This time of year, we tend to put a lot of emphasis on faithfulness – with good reason. The story of Christmas would not exist as we know it without many people’s willingness to do as God asks: Mary and her willingness to bear the son of God, Joseph and his willingness to raise a son that isn’t his, the shepherds and magi and their willingness to worship an infant from a poor family – all these figures are considered righteous specifically because of their faithfulness. We wouldn’t have Jesus without it. But for all the emphasis that we place on faithfulness as a path to righteousness, it’s far from the ONLY one. In fact, since God is the one to determine what IS righteous, God can assign that designation however God sees fit – even to someone who’s decidedly UNfaithful. Rahab is the perfect example of this.
This liturgy is based on our Advent Theme this year, "The Gifts of Women", based on the women in Matthew's account of Jesus' genealogy. (Due to a family emergency, we wound up switching weeks 2 and 3.)
*You are welcome to use or adapt any of my resources for free, but I ask that you provide proper citation AND comment on this post to let me know.*
Hymns
Hymn GTG #106, “Prepare the Way, O Zion”
Hymn GTG #324, “For All the Faithful Women" [v. 1 + New Verse:]
For Ruth, we lift our voices in gratitude and praise;
Naomi’s true companion, a friend through all her days.
Although the way was rocky, they each were not alone –
Ruth’s loyalty a path to Christ Jesus on his throne.
Hymn GTG #100, “My Soul Cries Out With a Joyful Shout”
It’s Advent-tide once more, my friends, and once again we’ll be spending the next four weeks preparing our hearts to receive the coming Messiah. But while many churches use this time to recall the events immediately preceding Jesus’ birth, it’s important for us to remember that Jesus’ story doesn’t begin in the gospels. In fact, the impact of the incarnation is severely diminished without understanding everything that came before it. So while we’ll definitely still spend Christmas Eve with the beloved stories of the angels, the shepherds, the manger, and the magi, these next four weeks will be devoted to things that came long before all that.
A few weeks ago, I brought my work computer home for Nick to take a look at. It’d been running sluggishly for a while, but it was getting to where I wasn’t even able to get my work done anymore. At some point, its performance had gone from being an annoying inconvenience to being an active hindrance. I'd tried all the tricks I knew to help speed it up a bit – largely by uninstalling programs and deleting unused files – but nothing had made even the slightest bit of difference. So, I decided that it was time to bring in my own personal in-house expert. I didn't love what he had to tell me, though. “I have some newer parts I can install,” he explained, “but even then, the bulk of the problem is probably being caused by stuff that’s already in there and hard to get rid of. Your best chance of fixing it is to do a factory reset.”
I have to start out today with some honesty and vulnerability, and I can’t promise that I won’t cry. This week has been one of the most challenging in my ten years of ministry. I’m not so much grieving the loss of “my” candidate as I am the loss of my sense that what I do, both personally and professionally, matters. What good is a gospel of love and compassion if people choose not to listen? If words of hate and exclusion are acceptable, so long as they’re accompanied by promises of security and personal prosperity? It’s difficult to be a pastoral presence when your own heart is breaking. I’m grateful for all those who have given me the space to be human this week.
This is a passage all about idolatry. It may not be obvious at first glance, but it’s true. The Ahab mentioned here was the 7th ruler of the northern kingdom of Israel (some 60-odd years after Solomon’s reign ended), and he’s widely considered to be one of – if not THE – worst king in Israel’s history. Scripture itself says that he “did more evil in the eyes of the Lord than any of those before him.”
Not only did he hasten the moral decline of his kingdom, but through his infamous marriage to Jezebel, he became a Ba’al worshiper (Dun dun DUN!). Needless to say, this is an especially bad look for a monarch whose entire reign is predicated on his people’s worship of YHWH. For this reason, we see Elijah coming out of nowhere in his first-ever scriptural appearance to call out the king on his idolatry. The proclamation he makes in verse 1 is a direct challenge to Ba’al’s supposed authority – a false god can’t save you from drought, no matter how long and hard you pray.
