December 29th, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Matthew 2:1-12
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: 'And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.'" Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road. If you don’t know by now, road trips are one of my favorite ways to travel and explore the country and beyond. I have driven in every direction from as far West as Salt Lake City, Utah, to as far East as Portland, Maine. I’ve even traveled into Canada and Mexico from time to time. Traveling by car offers many possibilities for sightseeing and connecting with family and friends on a much more casual schedule. Of course, there will also be bumps in the road: construction, accidents, and detours alike. For me, I welcome these opportunities as part of the adventure, and sometimes I even construct my road trip route in a circuit pattern so I don’t take the same roads back - that way, I can encounter so much more of the country than if I had turned around and gone back the way I came. I took a road trip to the United Methodist General Conference this past February. I first stopped over in New York to spend some time with a clergy friend as we prepared for this special gathering of United Methodists. Then I drove down to Virginia, where I stayed with my uncle and two cousins, who asked many questions about the upcoming conference and what it might mean for the denomination. From there, I visited a couple of friends who had just moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee from Boston, and we ate and laughed and were present to the moment, even in the uncertainty of what was to come. On my way up to St. Louis from there, I stopped in Bowling Green, Kentucky for a couple of hours and explored the area, reflecting on my relationship with God and the church. Finally, I made it to my aunt and uncle’s house just outside of St. Louis in a small town in Illinois, and began to buckle down for what would be four heartwrenching days of legislative arguments and the eventual passage of the Traditional Plan, which further restricted the involvement of LGBTQ folks in the life of the church as well as increased punitive action against those who identify as LGBTQ and those who conduct wedding ceremonies for LGBTQ couples. By the end of the conference, I was exhausted. I had planned to leave the morning after the final worship service, but I ended up staying an extra day with my family, doing laundry, cooking, and cleaning - anything to help me process what had just occurred. The following day, I set off early in the morning, the mist still rising from the cornfields of that farm town in Illinois, with a music playlist in hand that I hoped would help me make sense of the week’s events. In the silence and in the music, I was able to piece together some of what had happened and begin to process my grief, moving from a place of deep sadness to a place of resolved resistance, knowing that all people should be welcome in the church, regardless of who they love and who loves them. As the miles passed by, I was first headed to Pittsburgh to reconnect with a friend with whom I’d attended church youth group so many years ago, and we debriefed about the conference and its results over a beer, trying to figure out what was next. I went to bed that night feeling less defeated and more ready to begin the hard work of partnering with God to put the church back together again. The following morning as I awoke, I knew there was a long road ahead, but a hopeful road nonetheless. In a day’s worth of driving, I’d be home. But I was coming home by a different road, forever changed, and yet, ready for what was to come. This morning’s scripture reading comes to us from the book of Matthew. In it, we hear the narrative of the wise men, who approached King Herod to learn about the newborn child who would be called the King of the Jews. They had witnessed a star rise along the horizon, leading them to wonder and to seek the divine baby to pay him homage. King Herod, who had not heard of the child, began to worry, thinking that there was competition for his position; his seat of power was threatened, and he had to think fast. He dismissed the wise men, telling them to find the boy, pay him homage, then return with directions on how to find him so that he, too, might pay his respect and worship the child. The wise men left, following the star until it stopped, marking the place where the Holy Family had made their home. They knelt down before the child and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh: the gold representing Jesus’ kingship on earth; the frankincense symbolizing Jesus’ priestly role; and the myrrh standing in as an embalming spice, a foretelling of Jesus’ death and resurrection. The wise men, in remembering their word to Herod about returning to tell him where the Divine baby lay, decided to go home instead by a different road, forever changed by their encounter with the baby Jesus. Here’s the thing: we’re never the same after encountering Jesus. We don’t come back the way we came - we’re fundamentally different. Maybe we go through a situation in our lives that causes us to dig deeper into the Bible, asking questions about our journey. Or maybe we begin a new path in seeking professional counseling to help us through grief or depression or anxiety. Perhaps we encounter Jesus in the sunrise, or in the laughter of our spouse, or in our Sunday afternoon drives. Wherever we find Jesus, we can rest assured that we are transformed for good, for the better. When we leave everything at the feet of Jesus, we head home lighter than before, changed forever. We come home as different people, freed from the burden of our own gold, frankincense, and myrrh - freed from the gold of our ego, of believing that we are the royal ones, the ones who deserve accolade and honor. We are freed from the frankincense, the brokenness of trying to heal our own wounds rather than allowing Christ to be the Healer. We are freed from the myrrh, the heavy weight that death carries, knowing that we have eternal life through Jesus’ resurrection. And that freedom is not just for us, not just for the chosen few. This is not a freedom that is individualistic or something we can possess. Throughout this passage and the entire book of Matthew, several specific places are named, from Bethlehem, Judea, Nazareth, Rome, and parts of Greece. But in this story, the wise men are simply from the East; there is no indication of any other specific location. Their origin is left vague, perhaps as a sign that the message and life of Jesus is not just for the nation of Israel, for the select few who may claim Jesus in their heritage, but rather Jesus is for all nations. And as the wise men traveled back to their homeland, they brought back good news of divinity among humanity, they themselves forever changed. Here we see combined times and traditions: all come to see this child, regardless of where people are from. These wise men are from the east, which is a broad way of stating a foreign land - they are strangers; they could be anyone. The star had guided them to the place where Jesus lay, the Savior of all creation, the Savior to all people. But I wonder, if the star had guided them there, what would guide them back? Some say the star in this passage was the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn aligning with the constellation Pisces. Others say it could have been the light from an exploding star. Still others suggest that it could have been the Haley Comet, which was passing through Earth’s orbit in 12 BCE. Either way, the text doesn’t say anything about the star guiding them back home. But perhaps the Divine light they encountered in Christ was bright enough to bring them home by a different road. As we enter 2020 as new people in the Light of Christ, having encountered the Divine baby who would walk on water and set the captives free, we also recognize the pain that 2020 will bring. As the United Methodist Church stands in this current moment, on December 29th, 2019, clergypersons who identify as LGBTQ or clergypersons who conduct same-sex weddings may be open to a complaint system in which a trial may or may not be conducted, and bishops may or may not decide to pursue charges against the individual which could include suspension or defrocking. However, beginning on January 1st, 2020, just three days from now, LGBTQ clergypersons or those who conduct same-sex weddings who have a complaint filed against them must go to trial and must be suspended for one year without pay for the first offense, and must be defrocked for the second offense. I want to assure you that here, in New England, our Board of Ordained Ministry and our Cabinet, made up of our District Superintendents and our Bishop, have vowed not to conduct trials or take punitive action. But all around the world, our global United Methodist siblings are in danger of losing their jobs, their homes, and their standing in the UMC in areas that are more conservative. I, along with tens of thousands of other United Methodist clergy across the world, are standing in opposition to the Traditional Plan and are seeking ways of involving our congregations in the resistance movement. Today after church, I invite you to join us during coffee hour in our monthly listening session, where we will hear from one another about our thoughts and concerns as we move forward. Next Sunday, January 5th, we will have an opportunity to advocate for full inclusion of all people in the life of our church in a special project called Resist Harm, which is organized by several United Methodist caucus groups. While we could decide to go down the same road we’ve always trod, in this historic moment in the life of the United Methodist Church, we are invited to try a new road, one that offers freedom and inclusion for all. Isn’t this the message of Jesus? The Divine Star that guided the wise men to the baby Jesus two thousand years ago is the same Light that can be seen by all people, and all people are welcome to come before the child, paying homage in our own gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. In our worship, we are transformed, and we are never the same, heading home by a different road. And as we navigate our future, may we look up, gaining new perspective as we follow the Divine Light into the unknown. May we seek out the Divine presence of Christ, falling to our knees in adoration and worship. May everything that holds us back be dropped at Jesus’ feet, and may we return home by a different road, transformed in the Light of Christ. Amen. - Pastor Christy Wright
