my name, a dove, water, and the date of my baptism on it. It hung on my door, so I knew the date, and since I was (am!) a glutton for special days about me, I was happy to celebrate this day with my family! We lit my candle on my baptism day, August 28^th [see picture of lit candle below - I showed the congregation]. Twenty-eight years later, I was ordained on that same day, August 28^th, so it is a very special day for me! In my office, you can see both my baptism and my ordination certificate framed on my wall. If you don’t already celebrate your baptism day, or your kids’ or grandkids' baptism day, I encourage you to do this, and to remind each other of the baptismal promises of grace on that day. (What were those promises again?)

But even that special anniversary only comes once a year. What about the other days? Well, there is one physical part of baptism that we see every day, indeed that is essential to life. What is it? Water! Luther suggested that every time we wash our hands, or take a shower, or go swimming… we remember our baptism. While we Lutherans believe in baptizing people only once, it was never meant to be a once-and-done event, but rather, something to be remembered often. So every time you have an encounter with water, you can say aloud or in your heart, “I am God’s beloved child, called and sent to make a difference in the world.” Let’s practice… [proceed to splash water from font on people on congregation and say this together each time.]

I don’t expect you get a lot of calls from strangers asking about baptism – my hunch is that this is something fairly unique to pastors. But that doesn’t mean you can’t think about it, as often as possible! Because these promises of God – that God acts, and that we are claimed as part of God’s family – as well as baptism’s other promises – that we are forgiven and forever tied to Christ – are certainly worth remembering and celebrating every day.

Let us pray: Dear life-giving God, when your Son was baptized, you came to him by way of the Holy Spirit, and called him your Beloved Son. Help us to remember our own baptism, and all the promises of grace and love that come with it. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

My first "every three months"

Can you believe it has already been three months since I finished treating my malignant little foe? Yesterday Michael and I met with Dr. Skinner for the first of my "close surveillance"check-ups. I hadn't seen her since I went to Boston and met with the good folks at Dana Farber, so we were eager to hear Dr. Skinner's take on all that. It felt a little strange going back to something I had so happily placed on the back burner.

First, she asked what had happened in Boston, so we told her. I'm not sure why this was to my surprise, but she agreed! Well, not exactly - DF was saying I should have a mastectomy as soon as possible. Dr. Skinner said that was the best medical option, but this wasn't strictly a medical decision. Here's how she explained things:

The chance of my DCIS returning is not very high. They'll follow me because they're supposed to, but she's not worried. In response to my saying a bilateral mastectomy feels drastic, she said, "It would be for DCIS. But it's not for your DCIS. We know that for patients who receive mantel radiation (down the center of the chest), the risk over 30 years of getting breast cancer is about 40%. What your DCIS has done is show us that you are more likely in that 40% who develop breast cancer, and so you could very well do that again. So the original cancer (that particular DCIS) probably won't come back, but your risk for developing another primary cancer in a different area of the breast is still just as high. You are a very high risk person." 

(Oh, we also learned an important distinction. I've been calling this a secondary cancer. It's not. A secondary cancer is the same cancer that appears in a second area. This is a second primary malignancy - not related to Hodgkin's at all except that the treatment for Hodgkin's likely contributed to its development.)

So, as Dr. Skinner also told us at our last appointment with her, ultimately a bilateral mastectomy is the best option for me. She said strictly medically speaking, doing that as soon as possible is the best. But this is not strictly a medical decision. "Only you can decide when the best time is." She also made very clear that my chance of dying from some second (third) primary cancer developing in my breast is quite small, less than 1%, because I am under high surveillance and anything that appears will be caught very early. We also learned that mammograms become possible again after the first trimester of a pregnancy, which makes me feel a little better. 

I should also add that the data we're going on is based on people who are currently in their 60s, meaning they were treated for Hodgkin's or whatever required radiation as much as 40 years ago. Treatment was obviously different then - Hodgkin's used to be treated exclusively with radiation. The purpose of my fairly new (at the time) treatment, however, was to reduce these risks. Data doesn't exist on follow up for that, simply because it is too new. Darn that! But, that said, I did still develop breast cancer already, so I am still in whatever the percentage is of women who develop breast cancer after mantel radiation such as I had, whether it's 10% or 50%.

We also talked a little bit about reconstruction options, but she did suggest we talk to a plastic surgeon for more details. Probably what they would do is take a tissue flap from my back and swing it around to the front. That flap would cover some sort of implant (because I don't have enough extra in my physique to fill two whole boobs - she said either implants, or I start working on filling out my physique now!). Implants alone are not so good for radiated breasts, but covered with an organic flap it would be much better. Recovery for all that, she would say 12 weeks. Although, she added, with my work I could maybe return sooner at least to the office work side of my job. 