Before we dig into today’s scripture reading, I want to read just one verse from Genesis, which we’ll come back to later on. Remember that in chapter 12 of Genesis, the focus shifts from the world’s primeval history to the patriarchs (and matriarchs) of our faith. In particular, it zeroes in on God’s specific interest in the lineage that will result in the people, and eventually kingdom, of Israel. As soon as the third verse of this chapter, God communicates God’s intentions to Abram without any ambiguity: “All the families of the earth will be blessed because of you.”
For many celebrities, one of the first things they do when they become famous is to buy a new house for their parents.[1] It’s a way to say “thank you” for the support they’ve received over the years, especially if they struggled for a while before making it big. Some, like Chris Hemsworth and Margot Robbie, pay off the mortgage for the house that their parents already own, while others, like Pete Davidson and Justin Bieber, gift their parents an entirely new home.
Others, however, don’t just buy houses for their parents; they buy mansions. Celebrities like Beyonce, Rihanna, and Leonardo DiCaprio each spent multiple millions of dollars to buy new living spaces for their parents. Obviously, these celebs can afford such lavish gifts, and there’s no reason to begrudge them their success, but it certainly puts their prosperity on obvious display, doesn’t it? And regardless of their actual intentions, it makes it absolutely clear to everyone who the family breadwinner is.
Join us as we unveil Boone's new mission statement...
Over the past three weeks, we’ve covered a lot of important ground in Boone’s new Mission Statement: we discussed who we ARE (a safe space for all), what we BELIEVE (Christ commands us to love), and what we DO (create change through worship, learning, and service). All of these are the sorts of things that define us as a community; they’re the sorts of things that someone looking for a new church home might be curious about. But as informative as all this is, it’s also important for us to recognize the goals that we AREN’T quite achieving yet, to name the aspirational aspects of our mission. And so, the last part of the ABCs of Boone outlines what we, as a community, DREAM of being and doing.
Join us as we unveil Boone's new mission statement...
TO BE CONTINUED...
So far in our mission statement, we’ve talked about what we ARE and what we BELIEVE as a community. But a good mission statement has to be about more than that; it also has to describe what we DO. As a church, we obviously DO all the normal churchy things – worship, Christian Education, and service projects – but it’s important for us to remember that while these activities are pretty universal within Christian communities, they aren’t actually defining characteristics in and of themselves of the Church at large. We don’t do them for their own sake – we have a larger goal, in which these activities are more properly used as a means to an end.
Join us as we unveil Boone's new mission statement...
TO BE CONTINUED...
This week, we’re beginning a sermon series in which we unveil our brand-new mission statement. Our old mission statement was wonderful, but churches should revise their mission statement at least every five years – we are, after all, a Church “reformed and always reforming”. So much has changed for us even just since COVID that it’s time for us to reimagine how we present ourselves to the world. So, after much discussion, deliberation, and discernment, Session voted to adopt this new statement, which I’ve lovingly nicknamed “the ABCs of Boone”.
The first part of the mission statement, the “A” that we’ll talk about today, is about who we ARE. As Session began working to articulate how this community has evolved since the split, calling a new pastor, and dealing with COVID, one obvious theme kept coming up again and again: “We are a safe space for all: where you can be exactly who God created you to be – Presbyterian or not!” This goes beyond our welcome of our LGBT+ siblings (although that’s certainly an important part of it). Boone is a place where you’re safe to be open about your mental health struggles, to share your doubts about God, to disagree with the pastor - even to confess that you don’t consider yourself Presbyterian! (You can decide for yourself which of those things is the most “scandalous”.) To be clear, this doesn’t mean that everyone will feel like they BELONG here (like those, for example, who were unwilling to wear a mask during COVID) but THEY will always be the ones to decide that, not us, and until then, we try to make sure that they feel SAFE in our midst.