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December 22nd, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Matthew 1:18-25
Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: "Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel," which means, "God is with us." When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son and he named him Jesus. In one of my previous jobs, I was a bartender at a local winery, and the job had many responsibilities. I would set up the bar for the day, uncorking dozens of bottles of wine, attaching pourers to the bottles to ensure sample sizes were only one ounce, washing and polishing glassware, and reviewing menus to make sure everything was up-to-date. We also had a brewery onsite, which made several different types of beer, and guests were able to sample beer and purchase bottles and larger glass containers of beer called growlers that were poured straight from the keg. One day I was cleaning the beer fill, which fills the larger glass containers of beer, and I was using a special alcohol cleaner on the entire machine. A coworker walked by and said, “Oh, wait, you’re supposed to use Chlorox wipes to clean the outside of the machine, and alcohol spray only on the inside, not on the entire thing.” “Oh!” I responded, “Sorry! I guess I’ve been doing it wrong the entire time I’ve worked here!” He said, “It’s not your fault, someone probably just trained you wrong, but now you know.” There was something about that phrase that gave me pause: “It’s not your fault.” I caught my breath, thanked him, and he said, “No worries, it’s not your fault.” Again, I felt my heart squeeze tighter. For whatever reason, the phrase, “It’s not your fault,” communicated an overwhelming type of love that I couldn’t explain in the moment. It wasn’t about how I was cleaning the beer machine; it was about something deeper, something that continues to give me pause everytime I hear the words, “It’s not your fault.” In this season of Christmas, it’s easy to “forget just what a scandal the incarnation [of Jesus] and the virgin birth really were, that behind the pretty, [snowladen] nativity scene lies both a wonder and [the stigma of shame].” This morning’s scripture reading brings us through the narrative of the Nativity story, of how we learn of Mary’s pregnancy, and how Joseph decides to respond. Joseph, being a righteous man, a man who was known throughout their town, perhaps someone of political and religious influence, decided to take pity on Mary and dismiss her quietly, sending her away believing that she had been unfaithful in their engagement. He could have decided to make a scene, sending her out publicly and shaming her for her supposed infidelity; this sort of public display of wrongdoing was common during those days, but Joseph showed mercy and was resolute in his path forward to keep things quiet and help Mary to maintain at least a small portion of her standing in society. We then hear of a dream Joseph has in which an angel of the Lord reassures Joseph that Mary has not, as he had believed, been unfaithful, but rather, there had been a miraculous conception by the Holy Spirit, and that Joseph should not leave Mary at all, but rather, stay as a family to raise their child together, a child he shall name, “Jesus.” And Joseph did as he was inspired through his dream, defying societal norms to take Mary as his wife and stay with her, despite what others might say. And when the child was born, Joseph did indeed name the child, “Jesus,” the child who would bring about the salvation of all of creation. Joseph’s role in this story is not simply to be faithful to God in staying with Mary, but his role was also to communicate to Mary that it wasn’t her fault that she was pregnant, that the pressure of society on both Mary and Joseph was not Mary’s fault, that the public disgrace that Joseph now faced was not Mary’s fault. Mary was a young girl, maybe only fourteen or fifteen years old, pregnant by miracle, but we can safely assume that she was terrified and felt misunderstood. People all throughout town either thought that she was unfaithful to Joseph or that her and Joseph had been together before they were married, which would have brought shame to them both. But because Joseph stood with Mary, rather than leaving her, he communicated an overwhelming sense of love to Mary by saying, “It’s not your fault.” Joseph took his faithfulness even further by naming Jesus as his own son. Joseph knew that Jesus was not his child, but in the act of naming him, Joseph adopted Jesus into his own family, into the lineage of the house of David, as his own flesh and blood, even then communicating to Jesus that it was not his fault that he was born into such a complicated family situation. Children who are borne out of difficult circumstances like this one often feel guilty or lost without a family to call their own. They may even feel at fault for the brokenness of their family, but Joseph counters that reality by naming Jesus as his own and further strengthening their family ties. Joseph communicated an overwhelming sense of love to Jesus by saying, “It’s not your fault.” Now in two rich senses, Joseph has offered forgiveness to both Mary and Jesus, but it is not because either of them have wronged him. Rather, Joseph offers overwhelming love, reassuring both Mary and Jesus that they are not at fault, and that they can forgive themselves, for indeed, they have done nothing wrong in these circumstances. Jesus himself is completely faultless, being fully human and fully divine, living without wrongdoing. But perhaps even he needed reassurance of overwhelming love to know that it wasn’t his fault. This baby boy, fully human in his being, fully divine in his conception and existence, comes to forgive us for our wrongdoings, but perhaps even more, he comes to show us how to forgive ourselves, how to live life to its fullest. One scholar defines sin not as the bad things we do, but rather as “the choice to minister to ourselves rather than to allow the Savior to minister to us.” When we feel shame for our actions, or for our inactions, or for the ways in which society has cast blame upon us, we are turning inward, tending to our own wounds. Instead, we are called to turn toward Jesus, who offers ultimate forgiveness and overwhelming love, saying, “It’s not your fault.” The reason these four words have such impact on us is because, so often, we have not learned how to forgive ourselves. Deep down, we may believe that certain things have happened in our lives because we did something wrong, or that we deserve what we get. There is this fundamental understanding that we are broken, and that all brokenness stems from our humanity; but I would argue that this is not Jesus’ message at all. Jesus came not as a God among men throwing lightning bolts and smiting people left and right, but as a man among humanity, humble yet divine, whose healing touch would restore sight, who ate and drank with outcasts, who offered living water. Jesus walked with us on earth, showing us how to be human, and showing us that humanity inofitself is beautiful and sacred and worthy. We are not broken. We don’t deserve to suffer because of our “fallen nature” - the everlasting grace has already come; we can live into new life because Christ lived for us and showed us the way, so that the living Christ may be made visible through us, the church. Fundamentally, we are the salt of the earth, full of light and life, full of potential in blessings for ourselves and for others. Jesus came to share with us life, and life abundant. This is new life. This is genesis at the intersection of forgiveness. Yesterday was the Winter Solstice: it was the shortest day of the year. Yesterday held the least amount of light that we’ve seen all year long. My prayer is this: Don’t allow yourself to continue to live in darkness, believing that you are to blame for some of the most difficult situations in life. From here on out, the light gets brighter each day. Live into that, stand up, and walk away from any guilt or shame you may feel. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. Whatever it is that you’re facing today, whether grief or sickness or depression, may you recognize the Jesus of life and love, holding out his hand in overwhelming love saying, “It’s not your fault.” May you witness the miracle and the scandal of this Christmas season, holding your head high, knowing that you are loved, and that guilt and shame belong to the darkness. May you step into the Light, the Light that is evergrowing and everlasting, and see that the real miracle of Christmas is the freedom we can experience through the overwhelming Divine Love of Jesus Christ. - Pastor Christy Wright
December 15th, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Luke 1:39-55
