August 25, 2019 - Download A Worship Bulletin Above
Jeremiah 1:4-10 (RSV) Now the word of the Lord came to me saying, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.” Then I said, “Ah, Lord God! Behold, I do not know how to speak, for I am only a youth.” But the Lord said to me, “Do not say, ‘I am only a youth’; for to all to whom I send you you shall go, and whatever I command you you shall speak. Be not afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord.” Then the Lord put forth his hand and touched my mouth; and the Lord said to me, “Behold, I have put my words in your mouth. See, I have set you this day over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to break down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.” This past week, I had the opportunity to get together with several sets of amazing friends: first, my friend from Florida was up visiting her family, and we got together and snacked for an afternoon; then a friend who spent the summer in Germany was back in town, and we had lunch the other day; and finally, two friends (and their dog!) visiting from Chattanooga, TN stayed with me last night. You know those friendships that transcend time and space? The ones that, though distance separates us, nothing else does? How you can pick up right where you left off? How you can have deep conversations about tacos, and how you can have deep conversations about our struggles, fears, and failures? I have a theory about these relationships: what makes them strong, what makes them withstand all sorts of situations, what makes them eternal, is that we are loved and we love so deeply that there is almost nothing we could do to sever those ties with one another. When we are generous, when we are gentle with one another, it’s in those moments that the ties tighten, and the heart grows fonder, and we know that the people we love, and the people who love us, will accept us as we are, even though they are the ones who know us best - from our finest hour to our worst characteristics. But we also know that the healthiest relationships require a sort of balancing act: while we are accepted just as we are, at the same time, the best of friends ask questions, support us when we need to make changes, and challenge us to be better, to dig deeper into our ultimate identity. Often, they’re able to see things about ourselves that we just don’t have the ability to see; they’re the ones who notice patterns or attributes that may be invisible to us. What really struck me this week was when I was confirming plans to have lunch with my friend who recently returned from Germany. We decided to eat at her house as a sort of homecoming celebration, and when I asked what I could bring, she said, “Just yourself!” This profound moment leads into our scripture reading this week from the first chapter of Jeremiah. As a young boy, Jeremiah received affirmation that God knew him - that God knew Jeremiah before he was even born. God knit Jeremiah together in the womb, and even more, God set Jeremiah apart before he even took his first breath. You see, God knows us, all of us, in this intimate way, for God is closer than our very breath, than our very skin. God is infused within us, and we, in turn, are infused with Divinity. We have all been set apart as a priesthood of all believers, meaning that we all have deep purpose in our lives. Just as God consecrated Jeremiah as a prophet to the nations, we too have been consecrated for important roles in the world around us. But Jeremiah exclaims, “But wait, God, I’m only a boy; I’m only a young kid. I don’t have the experience you’re looking for! I’m not eloquent enough; I can hardly speak well with adults, how do you expect me to speak to the nations? Why are you choosing me?” How many of us have said, “But I’m only … a nurse, not a doctor? But I’m just a teenager, not an adult? But I’m only a teacher, not a professor?” How many of us minimize ourselves and our gifts by stating that we’re only this, or just that? But God has more to say about Jeremiah’s life: God encourages Jeremiah to reject the notion of being only this and just that. God knows Jeremiah better than he knew himself, and God wouldn’t send Jeremiah without guiding him along the way. God insists that God will speak through Jeremiah, and through Jeremiah’s life, and in turn, through us, and through our lives. And God will always be with us, through it all. God bids us to come, just as we are, to the work before us, and we can rest assured that we will be given all that we need. The thing that interests me most about this piece of scripture is that it seems that there is a part that’s missing; God reassures Jeremiah that all will be well, that God will guide Jeremiah through it all, but then the narrative moves immediately into a commissioning moment, when God charges Jeremiah with his task, and blesses him, and bids him to go, do the good work, and believe in God, end of story. It’s as though Jeremiah accepted the call in one breath, then God commissions in the next, no questions asked. When it comes to the call stories I’ve heard, of my friends and colleagues going forth into ministry, there is often far more time between the call and the commissioning to do the work that is at hand. Many times, there is far more protesting to God’s call than this story in Jeremiah lets on; usually the protest turns into an argument turns into an icy silence turns into stubborn pleasantries turns into a letting down of the guard turns into a “come to Jesus moment” turns into the actual acceptance of the work and finally the commissioning of the ministry. These are all perfectly human responses, and the hesitation to accept a new role is only natural. We may feel like we’re not equipped to do the work, like we don’t have the necessary experience, like we don’t have the knowledge. But there’s a saying that has stuck with me for years: God doesn’t call the equipped. God equips the called. God doesn’t call the equipped. God equips the called. God calls us just as we are, just as we are. We are only human, but we are infused with Divinity. We are so much more than justs and onlys. When I began discerning God’s call to ministry in my life, I think it actually started far earlier than I like to admit: I was asked to be a youth representative on our youth ministry team while I was in high school; my initial reaction was, “why me? What do I have to offer?” But eventually, I accepted. And from there, though I was enjoying myself at church, I chased other passions: marine biology, and photography, and graphic design. When I went to Florida for college, I was active in campus ministries, and when my chaplain asked if I wanted