This is a guiding principle for Boone because it’s a guiding principle of scripture. There are plenty of passages I could have chosen to illustrate this – the woman accused of adultery, for example, or Psalm 23, or the prodigal son – but I chose this passage from Isaiah. I chose it, because it reminds us why we, the Church, exist. Not just to be kind or merciful or charitable in isolated moments, but to bring about the very kindom of God here and now and always. And Isaiah 11 insists that that kindom is not one of conformity and dominion, but of peace and safety, where no harm or destruction occurs anywhere that belongs to God. Safety for all creation is the primary characteristic of God’s kindom, and so safety is one of the values that we cherish most deeply here in this community - whether physical, emotional, or spiritual in nature.
Notice what this passage DOESN’T say. It doesn’t say that the goat will no longer be a goat, and the lion will no longer be a lion. It doesn’t say that they’ll be converted into something that they weren’t before. Too frequently, modern Christians have become gatekeepers, more concerned with enforcing their rules and changing others to fit their mold. But in God’s kindom, the goat doesn’t need to match the leopard’s ferocity; the lion doesn’t need to turn INTO an ox in order to eat straw like an ox. The only things that change are the behaviors that keep them from living together in harmony. THIS is the reflection of the kindom that we want to be – a place where all can coexist in their differences in peace. Where all are safe to be THEMSELVES.
Now, of course, safety isn’t something that just happens, and it isn’t something that can just be assumed. Vulnerable people will never feel safe until a space is PROVEN to be safe. No lamb will lie down with a wolf until the wolf has convincingly demonstrated that it’s not a threat (and as little Red Riding Hood can tell you, a wolf’s words alone aren’t good enough). To a certain extent, then, our claim of being a safe space for all is more of an aspirational commitment than a perfect descriptor. We will always have to work to prove that we are what we say we are.
Fortunately, Scripture has us covered on that front, too – although we might have to read this passage through a new lens to realize it. We most often encounter Isaiah 11 at Christmas because Christians have historically read it as a “prediction” or prophesy of Jesus’ birth: Jesus, the root of Jesse, will come to live among us, he’ll fix everything, and then everyone will get along perfectly. If you happen to look around and notice that herbivores and carnivores still aren’t mingling socially even though Jesus HAS come, well, then that just means that this passage must be referring to the RETURN of Christ. Zootopia is just waiting for the SECOND coming.
But what if, rather than placing all our hope for God’s kindom on some unknown date in the future, on an event completely outside of our control, we instead read verses 1-5 as being about each of US? What if WE are the shoot of Jesse, WE are the branch sprouting from his roots. If we read the passage in this way, then it means that our efforts to be guided by God’s spirit – a spirit of wisdom and understanding, of counsel and strength, of knowledge and reverence – will be the thing that leads directly to this kindom of peace. If we decide not to judge by appearances nor to decide by hearsay, then WE can create the holy mountain where none will be harmed or destroyed. What if it’s up to US?
My kindred in Christ, I’m telling you that it IS up to us. This is what we have to be in order to live out the mission that we’ve claimed. We have to actively pursue these things to create a world in which wolves can lie down with lambs and all of God’s beloved children are safe – and KNOW they’re safe – from any sort of harm. And if we are truly committed to living as ones who will bring about the kindom, as our new mission statement suggests, then we need to cultivate a sense of safety not just in the space we inhabit on Sunday mornings, but in our whole lives. WE need to be safe spaces ourselves, so that the kindom described in Isaiah 11 can spread beyond our self-contained islands of sanctuary into our streets, our grocery stores, our nightclubs, and our schools.
There is still a tragically long road standing between us and this peaceable kindom. The world remains an unsafe place for far too many people in far too many ways. I didn’t set out to discuss anything controversial in this sermon, but this past Wednesday, there was yet another terrible incidence of gun violence at a school, where four people died and nine others were injured. Of all people in all possible places, children should be able to feel safe at school. And yet, that’s not the world that we’ve created for them; that’s not the kingdom we’ve made for ourselves.