In those days, Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered teh house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary's greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the moth of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord." And Mary said, "My soul magnifies the Lord, And my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever." When I was in school in Boston, one of my favorite ways to unwind from long days of classes was to explore all that the city had to offer: from restaurants to concerts, museums and sporting events, I loved being immersed in the culture and art of Boston. The city is a bustling place with tons of energy and endless ways to spend time. In the midst of all of this movement, one of my most cherished spaces to slow down and reflect was at the Museum of Fine Arts, close to Northeastern University and about a ten minute drive from Boston University. As a student, I had free access to the museum, and I visited at least once a week, wandering through the corridors of paintings and sculptures. I often had favorite galleries in which to simply be present to the art around me, and I loved visiting the museum. From time to time, the city of Boston didn’t exactly love me visiting the museum - there were only a few parking tickets stuck to my windshield during my time in Boston - but I loved the place nonetheless. One day I was visiting the museum, just wandering through the galleries, and I was stopped by someone who asked where the restrooms were located. “Oh, they’re just outside of the New American Cafe; just go down the side staircase and they’re on the righthand side,” I answered. They thanked me, and I continued on my way down the corridor, heading toward the Ancient World Art wing. Another woman stopped me, asking if I knew where the painting of the two girls next to the blue vases was located; she apologized, saying that she couldn’t remember the name of the artist. “Oh, that’s okay! Is it the one that has the blue vases from the painting standing upright next to the painting itself? I think it’s a Sargent painting - one of my favorites, and it’s in the Art of the Americas wing, just head back from where you came and it’s the gallery on the right.” She thanked me and moved on toward her destination. At this point, I was a little bit confused because normally, people in Boston aren’t that open to conversation, but I figured they just might not be from around here. Nonetheless, it was nice to help folks who just needed some assistance getting around. It’s a big museum, after all. But when someone else stopped me not even five minutes later, I knew something was up. He asked if I liked it here at the museum, and I said, “Of course! There’s just so much to see. And it’s so quiet; it’s nice to get away from the bustle of the city sometimes.” He then asked how long I had been working here. I looked down and realized that I was wearing all black - black slacks, blouse, and black boots. During my last year in seminary, I was working at a winery where our work uniform consisted of all black, and I would be headed to work that afternoon. Little did I know, I had been bearing the image of someone working at the museum, and I had carried with me the knowledge of all that the museum had to offer. I laughed and explained that I didn’t work here; I had just made the mistake of wearing all black to a museum, but that it might be fun to work in this field one day. This morning’s reading comes to us from the Gospel of Luke, where we hear the narrative of Mary and Elizabeth recognizing the Divine within themselves and one another. Prior to our reading, we hear that Mary, a young girl, has become pregnant through the blessing of the Holy Spirit, and she decides to travel to see her relative Elizabeth, a much older mentor who is also pregnant, to share the news. But Mary didn’t have to say a word for Elizabeth to know what was happening, for her son, who would later become John the Baptist, leapt within her womb in joy, a divine recognition of the Christ child. Elizabeth blesses Mary through a beautiful prayer of encouragement and wisdom, and Mary responds with what is often referred to as the Magnificat, or Mary’s Song. Mary offers praise to God for all God has done, and she sings that her soul magnifies God - a beaming source of love and light, made ever more apparent as the Christ child’s appearance draws closer. “This very human-sized story prepares us for the grand, history-changing birth that is yet to come,” states one commentary. The One who is to come comes with mercy and grace, exalting the lowly and encouraging the wealthy to share their resources for the sake of those without. This is the Christ for whom we’ve been waiting. Ultimately, our passage this morning depicts two women mutually encouraging one another in the midst of exciting, unexpected, and perhaps scary blessings. The sheer fact of each of these pregnancies - Mary, who was a young virgin, and Elizabeth, who was advanced in age - is a miracle inofitself. But both benefited from the other’s ministry, expanding the miracle toward connection and community. As one commentary puts it, “God removes [the women’s] isolation and helps them understand themselves more fully as part of something larger than their individual destinies. Together, they are known more fully and begin to see more clearly than they do as individuals.” You see, these two women are not only linked by their shared pregnancies; they are also linked by the ways in which they are bearing the image of the divine to the world: Elizabeth through John the Baptist, who will prepare the way for Jesus, and Mary through bearing the Christ child himself. Mary, in a sense, is a Godbearer - bearing the human Jesus who is the divine Christ. She carries within herself the potential for the blind to see, the lame to walk, the poor provided with good things, the dead to rise. She “contains the uncontainable,” and she bears God to the world through her unique motherhood and her faithfulness to God in raising her son in his earthly needs and encouraging him in his divine nature. And she does so in joy, reveling in God’s providence in gifting her and all the earth with salvation through this tiny baby boy. As we reflect on Mary, we also recognize that Jesus himself is the ultimate Godbearer, Emmanuel, God with us. Jesus bears the image of the invisible God, bringing forth all love and grace from God the Creator. Jesus walked this earth as fully human and fully divine - an overlay of the earthly and the heavenly - and his ministry brought joy to all whom he encountered. He gave sight to the blind, who joyfully experienced the beauty of the earth once more. He lifted people from their afflictions, who joyfully responded in dance and a new life. He multiplied the blessings of food for all those who were hungry, and they joyfully went on their way, bellies full and empowered to bless others and keep the miracles going. He raised the dead, who were joyfully reunited with their loved ones and went on to live lives of gratitude and generosity. Through it all, Jesus’ ministry was about restoring lost joy, bearing the image of the Divine to the downtrodden and lonesome. And what about us? What image are we bearing to the world? Aren’t we, too, called to be Godbearers to the world around us? “Godbearing is about the manner in which we participate in the giving and receiving of life in its fullest,” says scholar Elaine A. Robinson, who recognizes that our mission begins and ends with Christ. We are the Body of Christ, called to live with open hands, hands ready to give joyously - whether through our time, gifts, or talents - and open hands ready to humbly receive the grace we have through Christ and the ministry of others. Ultimately, our Christian story isn’t that Christ died for us; rather, it’s that Christ lived for us - lived life abundantly so that we too, might live as Godbearers in the example of Jesus’ ministry on earth. As we close this morning, I invite us to reflect on what it would mean for us to bear God to the world this week. Maybe it’s wearing all black to a museum that you love and helping people along the way. Or maybe it means dropping a card in the mail for someone who could use a little extra joy this time of year. Or maybe it means making a phone call to someone with whom the relationship has gone sour and seeking reconciliation. Godbearing can be something as simple as a smile to the person bagging your groceries or allowing someone to go ahead of you in line at the store. It is a life of generosity and joy, of grace and love, poured out for many through the ministry of Elizabeth and John the Baptist, of Mary and Jesus, and of God our Creator. May we experience the joy of Mary’s song this week. May our souls magnify God in our actions and through our prayers. And may we fully embrace our call to be Godbearers through Christ, the original Godbearer. Amen. - Pastor Christy Wright
December 8th, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Psalm 72:1-8, 18-19
Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to a king's son. May he judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice. May the mountains yield prosperity for the people and the hills, in righteousness. May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor. May he live while the sun endures, and as long as the moon, throughout all generations. May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass, like showers that water the earth. In his days may righteousness flourish and peace abound, until the moon is no more. Blessed be the LORD, the God of Israel, who alone does wondrous things. Blessed be his glorious name forever; may his glory fill the whole earth. Amen and Amen. This week I had the opportunity to get together with several friends whom I hadn’t seen for quite some time. We had been talking about this trip for years - a trip to Orlando to visit the Harry Potter theme park. We are all such huge fans of the series, and as we had all grown up with the books, we had also grown up with the characters. