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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October 6, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above 2 Timothy 1:1-14
Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God according to the promise of the life which is in Christ Jesus, To Timothy, my beloved child: Grace, mercy, and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. I thank God whom I serve with a clear conscience, as did my fathers, when I remember you constantly in my prayers. As I remember your tears, I long night and day to see you, that I may be filled with joy. I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that dwelt first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice, and now, I am sure, dwells in you. Hence I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of timidity but a spirit of power and love and self-control. Do not be ashamed then of testifying to our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel in the power of God, who saved us and called us with a holy calling, not in virtue of our works but in virtue of his own purpose and through the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel. For this gospel I was appointed a preacher and apostle and teacher, and therefore I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed, and I am sure that he is able to guard until that Day what has been entrusted to me. Follow the pattern of the sound words which you have heard from me, in the faith and love which are in Christ Jesus; guard the truth that has been entrusted to you by the Holy Spirit who dwells within us. One of the things I love is taking road trips - this you probably know. The power of an open road, for me, can never be underestimated. It is simultaneously healing and adventurous, and I thrive behind the wheel. While I was on my way to the Special Called General Conference in February of this past year, I drove to St. Louis by way of New York and stopped by a friend’s place. I noticed that he had a couple of church cookbooks on display in his dining room hutch. I was immediately drawn to the spiral-bound books, each embossed with beautiful drawings of the church and filled with comforting recipes for families and for crowds. As I flipped through these cookbooks, I saw many names, the names of folks who continue to be well-loved by their congregations and families. Those who submitted recipes are members of the church, people who are part of the Willow Point Nursing Home, those who are in leadership as District Superintendents, and those whose recipes are reprinted in their memory. There are spouses, post office workers, and, though it shouldn’t surprise me, my friend’s mom who also serves as a pastor. In some ways, these cookbooks are a testament to the human, earthly, relational connection we have to one another and to the food in which we partake. The tables we set for our families, friends, and guests are not just places where we fill our plates and fuel our bodies; the tables we set are places of love and comfort, but can also be places of hurtful conflicts and divisiveness. To deny this would render us silent in the face of reality. And yet, I believe in the power of the table, the power of food to bring us to a place of reconciliation, even if the food grows cold before we reach a point of understanding, of humanizing the other. It may take seasons, from the cellar vegetables of winter squash soup to the fresh sauteed asparagus of early spring, through to sun-sweetened August tomatoes, but through it all, we stay at the table. On this World Communion Sunday, we celebrate the ways in which we are invited to the table, and the opportunities we have to throw open wide the doors of the church to invite all people to be in ministry with us. This morning’s scripture reminds us that we are inherently connected to one another through the family of Christ, through our adoption into God’s kin-dom. Paul and Timothy had a special relationship: in many ways, Timothy was Paul’s protege, and Timothy was well on his way to following in his mentor’s footsteps - fostering new church communities for the good of the world. The author reminds Timothy that this ministry doesn’t just appear out of a vacuum: there are generations-worth of living faith that have built the foundation of the global Church. Timothy is but one small, important piece of that story. Faith tends to move through family lines, and we see that the women in Timothy’s life have been instrumental in getting him to where he was at the time of the writing of this letter. When we have generational memory, when we remember those who have gone before us, we recognize just how connected we are - not just to our bloodlines, but to all of creation. In today’s world, we are so much more connected than we have ever been before. With the internet, and with world travel, and with news cycles and media channels galore, we are able to stay in touch with people in ways we could have never imagined. It only makes sense that when one person suffers, we all suffer. When one rejoices, we all rejoice. We are all connected, whether we are blood relatives or not. So what does it mean to have generational memory? We remember our elders, we remember those who have gone before us, those on whose knees we have sat while they read us the Bible. With deep gratitude, we recall those who taught us to pray. We bring to mind those who mentored us with thanksgiving, and we rejoice with those who pointed back to Christ through it all. But I think having generational memory could mean something different, too: In Timothy’s context, he’s just about to start a new ministry, and his mentor, Paul, is writing him with advice on how to go about it: remember the faith that you and generations before you have held onto. Use the gifts God has given you. Live into your calling. Hold onto sound teaching, and most of all, allow the Holy Spirit to work through you. Generational memory, in Timothy’s case, might be something closer to “re-generational” memory, or “generative memory.” Timothy is being asked to allow the memories of the past to be a genesis, a guide for the ministry of the present and future - it is a generative, creative calling to which Timothy is being led. Timothy has an opportunity to create something new - and so do we. When we remember, it’s not just about memory; we’re actually reconstructing a moment or a person or an idea in our mind. We literally re-member: we put things back together again. To remember is to be generative, to create, to form something out of fractured pieces. When we nurture generational memory, we recall our parents before us, and our grandparents, and all those who have loved and mentored us along the way. And within the re-membering, we build upon our own faith and instill newness into our being and our community. We have an opportunity to manifest the hopes and