Many people have responded to this tragedy by saying, “It could have been worse.” And it could have. The staff were almost immediately able to alert security thanks to special new high-tech IDs, which undoubtedly saved lives. The classroom doors at Apalachee High School automatically locked, significantly restricting the shooter’s movements. And school resource officers responded quickly and heroically.[1] But this is not safety. How many of that school’s students do you think will feel safe when they return to school next week? How many more security systems, how many more locked doors, how many more officers will it take? This should not be a fact of life. This is not what the kindom of God looks like.
Our nation is not willing to make the same commitment to collective safety that Isaiah 11 demands. Which is, of course, its right – we are NOT, after all, a Judeo-Christian nation, nor should we seek to be. But if those of us here today take seriously our desire to be a safe space for everyone, if we really believe in the inevitability of God’s kindom, if we really, truly consider Scripture to be an authority on our lives, then we cannot let this stand. We cannot let our nation’s priorities go unquestioned. Because we, the Church, exist not just to be kind or merciful or charitable in isolated moments, but to bring about the very kindom of God, a kindom of peace and safety for all, here and now and always.
It's relatively easy to PROCLAIM ourselves a safe space for everyone – especially when our idea of safety only extends as far as “no harassment” or “no judgement”. These are important aspects of it, but they only scratch the surface. Existing as a truly safe space for others is not, and will never be, easy. It requires profound strength – which is the last thing that the Isaiah passage has to teach us.
Just before the depiction of the Peaceable Kingdom begins in verse 6, Isaiah describes one last quality of the one who can bring it about: “Righteousness will be the belt around [their] hips, and faithfulness the belt around [their] waist.” But this isn’t a belt as we might picture it. The Hebrew word, *aizor*, is more accurately described as a “waist cloth” or a “girdle”. In biblical times, it was used to tie up one’s robes in preparation for a feat requiring great strength and exertion, whether at work or in battle[2] (this is, of course, where the term “gird your loins” comes from).
When Isaiah tells us that the root of Jesse wears an *aizor*, he’s making it clear that this figure has a difficult task ahead. But the strength that THIS task requires isn’t the strength of power or dominance as an *aizor* would normally suggest. It is the strength righteousness and faithfulness that will ultimately lead to God’s kindom. It’s the strength of being of one mind with God that will create a safe place for all.
So, friends, as we commit to being a place of safety – a glimpse of the peaceable kingdom for all – let us gird our hearts with an *aizor* of righteousness and one of faithfulness, for the road we face is long and difficult. Our mission doesn’t stop at the door of this building; we must carry this sense of sanctuary out with us into the world. We must keep working to make Caldwell a safe space for all, and then Idaho, and then the Mountain West, and onward and outward and upward until there’s not a single person left who would find it unusual for a calf and young lion to share a meal together. Until there’s not a single person left who feels unsafe anywhere in God’s whole creation.
This is an enormous task – one that righteousness and faithfulness may not feel sufficient to meet, even when supplemented with a spirit of wisdom and strength and knowledge. But it’s the task that our faith calls us to, the one that we’ve been unable to abandon even during the most challenging chapters in this community’s life. It is, after all, who we are. And God willing, for the sake of those who have gone before us and of those who will come after, it is who we always will be. Thanks be to God for this clarity of mission: may we rise to meet the challenge. Amen.
Well, we’ve been working our way through the book of Daniel over the past month, and today we finally arrive at the last chapter. Since Deanna preached for me last week, I’ve actually had two weeks to sit with this passage, reflecting on everything else that’s come before it and how it all fits together. I’ve reread my sermons, listened to Deanna’s, and carefully studied the chapters that we skipped over. And now, thanks to all that, I can confidently tell you that I’ve got nothing.
Most of us are young children when we first encounter Daniel’s twin stories of the Fiery Furnace and the Lion’s Den (because apparently, stories about capital punishment are foundational to every child’s theological education). And almost universally, we’re told that the moral of both stories is that if we trust in God, God will rescue us from danger. But of course, as most of us have figured out by now, that’s just objectively untrue. It’s probably past time for us to consider more nuanced interpretations of these ancient stories.