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in their teen years while we, too, were moving through middle and high school. When the movies were being released, it was so exciting to see the words leap off the page and manifest on the big screen. We were finally able to fully visualize the scenes, and we could make better sense of the storyline and how the characters interacted with each other. The dried ink on the page suddenly became alive and dynamic. And the same thing happened when we walked through Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade this week in Orlando, exploring the wizarding world, and eating at the Leaky Cauldron, a cozy pub hidden behind a brick facade. There’s just something about being there, in the flesh, to experience it for ourselves. Maybe you’ve experienced something like this. For me, many of my friends are friends at a distance - we’ve all gone our separate ways and live in very different parts of the country and world. And so often, we share a longing to be with each other. Yes, we send each other cards and notes, and we talk on the phone quite frequently, but it’s just not the same as getting to see each other in person, decorating Christmas cookies together, laughing until we cry, sharing meals, and catching up. It is an incarnate blessing to be present with one another, embodying the love we share, an otherwise invisible expression of joy made tangible. This morning’s scripture reading comes to us from the Psalms, a collection of poems and prayers that express great emotion in times of turmoil and times of blessing. Our particular passage is a prayer from the Israelites hoping for a righteous king who would arise from the ranks as a just and compassionate king, one who cares for the poor and defends the earth, one who is eternally powerful, who brings about a flourishing of life and blessing. Asking for justice isn’t asking for mere fairness or that the wicked would get their lot; rather, in the Hebrew, justice is translated from mishpat, which simply means that the poorest in society will be taken care of. You see, the Israelites had had quite the run around with their previous kings, kings whom they had prayed for, even though God made it clear that an earthly king wouldn’t be suitable. The Israelites cried and prayed for a human king to help guide them - and God gave them what they asked for - even though the results of the reigns of Saul, David, and Solomon left the kingdom in shambles. They had made messes left and right - the gap between the rich and the poor was ever growing - and at this point, the Israelites knew that they needed someone different. Out of their desperation, Psalm 72 was their prayer, their longing for an incarnate blessing, for an eternal king who would right the wrongs of previous generations of kings. They prayed for the Prince of Peace, for the Great Counselor, the Perfector of our Faith. This is a longing to be brought into a new kingdom, one in which all people are valued and loved and not treated simply as subjects in the hierarchy system. Instead, as one commentary puts it, “the fruit of the king’s labors will be the days when righteousness flourishes and peace abounds. All that the sovereign is and does shall be life-giving to the people, a source of refreshment and renewal for the whole of creation.” When I think about my friends and family, and the people I surround myself with, they are a life-giving presence in this world. And Christ is the source of that life, not an overbearing king who rules by force, but rather one whose warm embrace envelopes all regardless of who they are or where they’ve been. The “subjects” in Christ’s kingdom are royalty themselves, being made new and precious through the grace of God. The Israelites’ plea for a king who would truly meet their needs results in God’s Divine incarnation in Christ; as the story goes, Mary is approached by angels and conceives Jesus by the Holy Spirit. But this sacred story takes place much later historically than our passage this morning. Psalm 72 can be dated to about 1000 BCE, which means the Israelites had to wait generations upon generations for their king to come, for Jesus to be born. And even up to Jesus’ birth, we see that King Herod is threatened by Jesus’ presence on earth and seeks to eliminate his adversary by ordering the death of all infant boys under the age of two. And even today, we recognize that some world leaders are less compassionate than for which we’d hope. But we are given the hope of a time to come, a longing for real justice and for wrongs to be righted. It is a longing for an enfleshed presence of embodied love made real. What does it mean to wait? What does it mean to be told, “not yet, but soon”? During this Advent season, we are awaiting the king to come, and the kingdom come, God’s will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. This passage is “a petition that God will give Jerusalem a king beyond all their imaginings, who will bring a reign of justice and prosperity for all. This all-encompassing plea asks for a ruler empowered by God who will serve the common good. In Advent, we are also waiting - waiting not only for personal rebirth but also for the consummation of our world in the coming of the Messiah’s reign of peace and justice.” So yes, we are waiting, but it isn’t passive. Rather, we are actively waiting and watching, finding ways we can serve God and others through the gifts we’ve been given. An interesting component of this passage is that “Psalm 72 is presented in the Bible as a psalm of Solomon,” and a prayer of David, son of Jesse, both of whom are kings who had royally messed things up, so this was a “prayer by the kings for the kings,” meaning that “they would be expected to become a part of the answer to their own prayers.” What is our role in praying for ourselves, our community, and nation, and making those prayers incarnate, real, manifest, and embodied, partnering with God to see God’s will be done? What is our responsibility, and what is God already doing in our midst? As we sing our final hymn this morning, it is a longing and a prayer for Emmanuel, which is translated as God with us. It is a prayer for a king who will set free the captives, whose wisdom will surpass all earthly understanding, who will be a light in the darkness, who is the answer to our prayer. I invite you into a time of reflection as we sing our last hymn, and may we continue to seek the light despite the darkness. May we pray for ourselves and all of creation as move toward the justice we know is possible, partnering with God in God’s life-giving ways. And may we experience that life-giving Divine Love through Christ, love personified in human form, the incarnate blessing. - Pastor Christy Wright
December 1st, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Isaiah 2:1-5
The word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem. In days to come the mountains of the LORD's house shall be established as the highest of mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways, and that we may walk in his paths." For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore. O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the LORD. Several years ago, I became enamored with the United Nations. From all of the languages being spoken to the gathering of a diverse group of people from around the world, there was something about the UN that captivated me. The first time I visited the UN was with my home church back in Connecticut. One of our ministry leaders set up a seminar with the UN Church Center, which overlooks the flag-laden park of the United Nations. The UN Church Center is a beautiful building several stories high that houses multiple non-profits and non-governmental agencies, working to eliminate global poverty, slow and reverse climate change, advocate for gender equality, and promote peace across the world. The bottom storey of the UN Church Center is dedicated to an interfaith chapel with gorgeous stained glass windows and simple elements that can be moved or changed depending on who is using the space. It is truly a gathering of all nations, cultures, creeds, races, religions, ethnicities, and languages. It is an inclusive vision of heaven, of all people being welcomed into the efforts of making the world a better place. The phrase, “gathering of the nations” also refers to the gathering of the Native American tribal nations in which all people from the north, south, east, and west gather to remember their ancestors before them and dream into the future. This morning’s scripture reading comes to us from Isaiah, who arose as a prophet during political turmoil within his nation. Despite the ever-growing divide between the rich and the poor, the extreme polarization that pitted friends against each other, and the conflict that seemed like it would never end, Isaiah stands in direct contrast to the reality at hand. He says that in the days to come, God’s kingdom will be established and all people will be drawn to it; we will all want to bask in its glory and revel in its beauty. Isaiah speaks a word from God, a word of peace - of destroying swords and spears, and refashioning them into gardening tools. The weapons of violence that wound relationships will be transformed into a means of nurturing community, and we will learn war no more. This particular passage in Isaiah is often referred to as the “floating oracle of peace” because it appears more than once in the Scriptures. It is an everlasting hope that bears repeating, over and over again - hope is on the horizon. It reassures readers that this peace is possible, even when the powers at play may seem to overwhelm us. Indeed, this passage is carved into a stone wall at the United Nations - in the photograph on your bulletin and on the screen. These words are a vision of hope that one day we will lay aside our weapons and find peace waiting for us there, in that moment of surrender. You see, even in Isaiah's time, the nations were looking to God for peace in the midst of great conflict. Isaiah's words of hope not only provide an opportunity to set hearts at ease, but also have the power to galvanize relationships that were once at odds with one another. The phrase in the passage, “in the latter days,” or “in the last days,” refers not to a time that is to come, but rather in its original Hebrew form, refers to time within the current era. So what does this mean? It means that transformation is possible here and now. We're not simply called to be peacekeepers, but rather, peacemakers, partnering with God to offer a radical welcome to all people, because all people are seeking something bigger than themselves. This might mean risking our standing in society or our reputation for the sake of the full inclusion of others into the Body of Christ. It means that we will have to work toward becoming a peacemaker - actively engaging in relationships that stretch our own character past mere tolerance of others and into deeper understanding and love for others. Though the gathering of the nations comes about through God's call, we also have work to do. You see, this passage is that it isn’t addressed to any particular group of people - it’s not for the Israelites or the people of Judah. Rather, it is a general call to recognize