to be a student ministry coordinator, my initial reaction was hesitant, and I waited quite a while to apply, until finally I put my name forward, though I was still asking, “why me? What do I have to offer?” But eventually, I accepted. I was still pursuing my degree in marine science … until I wasn’t. Halfway through my sophomore year, a friend saw some of the photographs I had been taking around the Florida landscape and asked why I wasn’t in an arts program; apparently my work was really good. And then my life shifted - I changed majors from science to art, and I began to see things in a new light. Rather than there being either/or answers, there were both/and perspectives. And as it came time to graduate, my chaplain asked if I had ever considered going to seminary. And my initial reaction was even more heels-dug-in, “Definitely not, no thank you.” Until it wasn’t, three years later. And when I was asked if I wanted to pastor a church, my initial reaction was, “Nope, that’s not me, that’s not my ministry, no thank you.” And for years, I pursued a track of ministry called deacon’s orders, which is a branch of the United Methodist Church where work in the world meets the work in the church; I was seeking non-profit work, mainly in food systems and food insecurity. But the call to local church ministry just kept coming. And I just kept denying. For me, I said, “I’m only a woman. I’m just a millennial, a young adult. What do I have to offer?” But God kept calling, and said to me, “Don’t say, ‘I am only a woman.’ Don’t say, ‘I’m just a millennial, a young adult.’ For I am calling you, and I have a place for you. I’ll give you the words to say, and I’ll show you the things you are to do. Don’t be afraid. I’m with you. I’m for you.” But I just kept denying it. Until I didn’t. And in January of 2019, I spoke with our District Superintendent, who said he might have a church for me. That church is you. And though I know that I have a lot to learn, my hope and prayer is that we will all learn that we are welcome as we are. That God has amazing plans for each of us, plans that utilize our gifts in the most inspiring of ways. That God seeks the transformation of the world, and it’s our job in partnership with God to see it through to fruition. So come, come as you are. And when God calls us and we ask, “what can I possibly offer? What could I possibly bring to the table?” May we hear God’s answer: “Just yourself!” - Pastor Christy Wright
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August 18, 2019 - Download A Worship Bulletin Above
Hebrews 11:29-12:2 By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as if it were dry land, but when the Egyptians attempted to do so they were drowned. By faith the walls of Jericho fell after they had been encircled for seven days. By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had received the spies in peace. And what more should I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets— who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched raging fire, escaped the edge of the sword, won strength out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Women received their dead by resurrection. Others were tortured, refusing to accept release, in order to obtain a better resurrection. Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned to death, they were sawn in two, they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented— of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground. Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect. Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. One of the most amazing things about moving is not only getting to set up your home, and decorating, and meeting new people, but it’s the opportunity to do things you’ve never done before. Whether you’ve moved to be closer to family, or if you’ve moved for work, new things are always around the corner if you’re in a different town, state, or country. And this week, I got to do something I’ve never done before: I made a very special, very memorable, very fun visit to... drum roll please .... the RMV, the Registry of Motor Vehicles! Yay! My car has been registered in Connecticut since I got my license when I was 16, and I’ve always just renewed my license either by mail or at a AAA office. And I’ve been a student for so long that I haven’t had a permanent address. So moving to West Brookfield meant that I needed to transfer my registration and get a Massachusetts driver’s license at the RMV this week. And boy was it an adventure! First, I went to get my license at the RMV in Southbridge, which is the closest office. All went well there, but when I went to transfer my Connecticut registration to Massachusetts, I found that I didn’t have the right paperwork. So, I drove back to the house, picked up what I needed, and instead of driving back to Southbridge, I headed to the Worcester RMV because I had a meeting later on in the area. Through another long line, and another round of hurry up and wait, finally, I had everything I needed in hand. Anyone who’s been to the RMV recently knows that it can be an experience. If signatures are not exactly right, or if forms are filled out wrong, it can be a daunting and tedious task. But in the end, everything always tends to work out, even if you have to compromise by going home to get the correct documentation, or if you have to pay a fee to change an item on a form. And the best part about getting everything settled for me personally? I finally feel like I’m able to put down roots; I’ve been on the move for so long that there’s something comforting about seeing my name next to my current address on my license. It’s like I’ve finally found my home. This morning, we talked about all of the amazing things that our ancestors did before us, through faith. We find a litany of accomplishments in Hebrews, from the parting of the Red Sea to shutting the mouths of lions. But we also find some difficult times - from persecuted, to jailed, to even killed for the faith they held so dear. The stories of these believers are difficult to swallow, and the reality is that sometimes, it’s really tough to be a Christian. Throughout the timeline of faith, we’ve been witness to those who have gone before us. They have laid the foundation of the Church, they’ve written letters, they’ve preached sermons, they’ve built congregations just like ours. And they’ve also held us when we were sick, fed us when we were hungry, and prayed for us when we needed it most. They are our parents, our teachers, our mentors, and our friends. These make up our great cloud of witnesses, the folks that are always cheering us on as we run this race, as