Over the next five weeks of worship, we’ll be doing a deep dive into the book of Daniel. Daniel is best known for the classic church school stories of the Fiery Furnace and the Lion’s den (and we’ll definitely get the chance to dig into those in the next month) but there’s a lot more to this book than we often realize. It’s made up of a collection of writings largely concerning Daniel, a young Israelite man brought to the Babylonian court to serve the king during the 6th century Jewish exile. As usual, context is really important: having been written 400 years after its setting, Daniel is very much about remaining faithful to God while living among non-Jews (a topic that was yet again relevant to the community by the 2nd century). Its first half is largely narrative (including those two stories I mentioned before) while the second half focuses more on apocalyptic writings (remember: apocalypse is Greek for “revelation” or “unveiling”; it’s not a synonym for “cataclysmic”).
Let’s begin with a story: “There was once a farmer who didn't believe in Jesus. One snowy Christmas Eve, his wife asked him to come with her to worship, but he refused. ‘That story is nonsense!’ he scoffed. ‘Why would God come to Earth as a lowly human? That's ridiculous!’ So his wife went to church, and he stayed at home.
Okay; before we go any further, I want to assure you that it’s not just you: this passage IS really confusing. You all know I usually prefer the Common English Bible for its clarity of language, but even there, Scripture’s message is convoluted at best. One of the commentaries I read in preparation for this sermon noted that this passage “seems to defy parsing into logical thought. Motifs entwine, spiral, then interlace with such circularity that a reader may experience verbal vertigo.”[1] This passage is objectively perplexing, even to the so-called “experts”. Sometimes, that’s just the way the Bible is.
As some of you may remember, this past week was the biennial gathering of General Assembly, the national governing body of our denomination. This probably doesn’t seem like a big deal to most of you, but many clergy (myself included) watch the livestream of these meetings with the same fervor that regular people follow the Olympics. (In fact, I’m all but certain that I watched a lot more of GA than I’ll watch of the actual Olympics later this summer.) Anyway, the gathered body addressed many topics over the course of four VERY full days, including everything from online worship to divestment from the fossil fuel industry to an official policy of non-discrimination against our LGBT+ siblings. And while of course everyone always waits with bated breath to learn how the assembly will vote, in my opinion, the most riveting part of GA is actually the debate. It’s the most nuanced way to “check the pulse” of the denomination as a whole, and it’s where you can most clearly see the Holy Spirit moving throughout the week.
Although we don’t usually use them in our liturgy here at Boone, these words that we just sang, first in the Jam Session and then again just now, are one of the oldest prayers in the Christian Church, dating back to at least the 4th century CE. It’s usually called the Gloria Patri (which is Latin for “Glory to the Father”). How many of you have heard it before today? When I was growing up, we sang these words every week in worship, over and over again until they became permanently imprinted on my subconscious. But for some reason, I don’t recall singing it at all in the years since. In fact, I kind of think I forgot all about it. The only reason it resurfaced in my memory at all is because of this passage from Ezekiel.
*You are welcome to use or adapt any of my resources for free, but I ask that you provide proper citation AND comment on this post to let me know.*
Hymns
Hymn GTG #393, “O Day of Rest and Gladness” Hymn GTG #580, “Glory Be to the Father” Hymn GTG #375, “Shall We Gather at the River” Hymn GTG #484, “Out of Deep Unordered Water”
As you all know, I’ve been directing a youth production of “James and the Giant Peach, Jr.” at Boise Little Theater this summer. This is my first time directing, and I’m learning most of it as I go – mostly that there’s a LOT to do. I’m responsible for shaping the whole show: I direct the actors, of course, but I also give feedback on the set design, lighting, costumes, props, sound, and so on. Fortunately, I have a wonderful team committed to making it all happen, but at the end of the day, it’s *my* vision that guides everything (which is all pretty daunting for a first-time director, to be honest).