the ways in which we’ve been warring with one another and how God is calling us toward peace - toward transforming our weapons of violence and conflict into tools for building community and wellness. It is an expansive call for all people, once again an inclusive message that beckons all to come to the table, to be a part of a new reality, to walk in the Light of God rather than being caught up in darkness. For many of us, this weekend was full of family celebrations, tables groaning under plates of turkey and mashed potatoes, and even Black Friday sales. As we turn our eyes toward Christmas, we make travel plans, buy gifts and begin wrapping (and potentially hide them in our closets away from prying eyes), mail out holiday cards, and bake way too many cookies - 'tis the season! And though it can be easy to forget the real meaning of Christmas, these warm and fuzzy practices are important in their own ways because it points to something innately human about the season. One commentary puts it this way: “The reason the cultural messages are so powerful is that our human yearning is so real, and so profound.” (Feasting on the Word) What is it that we're longing for? What is about this season that can cause intense feelings of nostalgia and warmth for some, while others find this time of year unbearable in its own ways, and perhaps incredibly lonely and empty? We all know that the holidays can be a difficult time for family gatherings; often times, holidays aren’t the rosy enveloping visions we hope to see. We are a gathering of imperfect families, families that may be dysfunctional for a variety of reasons. But we attempt to get together anyway, we risk the arguments around the table because we have this longing to be reconciled with one another. I would argue that it is a longing to belong - a longing to have a place at the table, to be warm and fed, to have family to come home to, to be valued and loved. And yet, as one scholar puts it, “it is so much easier to pin our hopes on Christmas gifts and holiday feasts than it is to open ourselves to the possibility of believing in the seemingly impossible.” (Feasting on the Word) The ultimate hope of this season is that we shall overcome all darkness; that as we light a new candle each week, our lives will become brighter as we witness change on the horizon. Whether that change is reconciliation within our families, or newfound peace within our nation and world, our hope stands strong because we place it in Christ, the manifestation of Love incarnate. Through Christ, we recognize that conflict can be transformed into community, and we can encounter Holy Ground as we look toward God for our hope. And as we gather together around the table of Jesus, the ultimate pioneer of the table that is wide and long enough to support all people, may we find the peace for which we’re looking. May we make room in our hearts and lives for the gathering of the nations, of all people who seek reconciliation. And may we walk within the light of God, forever changed and always loved. Amen. - Pastor Christy Wright
November 24th, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Micah 6:6-8
With what shall I come before the LORD, and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my first-born for my transgression, the fruit of the body for the sin of my soul? He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? Pastor Christy was out ill this week, and her sermon was read by our Lay Leader, Heidi Jeldres. If you’ve visited Pastor Christy’s parsonage, you’ll notice that she loves house plants. She’s got several basking in the windows, spread on the dining room table, spilling out from bookcases, and even hanging air plants in glass globes. This used not to be the case: whether it was something like a spider plant or a different, more hearty plant like a succulent or orchid, they would inevitably fail under her care. Whether she watered them or let them dry out, moved them into the light or back into the center of the house, they’d never do well, and a few weeks after the plants’ adoption, they’d be dumped into the backyard to compost. But upon moving into the parsonage, she recognized that the light was perfect for plants - there is so much light in that house, and it feels so airy and open. And so she tried again, this time with much better results. The plants didn’t just survive - they thrived. And she’s since been gifted with greenery that she hopes will last through the long cold months of winter into the newness of spring. Last week, we were asked to reflect upon our hopes and vision for George Whitefield United Methodist Church, and many of you stated that you’d love to see a growth in membership, that we would welcome all people into our ministry, that we’d be able to survive as a church. But what would it mean to focus on thriving rather than just surviving? What would happen if we saw the ministry of our church through the lens of abundance instead of scarcity? Over the past several weeks, we’ve been naming what we find to be most precious about our church - what we love the most, the people who have made a difference in our spiritual lives, and our hopes for the future. And there is power in the naming of these blessings; when we name what we’re thankful for, those things suddenly become more visible to us, and we’re able to respond in gratitude to all that we’ve been given. This morning’s scripture reading talks about responding to blessings through different offerings to God - whether it’s burnt offerings, livestock, oil, or even our firstborn in dedication - but ends with a surprising conclusion: we are called to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God. This is the offering we can bring to the altar of God. And it matters much more how we bring forth our offerings as opposed to what or how much we bring. God would much rather us bring our whole selves to the ministry set before us. When we approach the ministry of George Whitefield from a place of abundance, we’re able to name the blessings set before us - of our loving community, our beautiful building, the town of West Brookfield and beyond. We’re able to see the ways in which the seeds we’ve cultivated have come to fruition, for our twenty years of sending gifts through Operation Christmas Child, of our nearly 90 pounds of food and goods we’ve donated to the Sharing Cupboard in just a few short months, for the ways in which our prayer squares send blessings upon blessings without geographic limits. We are doing amazing ministry at George Whitefield, and we have the opportunity to thrive here and now and well into the future. As we close out our stewardship season, we are called to reflect upon our blessings and respond in gratitude, and one of the most amazing things about this time is that we recognize that it’s a gift to give. Whether we’re able to give financially, or through our time, talents, or prayers, your gift is not only a blessing to us but to you as well. By giving, our church is forever changed, and so are we on a personal level. The act of giving is a spiritual discipline that our founder, John Wesley, found to be particularly powerful. For Wesley, giving is an act full of grace that reminds us that we are “rooted in … an emptying of oneself for others, an expression of love of God and neighbor.” (Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations, 112) In our generosity, not only will we be able to name the blessings in which we’re already partaking, but we’ll also be able to witness the ways we can thrive rather than just survive. Earlier this morning, we sang that Jesus’ reign “shall know no end, and round his pierced feet fair flowers of paradise extend their fragrance ever sweet.” (Crown Him With Many Crowns) We are able to be a part of that vision, and we are invited to respond. During our final hymn this morning, we invite you to come forward as you are led to drop your pledge card into the offering plate on the altar. Know that your gift, whether financial, or through your time, talent, and prayer, is a precious gift from God, and we are so excited to see the ways in which God will use us all in the ministry of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. And now, may we be witness to the abundance that surrounds us each day, knowing that every good gift comes from God. May we respond to the call to extravagant generosity through the stewardship of our gifts, and may we partner in creating an environment that nurtures the thriving of our faith for the sake of the entire world. Through Christ our Lord, who taught us to bring our whole selves to the altar: to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God. Amen. - Pastor Christy Wright
November 17th, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Isaiah 65:17-19, 23-25