So, it's decision time again. I could decide not to do it at all. The chances that I won't develop breast cancer again are still probably greater than the chances that I will, but it's not the 80% in which I was previously relishing. So, I guess I'll do it. But when? Right now? No. Right after we get married, so that a) I can be on Michael's insurance (which is better than mine), b) he will be able to take significant family leave time and take care of me while I'm fairly helpless? Maybe. After we have a couple kids? That sounds better because then I probably could breast feed, and, vainly speaking, so I could enjoy a few more years of a whole young woman's body. On the other hand, that means I have several more years of high risk life (probably at least 4 or 5), and I would have a couple little ones running around while I have a major surgery. Not ideal. What is most important? What is smartest? How on earth do I weigh the goals of having children and living a securely healthy life? That's assuming the surgery goes well - there are scary things about a major surgery, too! 

Did I mention I hate making decisions?

I will say, however, that I feel much more at peace about this now than I did two or three months ago. I'd still rather I didn't have to do it, of course, and I would not at all say I want to. (I talked to one woman who said she felt joyful on the morning of her double mastectomy! I'm not there. But then, she had three children already.) But I am not as viscerally averse to it as I have felt before. Michael continues to be 100% supportive of whatever I decide, and will do what he needs to do to support me physically when the time comes. The rest of my family, too, is just full of love and support for me in whatever decision I finally make. I have much to be grateful for.

Sermon: God Made Visible (in Webster!) (Epiphany, 2013)

There's a point in this sermon where I asked people to tell me stories... and they actually did! And then I said, "If you didn't get to share yours, I hope you'll find someone to share it with at coffee hour. And please tell me, too! I want to hear your stories!" And several people did! I was thrilled.

Epiphany

Jan. 6, 2013

Matthew 2:1-12

          Those of you were here on Christmas Eve, or who read the sermon online afterward, know that on that night, we talked about a light shining in the darkness. This particular Christmas Eve, remembering that light shines in the darkness was especially important, and so we celebrated together that light emanating from the babe in the manger.

Today is Epiphany, and today we experience the light of Christ in a new way. I think Epiphany might be misunderstood – if not by regular church-goers, at least by the culture at large. We do use that word, “epiphany,” sometimes. When I say, “I’ve just had an epiphany!” what does that mean? It means I’ve had a revelation of some sort. I have realized something that will make some important difference in my life. Well, Epiphany on the church calendar isn’t so different. The word means “revelation” or “manifestation,” because it celebrates the moment that God became manifest to the Gentiles.

That’s a lot of churchy vocabulary, so let’s simplify it is bit. Until now, see, Jesus was a savior for the Jews. The magi from the East were not Jews – they were Zoroastrian astrologers from Persia. They weren’t heathens; they just weren’t Jews – just like you and I aren’t Jews! And tradition says that these magi studied stars, so it is only appropriate that the light shining in the darkness should first appear to them by means of a star, a star that would guide them on their long journey. Just like we followed a star on our journey into worship this morning, to the place where we encounter God in Word and Sacrament, that star led them to the place where God would be made visible to them in the form of small child in Bethlehem. And so it was that God was revealed to people beyond the Jews – indeed to the whole world. It was an epiphany for the whole of humanity, Jews and non-Jews alike – a realization of something that would make an important difference in people’s lives.

The magi, often called the wise men or the three kings, are maybe one of the most loved parts of the Christmas story. They add this wonderful mystical element to the story. Who are they? How did they hear about this thing happening so far away? How glamorous and exotic must their robes, camels, and expensive gifts have looked against the backdrop of a stable! And it is from their appearance at Christ’s birth, of course, that we get the tradition of gift-giving on Christmas (although video game systems, iPads, books, and socks are a far cry from gold, frankincense, and myrrh!).

The evolution of the gift-giving tradition aside, I love that, in the moment God was revealed to the Gentiles, to these magi, their response is to give. It seems a little strange, actually. On the one hand, what is a baby going to do with incense typically used in worship? Or an ointment typically used in the burial of the dead? The gold I can see, because Mary and Joseph presumably used its worth to flee to Egypt and then get home. But for a baby? But on the other hand, how beautiful to give so extravagantly in response to the savior of the world.

Some well-loved Christmas carols have come from this tradition of giving something to Christ. One of my favorites is In the Bleak Midwinter, especially the last verse: “What can I give him, poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would give a lamb. If I were a wise man, I would do my part. But what can I give him? Give my heart.” What a lovely message! “I don’t have much, hardly anything, really. But I want to acknowledge this child. I really want to give. As this child has been revealed as God to me and to all, shone as a light in the darkness, I, too, want to give. And so I will give what I have: my heart.”

This story of the magi, strangers coming from far away, following the light of a star, and giving gifts as God is made manifest before their eyes – it is a story for all generations. It is a story for us. We too look up for guidance, trying to follow the light. We too long to see God manifest. And we too express the gratitude of having seen God by giving back. I know this, because I have experienced it myself, and I also know this because I have seen the Webster community do this in the past week. In the darkest moment this community has perhaps ever seen, visions of light have appear. Hotel rooms and meals donated to firemen who came from around the country for the funerals. People bringing hot drinks for the thousands of folks waiting outside in the cold to pay their respects. Thousands of dollars in donations. Truly God’s light has been revealed in Webster this week, and we have seen it in the many gifts, big and small, that people have offered.