*You are welcome to use or adapt any of my resources for free, but I ask that you provide proper citation AND comment on this post to let me know.*
Hymns
Hymn GTG #81, “Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken” Hymn GTG #639, “O Sing a New Song” Hymn GTG #64, “I Long for Your Commandments” Hymn GTG #65, “Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah”
You may not remember this about me, but I don’t especially like preaching on the psalms. It’s not because I don’t like them; I think that the Psalms are a beautiful showcase of the depth of humanity’s emotions. But the same thing that makes them beautiful to read is what makes them difficult to preach – they’re poetry. A poem can be challenging enough to understand when it’s in your native tongue, but it gets exponentially more difficult when it’s in an unfamiliar ancient language. The goal of poetry isn’t the same as prose: it isn’t to tell a story, but to convey an emotion or a deeper truth. It uses sentence fragments, metaphor, double-entendre, and ambiguity – all very advanced linguistic concepts – to accomplish this. The fact that poetry purposely uses language in an imprecise and subjective way makes it extremely difficult to translate. Many of the words used in the psalms have multiple meanings, or meanings that don’t make sense to us in the context we find them.
*You are welcome to use or adapt any of my resources for free, but I ask that you provide proper citation AND comment on this post to let me know.*
Hymns
Hymn GTG #479, “Ho, All Who Thirst” Hymn GTG #480, “Take Me to the Water” Hymn GTG #476, “Crashing Waters at Creation” Hymn GTG #410, “God Is Calling through the Whisper”
When we talk about biblical creation stories, our minds usually jump straight to Genesis, don’t they? The first two chapters of Genesis offer two separate accounts of creation with two different objectives: the Adam and Eve creation story teaches us about humanity’s relationship with God and with one another, but before that, Genesis 1 tells us about God’s relationship with ALL of creation. As far as OUR relationship with creation, the first chapter of Genesis covers that, too – in verse 28, God tells humanity to “Fill the earth and master it. Take charge of the fish of the sea, the birds in the sky, and everything crawling on the ground.” Most of us have gone our whole lives assuming that this is the sum total of biblical creation accounts.
Today is the day that we remember the first Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit descended upon the disciples – the so-called “birthday of the Church”. And what a celebration it was! The Apostles started babbling in other languages, resulting in the crowd assuming they’re drunk, which in turn causes Peter to quote scripture at them and yell, “Nuh uh, it’s only 9am” – you know; just your average first birthday party. But seriously, we actually call Pentecost “the birthday of the Church” because it’s the point at which the disciples pivot from being Jesus’ sidekicks to being apostles with their own ministries. And while the “speaking in other languages” thing is a neat party trick, the Holy Spirit also gives the Church its *actual* first birthday gift on this occasion: a new sense of power and authority to create global unity through the gospel.
*In case you aren't a super-nerd about theology, this is a play on words - "Christus Victor" is the name of the atonement theory (explanation of why/how the resurrection reconciled humanity to God) that says that the Resurrection was God's ultimate victory over death. And this sermon talks about cocoons.
I’m glad that we’re ending Eastertide with a passage from 1 Corinthians. This epistle contains some of the best-known passages of scripture, both cherished and controversial, but its greatest value lies in what it can teach us about life *after* Christ’s resurrection. We know that the events of Easter morning aren’t the END of the story, but the BEGINNING, and Paul is an excellent reminder of that fact. He didn’t know Jesus during his earthly ministry, so the resurrected Christ WAS the beginning of *Paul’s* story, and his life’s work became helping the larger ecclesial community write its next chapters.
As we all know, the apostle Paul was an exceptionally well-travelled man. He took his call to evangelize very seriously, which resulted in journeys to over fifty cities across three continents. And the message that he preached in each of these cities never strayed far from the famous one that he wrote early on to the church in Galatia: “There is neither Jew nor Greek; there is neither slave nor free; nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”
But, well – humans gonna human, right? No matter how far he trekked, no matter how often he preached this message, Paul encountered the same problem again and again: people choosing to divide themselves into rival groups, gravitating towards conflict instead of unity. In spite of the young Church’s vulnerability in the shadow of the Roman Empire. In spite of Paul’s teachings. In spite of the gospel.