For behold, I create new heavens and a new earth; and the former things shall not be remembered or come into mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in that which I create; for behold, I create Jerusalem a rejoicing, and her people a joy. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and be glad in my people; no more shall be heard in it the sound of weeping and the cry of distress. They shall not labor in vain or bear children for calamity; for they shall be the offspring of the blessed of the LORD, and their children with them. Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking I will hear. The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox; and dust shall be the serpent's food. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain. When I first started seminary, I didn’t realize just how much of a risk I was taking - I would be moving into a brand new town, taking on even more student loans, and stepping into the unknown. As an introvert, the whole thing was very overwhelming as I attended classes with people I had never met. These were folks from all over the country and world who had incredibly different and diverse backgrounds from myself. They were people who were younger - one of my friends was only 19 when she started graduate school with us - and others were on second and third professional careers, having received their call to ministry later in life. Some of my classmates were parents, some were grandparents, some were divorced, and others were newly married. Others had spoken English, and only English, for their entire lives, while others were multilingual, speaking in their native tongue among a handful of other languages. Among my classmates, there were some that emerged to be my closest and best friends. You see, seminary is not an easy feat. It’s unlike any other graduate school experience; you’re confronted with your deepest doubts, fears, and insecurities at every step of the way because seminary asks you to explore the Bible and the Church in ways we’ve never done before. And often times, my classmates and I would debrief after a particularly difficult class by grabbing a beer at the pub right across the street, going dancing, cooking for one another. The strangers that I met in those classrooms would become my biggest advocates, and they’d know that I’d have their back no matter what. Once we graduated seminary, many of us went our separate ways and risked everything to start a new life, called to ministry in different parts of the country and world: a good friend enlisted as a Navy Chaplain and is currently serving in Japan. Another is in California, having finished up her stint as a hospital chaplain and who is now exploring food ministry with her local church. One is in Arkansas working with college students in spiritual guidance as they discern their vocational callings in ministry. Another is in Tennessee writing a book on working through conflict toward healthy relationships. And still another is in New York pastoring two churches of his own. For three or four short years, all of us came together at school and made soul connections with one another, only to be called out in various places in the world to serve God in our own ways. And yet, when we see each other, when we’re all in the same place, this is a vision of heaven - old friends being reunited, making our favorite meals, catching up on each other’s lives. Strangers in a new town becoming friends in the classroom becoming soul siblings at a distance, longing of being reunited. This is a vision of heaven. This morning’s scripture reading comes to us from Isaiah during a time of dreaming, of envisioning a new heaven and a new earth. This gorgeous description of peace among all of creation, of no more weeping, of being blessed with children does not come without risk. Toward the end of the passage, we hear of the wolf and the lamb eating together, at the same time - and there is peace, even though this could be a potentially volatile situation. We have a vision of heaven set before us in the scripture, and some of us may have experienced glimpses of heaven here on earth. Maybe it’s those times when we’re with our spouse watching the sunrise. Maybe it’s those times when our family gets together for Thanksgiving, and all we can do is just sit back in gratitude and witness all that God has given us. Maybe it’s the birth of our child. We see glimpses of heaven all around us. But here’s the reality: in each of those cases, we’ve had to risk something in order to see heaven on earth. We’ve had to risk a broken heart in our romantic relationships, we’ve had to risk the possibility of family disfunction, we’ve had to risk our own wellbeing for the good of someone else. Sometimes we have to break all the rules of conventional wisdom, sometimes we have to risk it all to witness heaven pouring forth. Sometimes the wolves dine with the lambs, and it’s a risk. But it’s a beautiful vision. We’re told that Jesus risked it all, even to the point of death because he, too, had a vision of heaven. He sought to overturn all injustice, poverty, sickness, and pain - and he died as a witness to the system of oppression and the vision of heaven that would come. He risked it all, and his resurrection brought new life. As the Body of Christ, we are called to continue on Jesus’ path of “bringing good news to the poor, of proclaiming release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, of letting the oppressed go free.” (Isaiah 61). But to do so requires risk. Here at George Whitefield, we already do so much that brings forth a vision of heaven in our community and beyond: our prayer squares have made a difference locally and across the country and world; our Operation Christmas Child gifts brighten children’s lives; our donations to the Sharing Cupboard make life a little easier for folks who need a little extra help. We are here to celebrate the love we have shared already and to discern the ways in which God is continuing to call us to mission and ministry, toward a vision of heaven where all belong. But often times, it can be difficult to know if what we give truly makes a difference. One commentary puts it this way: “Much of our hardest work may have little visible impact or may seem to end in utter failure. … [But] Christ’s ministry requires our willingness to risk failure.” (Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations, 88-89) This has never been more true, for me, than in youth ministry; in previous churches where I’ve worked, one day the kids won’t be listening or would be goofing off, and I have to wonder if it’s even worth the time; and in the next moment they’d offer a profoundly bracing insight on faith that seemed to come out of nowhere. The reality is that we have limited human vision, but God sees what’s going on under the surface, and we may never know the impact of the seeds we plant and which ones will grow. Using God’s vision instead of our own will help us to witness the possibilities of heaven on earth here at George Whitefield and beyond. And we use Jesus’ ministry as an example for that life, and for the ways in which we can engage with our community. One commentary states that “Jesus’ radical inclusivity, his model of proclaiming power through nonviolent action, and his ministry of presence reveal an unexpected model. ... Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection provide a new set of lenses for the world to engage in the new creation, not as a goal to be looked for off in the distance, but one to be realized here and now.” (Feasting on the Word, 290) You see, when we pray the Lord’s prayer, we’re literally asking for Heaven to pour forth: Your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. We can’t just gloss over that phrase without taking it seriously, because, to quote a wonderful scholar, “the church’s job is not to cloister itself proclaiming the resurrection just in the everlasting. The proclamation is for the resurrection of life in this world as well.” (ibid, 292) And we can’t just cloister that blessing for ourselves within the church. The blessing is fully communal, for all of creation - it is not merely individual, but concerns everyone and everything. One of my favorite professors at Boston University says that shalom, that wonderful Jewish understanding of peace, is incomplete without justice. Peace and justice go hand-in-hand, and along with justice, comes risk. (Dr. Bryan Stone) So what is your vision of Heaven? How can George Whitefield United Methodist Church participate in the world that is to come by bringing it forth today? What can we risk for the sake of the Kingdom? What are your hopes and visions for our church and beyond? During the final hymn, I invite you to come forward as you feel called and clip your response to the clothesline along the altar rail. There are extra cards up front for you to fill out if you didn’t receive a card and would like to participate. And as we discern the future for our church, may we recognize the ways in which God has blessed us with glimpses of heaven. May we be reminded of the risks that are necessary for such blessings, and may we remember the Christ that risked it all for the sake of all, so that all may have a taste of the new heaven and the new earth. - Pastor Christy Wright
November 10, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Matthew 4:18-22
As Jesus walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon who is called Peter and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea; for they were fishermen. And he said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men." Immediately they left their nets and followed him. And going on from there he saw two other brothers, James the son of Zeb'edee and John his brother, in the boat with Zebe'edee their father, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him. I have several friends in the restaurant industry who have a long string of employers from fast-casual places like Applebees and Panera Bread to artisinal, pop-up restaurants and highly rated bed and breakfast cafes. Most of my friends started out as line cooks, either at the fry station or on the grill. In the industry, such work is often called “turn and burn,” which is in reference to getting the food out to the table as quickly as possible and turning the table over to new customers with equal efficiency. My friends would cook set recipes with absolutely no variation - each plate of fettuccine alfredo had to be exactly the same; consistency was key. But as my friends grew in experience and talent, they received opportunities to work in fine dining restaurants known for their seasonal menus that would change in accordance to what was locally available and fresh, and the executive chef would be able to work one-on-one with my friends, teaching them new techniques and allowing for more experimentation and creativity, even getting some of their own dishes on the menu. My friends often found so much more life and passion in these situations, circumstances where there was no wrong answer and failure was simply part of the process - the amount of learning that comes from failing is unparalleled. And to be a cook in this sort of environment, not only do you have to be unafraid to fail, but you also have to be all in, fully engaged and willing to give it all you’ve got. You truly need to be entirely present, and you make sacrifices for the work, but the rewards are great. In a lot of ways, the faith journey shares a lot of characteristics of the restaurant industry: sometimes we find ourselves in “turn and burn” mode, simply going through the