My guess is that you have seen much more than I have. What ways have you seen God’s light revealed in the past week – not only in relation to this tragedy, but anywhere in your lives? Please, tell me some stories of light.

[If you’re reading this online, take this time to think of a time you saw a bit of God’s light shining. Email it to me or leave it in a comment below.]

         Truly a light has shone in the darkness. Truly God has not let the darkness remain, but has become all that much brighter because of it. Truly God is manifest all around us, using all kinds of vehicles to show that – even sometimes you and me. If you didn’t get a chance to share your story, I hope you will today after coffee hour. I would love it if you told me about it, whether in person, or by email or phone. It is so important, especially now, for us to share these stories, to testify to the light, even to let that light be revealed in our own words and actions. These stories may not make the pain go away, but they give us hope and something to cling to as we work through it.

Let us pray. Lord, when the magi looked up and saw a light, they believed. They followed. And when they saw you, the God made visible, before them, shining light into the darkness, they gave gifts. At the joy of Christ, may we also be ready to give – give our stories, give our time, give our hearts. In the name of the Father, the Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Hey there, 2013!

Here we are - 2013! There are a lot of things to anticipate this year - not the least of which is getting married, hopefully buying a house, celebrating my dad's retirement - but even as I look forward to those things, I also want to reflect back on 2012.

In my professional life, I had a lot of firsts. While I did one or two funerals in 2011, I had a slew of them in 2012. In fact, I had 4 in the course of a month, which also happened to be the month I began testing for what turned out to be cancer. But in the process, I also learned to love doing funerals. To be with a family in this most tender time, even to sit by the bedside of their loved one in his or her last moments, and in the midst of that, to get to preach the hope of the resurrection! What a gift that is.

I also had my first Holy Week as a pastor. I have always loved Holy Week, but was concerned about how I would experience it as a pastor. When I think back on what actually happened, I remember being extremely stressed and crying a few times, but to be honest, my general reflection on the experience is positive. I remember it being very meaningful. I don't remember being exhausted.

And I had my first non-family weddings. So far, I don't have any crazy wedding stories, although at one of them, one of the groomsman audibly farted during the vows. (Bride wasn't happy, but kept composure.) Also, one of the wedding rehearsals was mere hours after I first heard that word, "carcinoma," so that was an excellent exercise in compartmentalizing.

Personally, I made a whole lot of new friends, and really came to call Rochester "home." I had a couple get-togethers where I realized there were more people I wanted to invite than I had space for in my house, which was actually a pretty good feeling. I have several people I could call to cry on their shoulder, vent to, ask for a ride to the airport, etc. What a blessing.

Family-wise, I got to go to China to see my brother and sister-in-law celebrate their marriage for the third time, in my sister-in-law's hometown of Yangzhou. I've been to China before, but this was of course a much different experience. Short, but chock full of love and memories.

Future-family-wise, I got engaged!

Honestly, with as many things that happened this year, it is hard to remember anything except these last 4-5 months, because they were just so intense. In the course of a couple months, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, got engaged, and got a dog. BAM BAM BAM. I'm honestly still processing all of this. Cancer seems like an uncomfortable dream I can barely remember, except for when I see my scars in the mirror, and the other few times when it all comes rushing back to me and I start crying for what seems like no particular reason. Being engaged seems at once obvious and completely unreal (especially because we can't seem to find a date that works for everyone, so planning is not really happening yet). But all of these things together has certainly caused a shift in both my personal and professional life. It's impossible to preach without these things in my mind. I have connected with people more deeply. As always happens with major life things like this, my perspective on things has been altered, though I couldn't at this point define quite how, at least not in a general way. (I suppose you can read past posts in this blog and discern the particular ways for yourself.)

As I move forward into 2013... I guess I do so feeling more grounded, more mature, more articulate, more equipped, more directed. All good things, not all a result of cancer, but a result of all of these events and experiences of 2012. I am grateful.

I'm normally not into New Year's Resolutions because they are so often broken. So here are a couple goals for 2013, which I hope will extend beyond that:

1) Exercise more. Getting Klaus was a step in this direction, but now that the snow is here, he is less interested in walking. I will make him, or I will go it alone.
2) Read more. I have SO many books I want to read, most of which have to do with my job (practical theology, especially). I want some part of my work schedule to include time to read these books, because I know this will deepen my perspective as a pastor and as a person.
3) Floss more. This is an example of a resolution I make every year. I'm trying again.
4) Continuing trying to eat healthily and intentionally. This has always been a goal of mine, but now I am especially aware of dietary choices that will help decrease my risk of breast cancer returning.
5) Plan a wedding, move into a new home, and start a successful life and family with the man I love. Practice forgiveness and compromise. Remember to say, "Please," "Thank you," and when necessary, "I was wrong, please forgive me."

That's probably enough. Here's to growth, to perseverance, to health, and to love! Happy New Year!