This is a pretty miraculous story, isn’t it? If I were to ask you what makes it miraculous, what’s the first thing you think of? ...The healing, right? This is the very first time we see the disciples do something seemingly impossible in Christ’s name; it’s the first time they prove themselves to be anything other than a bunch of ordinary dudes who happen to have an extraordinary best friend. This is the moment that makes us think the apostles are somehow fundamentally different from us – there’s certainly no reason to believe that any of US are capable of such things. Either they’re somehow special, or there was something in the first-century water. This appears to be a great story for celebrating the disciples’ ministry, but there doesn’t seem to be much in it that we can learn from.
Happy Second Sunday of Easter! He is risen! [He is risen, indeed!]
Today, as we continue to celebrate the resurrection, we’re shifting from the terse, fast-paced narrative of Mark’s gospel to the book that contains all the stuff that Luke’s couldn’t cram into his. Although the styles of these two writers are about as different as they could possibly be, Acts is the only canonical record we have of the resurrection’s immediate aftermath, and the only one that offers us a full account of the Church’s earliest days – hence, the shift. But that’s a good thing as far as our curiosity is concerned. All those questions Mark left unanswered? The Book of Acts doesn’t leave us hanging. How did the disciples know the resurrection wasn’t a trick? “[Jesus] showed them that he was alive with many convincing proofs.” What did Jesus do in the time between the resurrection and his ascension to heaven? He instructed the apostles and spoke to them about God’s kingdom. We even find out exactly how long the resurrected Christ stuck around for (forty days).
This year, March came in like a lion and is going out like the Lamb of God! Amen?
After six long weeks, we’ve finally arrived at what is inarguably the pinnacle of the Christian liturgical year: the day we celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Since Lent is a time of preparation and reflection, we’ve spent it learning new ways to stop in the midst of our busy lives and pay closer attention to God’s work in the world. To NOTICE God around us in every moment, so that we’re even more ready to welcome the miraculous Good News of Easter Morning – that Christ is risen! [He is risen, indeed!] In case you need a reminder of all that we covered in the last month and a half, the bulletin insert provides a brief summary of each practice we’ve discussed – take it home and use it as encouragement to keep up with whatever Spiritual Practice (or practices) you’ve found most meaningful.
When I used to serve an Episcopal Church, one of the liturgical differences that stood out to me the most was the fact that we didn't have a prayer of confession during Easter. Don't get me wrong; I totally appreciate the theology behind this, but as a cradle Presbyterian, it just feels wrong not to confess our total depravity every week, even on the day that we celebrate the divine act that ensured our salvation. So I always include it in every liturgy that I write.
Leader: Over the course of the past six weeks of Lent, we’ve been reading through Mark’s gospel from the beginning to the end, a practice that we’ll be continuing tonight. But we’ve also been exploring different spiritual practices that can help us to “be still and know that God is God.” Tonight, we will be experiencing the story of Jesus’ betrayal, trials, crucifixion, death, and burial alongside the ancient tradition of Breath Prayer.
*You are welcome to use or adapt any of my resources for free, but I ask that you provide proper citation AND comment on this post to let me know.*
Opening Words: Mark 13:1-2
Leader: Throughout Lent, we have been hearing the story of Jesus’ life through Mark’s gospel, and we’ve been learning about how we can encounter God through different Spiritual Practices. Tonight, we continue our journey: we will hear the story of Jesus’ final moments with his disciples as we encounter God through the Spiritual Practice of Meditative singing.
Thirteen years ago, I wrote a paper in seminary about Prayer Beads. It is FAR from my best work, and it's not the most compelling read (I hope my writing has improved since then) but it has a lot of interesting information about the history of prayer beads as used in spiritual practices. Since our Lenten theme this year is about being still and knowing that God is God, and since we created prayer beads in worship tonight, I thought I'd make this paper available as a resource for anyone who might be curious and want to develop their own practice.