motions in order to make it through the day. It’s not our fault: it’s just where we find ourselves in certain seasons of our lives. And at other times, we are more fully engaged because we’re passionate about the people we’re serving, and ministry takes on a new and exciting reality where we can encounter the living Christ in our midst. And we are all in. This morning’s scripture reading tells us about how the disciples encountered the living Christ in their midst and the ways in which they responded. To give you a bit of background on this scripture story, it should be noted that during the first century, most Jewish boys participated in Jewish education. It was common for boys and teenagers to be educated by a local Rabbi and to continue on the path of faith formation with the eventual goal of becoming Rabbis themselves. If the young men didn’t prove to have the skillset to become a Rabbi, they were set on a different path and would often take jobs as lower class citizens. This is where we find ourselves in today’s scripture. Simon Peter and Andrew, as well as James and John, were working on their boats, which means that none of them were found worthy to be Rabbis; they simply didn’t have what it took. Instead, they were relegated to being fishermen, mending nets and hauling heavy loads of fish from the waters to the market to make a meager living. It was tough manual labor, something that very few young Jewish boys would dream to do when they grew up. But it was all they had, and they had to make a living. Perhaps Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John, found themselves in a “turn and burn” situation, simply going through the motions of knowing what they needed to do in order to survive. But Jesus doesn’t intend for us to simply survive. Jesus wants us to thrive. And as he encounters these men, he calls out to them, which is unusual inofitself; a Jewish Rabbi, calling out to the fishermen, to the people who were supposed to be a far lower social class than himself? But we should know by now that Jesus ends up breaking all the rules anyway - we should expect something like this from him. Jesus calls out to them to drop their nets and follow him. Drop their nets? You mean leave their jobs? Forfeit their way of making a living? Leave behind their boats, all of their investments in the fishing industry? This is all that they have, because they didn’t have what it took to be a Rabbi. And Jesus was asking them to leave it all behind? The scripture tells us that they dropped their nets and immediately followed Jesus. They left everything where it was; they didn’t pause to figure out what to do with their equipment or boats. They didn’t make a plan to sign off ownership of the fishing business to anyone else. They didn’t protect their investments or withdraw their 401Ks. They left everything, and started following this strange Rabbi who accepted them into the faith when no one else would. They followed Jesus, the man who communicated they were worthy, when no one else thought they were. The scripture also tells us that the second set of brothers, James and John, also left their father, Zebedee. They left their families, their homes, their income - they were all in. You see, the disciples had lived the “turn and burn” life, of getting to work at 4 in the morning, of hauling nets until the sun set, of working markets to try to sell enough fish to keep their finances afloat. They were flat out, simply going through the motions of what it means to be a working man in a difficult economy. And then Jesus comes to them and shows them a new way, a different way, a creative and passionate way of life that leads to life eternal. We know how the story goes: when the disciples dropped their nets, they picked up a new life on the road, of encountering Jesus’ power to heal, of hearing Jesus’ blessing on the poor, of learning scripture in fields and on lakes. This journey is unpredictable and wild, profound and life-changing. It’s as if Jesus says, “hold onto your seats!” and bids us to come, all in. I know the feeling of going through the motions, not really learning anything new. In those seasons, it all felt so stale, and I just wasn’t engaged. It’s not something that we can avoid - we all sometimes go through times like these. But here’s the good news: Jesus is always waiting with his hand outstretched, calling us to passionate worship and intentional faith development, and we have a community of other disciples who will walk with us through the journey. See, what happens is that a congregation, a community of faith, surrounds us when we doubt, and they sing for us when we don’t have the strength. They pray for us when we don’t feel like we believe anymore. They are all in for us when we aren’t, when we can’t seem to muster up the motivation. And in the presence of other passionate disciples of Jesus Christ, we begin to feel the transfer of that joy into our own lives, the spread of love and the fruits of the Spirit. When we’re all in, we eagerly desire to spend time with one another and in the Scripture, reading and studying more, soaking it all up like a sponge. We are engaged to the point of nurturing creative ministries, bringing our whole selves to the table in authentic and genuine relationships, relationships that transform our lives and the lives of those we encounter. Last week I announced that I’m starting a second job teaching children in an after school program, and I recognize that there was some concern about my time and commitment to you as a church. Even though both of my positions with the church and the school are part-time, I can assure you that, when it comes to George Whitefield United Methodist Church, I am all in. I was appointed here by our bishop as a half-time pastor, but I am fully present in walking with you, praying with you, singing with you, and leading you. As we read in the New Testament, the Apostle Paul was in a similar role, pastoring congregations and traveling for the sake of the Gospel. But he also had to make a living - the Apostle Paul was a tentmaker, and though he split his time between ministry and other work, he was all in for the sake of the Gospel. And so am I. One of the things that I love about you as a congregation is the amount of love you have for one another and this community. Last week, many of you identified the church family as being the thing you love most about George Whitefield United Methodist Church, and this week, we’re asking you to reflect upon those authentic and genuine relationships that have transformed your lives. Who at George Whitefield has influenced your faith? Who would you consider a mentor and friend, someone who was present for you in your questions and doubts? Who in our church family has made a difference in your spiritual life? During our last hymn, I invite you to come forward as you feel led to clip your response card to the clothesline along the altar rail. If you didn’t receive a response card and would like to participate, there are some at the altar for you to fill out. As we close this morning, it is my prayer that we recognize the ways that Jesus calls us to drop our nets and follow him. May we see that our “turn and burn” life can be transformed into a passionate expression of faith. And may we and all those we encounter be blessed by the Christ who asks us to be all in. - Pastor Christy Wright
November 3, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Luke 19:1-10
He entered Jericho and was passing through it. A mean was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today." So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, "He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner." Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, "Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much." Then Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the son of man came to seek out and to save the lost." It is an honor and privilege to be invited into someone’s home and life, especially when you’re new in town. After only being in West Brookfield for four weeks, I received a call from Varnum Funeral Home asking if I would preside over Kenneth Frazier’s funeral service. As I met with the family for the first time, I was overcome with humility - they had immediately invited me into their lives and entrusted me with sharing Ken’s stories and memory. And I couldn’t help but feel unqualified, that my words would be inadequate to communicate all that Ken was to his family and community. I had never met him, and the family didn’t know me from Adam. And, yet, they invited me in. Today’s scripture passage tells us of a similar story in which Zacchaeus, someone seemingly unqualified to host Jesus in his home, was the recipient of grace, grace that surpassed understanding. We’re told that Jesus entered Jericho, but that his plan was only to pass through - he had an itinerary, and he was just making a pitstop in town. But Jesus’ plans were derailed as he encountered crowds of people, just wanting to catch a glimpse of the man people said could perform miracles, heal the sick, give sight to the blind, and befriend the outcasts. One man in the crowd, we’re told, is Zacchaeus - a short man who had trouble seeing over the crowds. While it sounds like it was merely a lack of height that caused Zacchaeus problems, some scholars suggest that it was actually Zacchaeus’ occupation that gave him the most trouble. You see, people knew Zacchaeus. People whispered about him and shot him the most evil looks, for he was the chief tax collector. He wasn’t just the guy who came to your door with a bill; he was the guy who lined his pockets with your hard-earned money and made sure you paid up - or there would be consequences. People saw him as the most corrupt politician in the land, and his connection to the bigwigs in Rome got under the townspeoples’ skin. In this story, the crowd was here to see Jesus, but I could imagine that the crowds heckled Zacchaeus and perhaps even spat at his feet. But Zacchaeus was compelled by something else: he wasn’t here to collect, as the people suspected. He was here to witness the man everyone said was the Son of God - the one who had more wealth than Rome, but in the form