we pioneer with Jesus into territories unknown, as we break down barriers and seek to bring about the Kingdom of Heaven. So when the going gets tough, we can have faith that we do not walk this road alone. We walk it in the company of angels, those who have gone before. And most of all, we walk it with Jesus, the perfecter and pioneer of our faith. And as we grow deeper in our relationship with Christ, we learn what it means to have pioneering faith, faith that goes into the wild. It may be a place we’ve never been before, and our faith takes us on a journey as we pioneer with Jesus along the way. This passage in Hebrews not only talks about the ways in which Jesus is the pioneer of our faith, but also the ways in which believers respond in their own human pioneering ways: wearing animal skin, wandering through deserts and mountains, living in caves and seeking shelter where they could find it. But through it all, God had something better planned, a deeper reality that would manifest through generations to come. So what does it mean to have pioneering faith? What does it look like? Jesus tells us, "Be not afraid," but, let's be honest: that's a tall order. Sometimes I think we're called to action in spite of our fear so we can have the opportunity to recognize the Divine in our midst. When we're out wandering the plains in territories unknown, unsure of where and how God is calling us, it's in the moments of silence, when the wind rustles the tall prairie grass, when we look up to the shower of stars above us...it's in these moments when we know we're not alone, when our pioneering faith brings us to new ground, when we put one foot in front of another and find ourselves at an oasis with nourishing water and sustenance. It seems like some of the most beautiful places in the world are also some of the most remote, and while the paths we tread may be deserted, we do not walk alone. Christ is with us, and we take with us all who have gone before. Through it all, our pioneering faith deepens our relationship with God. This reminds me of another piece of scripture in the first chapter of Philippians: “In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” When we step out of our comfort zone, when we take a leap of faith, we are continuing on our journey, even if we do not know where our feet may land. We take calculated risks, we blaze our own trails, and we pioneer our faith in partnership with Jesus, who holds the compass and guides the way. He who began a good in you will carry it on to completion. So while my adventure this week didn’t involve parting the Red Sea, or shutting the mouths of lions, it was still new territory for me, and it was exciting, if not a little nerve-racking, to pioneer a new personal path toward getting everything in order. And with it, I have the assurance that in the midst of my wandering, of moving from place to place, from job to job, from one rhythm of life to another, I have begun to put down roots, to build relationships, and to walk this path with the assurance of Christ before me and the company of witnesses surrounding me. And my prayer is this: May we, as a community, recognize the ways in which we're surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses. May we have the assurance of Jesus' presence as he perfects and pioneers our faith, leading us where we've never been before. And may this pioneering faith bring us to an oasis of life, with sustaining water that sings of resurrection in spite of it all. - Pastor Christy Wright When I first began attending Simple Church in early spring of 2015, creating bread quickly became a spiritual practice for me. The act of mixing a few simple ingredients together, kneading the dense mass, allowing it to rest, shaping the loaves, resting once more, and finally sending it to the oven became the rhythm of Sabbath. Though the process of bread making might seem complicated, it embodies the beautiful realization of creating order out of chaos. Flour will become airborne, and our hands will always be coated in a dried white crust, but the deeply rich brown tones of the finished loaf and the warm aroma speak to a deeper reality of the rhythm of work, rest, and play.
I’ve been reading Abraham Joshua Heschel’s The Sabbath recently, and it speaks volumes to this form of Sabbath practice. Though Heschel would argue that bread making requires more labor than rest, it’s in the rhythmic pattern of time where the Divine bids us to simply be present to the process. For Heschel, it’s not enough to rest in our spiritual lives. Rather, he states that “the soul cannot celebrate alone, so the body must be invited to partake in the rejoicing of the Sabbath.” In the midst making bread, I’m able to focus solely on the act, fully caring for the ingredients and the people who will partake in the loaf. In the time it takes for the dough to rise, we wait patiently, for we know that in the waiting we will find wholeness. When we are fully present to our work, Sabbath becomes that much more meaningful. Heschel says it like this: “Labor is a craft, but perfect rest is an art. It is the result of an accord of body, mind, and imagination.” When I spend my time making bread, whether for the church or at home, I am able to embody a sense of presence that is different from other practices. You can’t rush the bread making process; time is the only thing that will move us from separate isolated ingredients to one cohesive loaf. And in the act of breaking this bread together, we encounter time that stands still, a snapshot of the labor of love manifest through chaos, ordering, and time. This reminds me of a beautiful hymn called Christus Paradox, in which a key line proclaims Christ as that which remains present, standing outside of time and yet being so intimately close: You, the everlasting instant…Worthy is our earthly Jesus! Worthy is our cosmic Christ! As I reflect on the art and practice of bread making, I recall meeting with my friends before the sun rose to greet the dough that had been mixed overnight and allowed to rest in natural fermentation. We would weigh out each loaf, gently shaping the dough into individual rounds, allowing them to relax before pulling them into their final form. We sat on the kitchen floor while each pillow of dough slowly rose, our quiet conversation ebbing and flowing in the rhythm of our thoughts, silence falling from time to time, breathing in each moment. Bread making, particularly with other people, has become one of the most beautiful and most powerful forms of Sabbath that I’ve ever experienced, for it is in this form of rest that we rise. — Pastor Christy |
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