(Also, from tonight's worship service, to prove that my writing has gotten better:)
I didn't watch the Superbowl on Sunday (except for a few minutes while we were out at dinner) and I have no regrets, so you may already be skeptical of any opinion I may have.
But I do like to think that I know Jesus and the Bible pretty well, and I've seen the "He Gets Us" ads before as well as many of the commentaries that have followed, so I figured I'd give my two cents.
When we refer to a “mountaintop experience”, we generally mean any moment of revelation or transcendence, regardless of where it actually takes place. It’s a solid metaphor; after all, a mountaintop is both literally and figuratively far above the monotony of everyday life, where the air is fresh and the view is clear – ideal conditions for an epiphany. It’s no wonder that so many important biblical moments take place on top of a mountain: Abraham’s almost-sacrifice of Isaac, Moses’ encounter with the burning bush and receiving of the Ten Commandments, and of course, Jesus’ transfiguration. It’s hard NOT to gain new perspective on top of a mountain. It’s the sort of place where the heavens and the earth meet, where we can see and understand the divine in ways that we wouldn’t otherwise be able to.
I’m not necessarily on what you’d call the “cutting edge” of popular culture, despite my apparent youth. I usually see new movies at least a year after they come out, if not more. So, I guess by those standards, the fact that I finally watched the new Barbie movie a mere six months after it was released in theaters makes me, if not cutting edge, at least temporarily edge-adjacent. The important part is that I managed to see it before the Oscar nominations came out, just in time to watch all the drama unfold.
Today’s scripture reading is a long one, but it’s difficult to separate the one healing account from the other. Mark has given us a story sandwich, with two accounts of miraculous healings woven together into a single unit. Most Bible translations title this passage something like, “Jesus Raises a Dead Girl and Heals a Sick Woman,” or “Jairus’ Daughter and the Woman Who Touched Jesus’ Cloak”. Since most people naturally assume that our focus should be on the objects of Jesus’ miracles, it makes this passage difficult to summarize in a few words. It also raises the ire of many a feminist biblical scholar: why doesn’t Mark bother to name these two women at the center of this story? As a feminist myself, as well as a woman in ministry, I can appreciate this frustration, born out of centuries of women being relegated to the background of both history and religion.
I had a big week: I got stuck in the snow in a parking lot this past Thursday. It’s only the second time that this has happened to me, as far as I can recall (if there were other times, I must have blocked them from my memory). The previous time was, unsurprisingly, during the snowpocalypse of 2017. At that time, I vowed to never again attempt a vehicular adventure until everything was fully plowed, but this week, I decided to give it a shot, thinking that my brand-new car with a higher suspension would keep me out of trouble. Sadly, I was very much mistaken. Not only did I get stuck in that parking lot, but I almost got stuck again on my own street, and I had to park in the driveway because my car couldn’t make it up the 5˚ slope into the garage. It’s a pretty helpless feeling, sitting in your vehicle, surrounded by ice and snow, wanting to get on with your day but unable to do much more than spin your wheels.
If you’re especially observant, you may have noticed that today’s scripture reading is a direct continuation from last week’s reading. The truth is that the Narrative lectionary actually included most of this passage in the lectionary for last week. It was a lot of scripture to tackle in one sermon, so I chose to focus on just the first half. But if I’m being ENTIRELY honest, I also didn’t want to deal with the second part – especially the metaphor of the new cloth/old clothes and new wine/old wineskin.
We’re in kind of a strange temporal place this week. We’ve officially turned the corner into a new calendar year, crossing a boundary of sorts, and yet the Narrative Lectionary seamlessly carries on with the story of our faith. There is another shift, though – Christmas marked a liturgical transition for us from First Testament readings to New Testament readings. Continuity alongside boundaries, changes and consistency, each persisting and coexisting in the same moment. It’s something to think about, especially as we continue our dive into Mark’s gospel, the version of Jesus’ life that we’ll be focusing on for the next several months.
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