of eternal life. As the crowds pressed in, Zacchaeus broke free and ran up a tree so he could spot Jesus. He was so focused on his mission of laying eyes on this miraculous man that nothing else mattered, not even the sneers and jeers the crowd directed at him. And though Zacchaeus’ goal was simply to see the man everyone was talking about, it was Jesus who saw Zacchaeus. Jesus saw the man whose only post was up in a tree. He saw the man’s corruption and he saw the man’s eagerness to understand eternal life. Jesus saw Zacchaeus’ greed and he saw his sacred worth. In a radical move that defied all social norms, Jesus’ hospitality reached out to the outcast and outweighed Zacchaeus’ reputation. Jesus looked into his eyes, and in an act of generous hospitality, invited Zacchaeus down from the tree to stand with him: an honor and a privilege. But it doesn’t end there: Jesus opened up a possibility for fellowship that was not an option. A Jewish Rabbi, the Son of God, invited himself into the home of a known, corrupt, vile sinner? How awkward do you think that would have been? But Jesus knew Zacchaeus was more than his reputation and his corruption: he was a human being whom Jesus wanted to connect with on a heart level. And the reality of that interaction, when Jesus invited himself to Zacchaeus’ home? It wasn’t awkward at all. In fact, Zacchaeus welcomed Jesus with joy, and even offered to give his possessions to those experiencing need and to repay those whom he had dealt with unfairly. You see, when Jesus radically invites himself into our lives, we are forever changed, and our response is often a generous outpouring of joyous welcome and an effort to make changes in our lives for the sake of others. Ultimately, we belong to the Body of Christ because Jesus’ radical invitation into our olives is also an invitation to generosity. The people in our lives are generous with us, particularly those who invited us to church in the first place. Maybe it was someone who invited you to sing in the choir, or maybe you were invited to Bible study where you would find lifelong friends. We are moved by God’s grace toward hospitality, because it was through God’s grace that we too were welcomed into the Body of Christ. One commentary on the story of Zacchaeus puts it this way: “Jesus radically challenges the disciples’ expectations by overstepping the boundaries to invite people in.” (Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations, 13) In this season of stewardship, it’s easy to just talk about money, about the needs of the church, about budgets and tithing. But how can we expand our definition of what it means to give generously with our hospitality? How do we show hospitality, a gift to the world, when we have very little or nothing to give in a material sense? Because here’s the deal: Jesus didn’t have a home in which to invite Zacchaeus. But he showed Zacchaeus hospitality simply by seeing him, by speaking with him when no one else would, by befriending him when it was clear he had enemies. As we reflect on Jesus’ welcoming actions, we also have an opportunity to reflect on the ways in which we’ve been blessed by our church. In what ways have you experienced Jesus’ invitation here at George Whitefield United Methodist Church? How has the life of this church changed your own life? What do you love about this church, and how can we spread that love through generous hospitality? You should have received a package in the mail with three Heart Cards, and this week, we’re asking about your love for the church. What do you love about George Whitefield UMC? If you didn’t receive a letter this week, or if you forgot yours at home, we have extras in the pews. When you come up to receive Communion, I invite you to prayerfully clip your card to the clothesline at the altar rail as a testament to the love we have for our church. And as we go forth, may we recognize the ways in which Jesus has called us down from our own trees, separated from the crowd. May we see the ways in which we're called to serve, and may we respond with generous hospitality to all those we encounter. - Pastor Christy Wright
October 27, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Psalm 65 (Common English Bible)
God of Zion, to You even silence is praise. Promises made to You are kept - You listen to prayer - and all living things come to You. When wrongdoings become too much for me, You forgive our sins. How happy is the one You choose to bring close, the one who lives in Your courtyards! We are filled full by the goodness of Your house, by the holiness of Your temple. In righteousness You answer us, by Your awesome deeds, God of our salvation - You, who are the security of all the far edges of the earth, even the distant seas; You establish the mountains by Your strength; You are dressed in raw power; You calm the roaring seas; You calm the roaring waves; You calm the noise of the nations. Those who dwell on the far edges stand in awe of Your acts. You make the gateways of morning and evening sing for joy. You visit the earth and make it abundant, enriching it greatly, by God's stream, full of water. You provide people with grain because that is what You've decided. Drenching the earth's furrows, leveling its ridges, You soften it with rain showers; You bless its growth. You crown the year with Your goodness; Your paths overflow with rich food. Even the desert pastures drip with it, and the hills are dressed in pure joy. The meadowlands are covered with flocks, the valleys decked out in grain - They shout for joy; they break out in song. I used to photograph weddings, and one of the things I would tell the couples is that, in the whirlwind of the day, you may forget something, or you may forget the whole thing - just a blur. I’d tell them to take a moment for themselves at some point during the day; maybe it’s right after the ceremony. Or maybe it’s during dinner at the reception. I’d tell them to set down your fork, hold the hand of your beloved, and look, watch, and listen. See the joy of your family, and hear the laughter of your friends. Take a moment to feel the love in the atmosphere. Breathe. Be silent. And see. Be present to the overflowing abundance and the deepest gratitude for everything that has brought your to this moment. And recognize that in the stillness, in the quiet, even silence is praise. We don’t have to say a word in order to acknowledge the beauty before us. Even silence is praise. This morning’s scripture reading from Psalm 65 tells us about the ways in which even the voiceless, yet beautiful creation around us, sings in praise and joy to our Creator. In this season of bright autumn leaves, of the oranges and golds and crimsons, of the crisp cool air, of the sprinkling of frost across the blades of grass, the earth is singing without words. And so we, too, look, watch, and listen. We see the ways in which God has blessed us with abundance in our communities and homes, with the warmth of family and friends, with futures full of possibilities and hope. And in the stillness, we know that even silence is praise. But sometimes, when we look, watch, and listen, we see sorrow, we witness violence, we hear the cries of those in need. This past week, I attended Brookfield’s Domestic Violence Vigil at the Universal Unitarian Church just up the road from here. To open the vigil, two musicians played and sung a beautiful duet of Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah. This song has always captivated me as one of my all-time favorites, but it was particularly poignant in the midst of this vigil. One of the verses goes like this: Maybe there’s a God above But all I’ve ever learned of love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you And it’s not a cry that you hear at night It’s not somebody who’s seen the light It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah Have you ever felt so defeated, so hopeless, that your soul feels as though it’s turning in on itself, that in a moment of self-preservation, your very being recedes into the depths? Maybe you’ve just experienced a heartwrenching diagnosis, or maybe it’s a financial stress that won’t seem to resolve, or maybe it’s the death of a loved one. Life sometimes feels cold, broken, unfair, and deeply painful. I’d invite us to imagine together how Jesus’ disciples might have felt after Jesus drew his last breath on the cross: Shock. Denial. Disbelief. Sorrow. Grief. Despair. Anger over the injustice of it all. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Sometimes life is cold and broken. But there is always a Hallelujah on the way. Because even in the emptiness of the tomb, even silence is praise. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah, but it’s a Hallelujah nonetheless. We know a Hallelujah is on the way because Jesus set the scene for resurrection. We know the story: the disciples go through three days of mourning, of questioning, of doubting, of the loss of all that they’ve known. And when day’s first light arises on the third day, they encounter the living God, the resurrected Christ who makes all things new. The psalm we read today showcases the beauty of day’s first light, of the abundance that spills forth. Scholars suggest that this psalm was written following the deepest, darkest of nights, immediately following a seemingly unrelenting drought and famine. The psalm celebrates with vivid detail how the rains finally came to drench the thirsty earth, how not only the earth was blessed, but all its inhabitants. It was cold and broken. And now it’s a Hallelujah. I invite you to reflect on these questions: What are you going through? What are you seeing? What are you watching unfold before you? What do you hear? Regardless of who you are and what you’ve been through, when you don’t have the words, know that even silence is praise. When we can only utter a cold and broken Hallelujah, it is a Hallelujah nonetheless. May we recognize the resurrection in our midst and the new life on its way. And may we find God both in the scarcity of the moment and the abundance that is already always ours - eternal life, here on earth. - Pastor Christy Wright |
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