dreams of generations before us in a new reality that embodies prayers of ages past into physical being. What does that mean for us? How are we to live into God’s calling with this in mind? How might we use God’s gifts for the good of all? In some ways, the church cookbooks in my friend’s dining room hutch are just as precious as the hymnals we find stacked in church pews. The recipes that line these pages have been sung a few hundred times, if not more, for these are sacred stories bound together by being served at the same table, side-by-side. We are stitched together; good to one is good to all, and we stay at the table. In some ways, these cookbooks remind us of the creative Spirit that runs through us, engaging a flow of inspiration that cannot be explained. After reading through a recipe a couple of times, it can even become ingrained within us, a muscle memory that teaches us along the way. Their story becomes our own, and we stay at the table, in solidarity with one another and with the creative Spirit that brought us here in the first place. And when we cook from these recipes, the lines of ingredients and instructions, one-dimensional and silent on the page, are carefully manifest into a physical three-dimensional meal that is both nourishing and the embodiment of love. We have the opportunity to re-member the table before us, inviting all to be a part of this new physical reality, of this moment when our words match our actions. Jesus Christ was the first to become manifest from a one-dimensional being in scripture; Jesus was the Word who became flesh, here on earth, a three-dimensional Bread of Life that is both nourishing and the embodiment of love. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. (John 1:1-3) And as we re-member Jesus’ last Supper, we bring him to life once more, and our actions are manifest in the world around us; we experience resurrection through Christ, and the world itself is renewed around us. In partaking in the bread of the table and the juice of the vine, we are partaking in generational memory, re-membering and generating the love that overflows. May we seek to live into our generational memory, that the creative generative Holy Spirit would move through us all, inspiring new realities of prayers past. Amen. - Pastor Christy Wright
September 29, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Genesis 1 - Message Translation First this: God created the Heavens and Earth - all you see, all you don't see. Earth was a soup of nothingness, a bottomless emptiness, an inky blackness. God's Spirit brooded like a bird above the watery abyss. God spoke: "Light!" And light appeared. God saw that light was good and separated light from dark. God named the light Day, God named the dark Night. It was evening, it was morning - Day One. God spoke: "Sky! In the middle of the waters; separate water from water!" God made sky. God separated the water under sky from the water above sky. And there it was: God named sky the Heavens; It was evening, it was morning - Day Two. God spoke: "Separate! Water-beneath-Heaven, gather into one place; Land, appear!" And there it was. God named the land Earth. God named the pooled water Ocean. God saw that it was good. God spoke: "Earth, green up! Grow all varieties of seed-bearing plants, Every sort of fruit-bearing tree." And there it was. Earth produced green seed-bearing plants, all varieties, and fruit-bearing trees of all sorts. God saw that it was good. It was evening, it was morning - Day Three. God spoke: "Lights! Come out! Shine in Heaven's sky! Separate Day from Night. Mark seasons and days and years, Lights in Heaven's sky to give light to the Earth." And there it was. God made two big lights, the larger to take charge of Day, The smaller to be in charge of Night; and God made the stars. God placed them in the heavenly sky to light up Earth And oversee Day and Night, to separate light and dark. God saw that it was good. It was evening, it was morning - Day Four. God spoke: "Swarm, Ocean, with fish and all sea life! Birds, fly through the sky over Earth!" God created the huge whales, all the swarm of life in the waters, And every kind and species of flying birds. God saw that it was good. God blessed them: "Prosper! Reproduce! Fill Ocean! Birds, reproduce on Earth!" It was evening, it was morning - Day Five. God spoke: "Earth, generate life! Every sort and kind: cattle and reptiles and wild animals - all kinds." And there it was: wild animals of every kind, Cattle of all kinds, every sort of reptile and bug. God saw that it was good. God spoke: "Let us make human beings in our image, make them reflecting our nature So they can be responsible for the fish in the sea, the birds in the air, the cattle, And yes, Earth itself, And every animal that moves on the face of Earth." God created human beings; God created them godlike, reflecting God's nature. God created them male and female. God blessed them: "Prosper! Reproduce! Fill Earth! Take charge! Be responsible for fish in the sea and birds in the air, for every living thing that moves on the face of the Earth." Then God said, "I've given you every sort of seed-bearing plant on Earth And every kind of fruit-bearing tree, given them to you for food. To all animals and all birds, everything that moves and breathes, I give whatever grows out of the ground for food." And there it was. God looked over everything God had made; it was so good, so very good! It was evening, it was morning - Day Six. In June this past summer, I had the opportunity to participate in Castle Hill Art Center’s Food Writer’s Symposium in Truro, Massachusetts, a tiny town on the Cape. The conference brought together artists, writers, world-renowned chefs, local farmers, and people like me: people who love food.
And though the Symposium didn’t feature any religious or theological speakers or workshops, every moment, for me, was infused with a type of spirituality that I couldn’t put my finger on. We were captivated by other people’s stories; we were engaged with new ideas and creativity; and we were in awe of the food we shared together that day. One of the things that I think we so easily forget is that we, ourselves, are intimately connected to nature, because we are nature. Andy Goldsworthy, a British earthworks artist whose specialty is in creating artwork that depicts the passage of time using natural elements, states that “nature is not something separate from us. So when we say that we have lost our connection to nature, we’ve lost our connection to ourselves.” When we spend time in nature, when we spend time with ourselves, we can begin to recognize just how good it all is. And as we reflect this morning on the creation story, I can’t help but focus on a phrase that repeatedly comes up in our scripture: God saw that it was good. The light pierced through the darkness. Sky and water, heavens and earth reflecting the clearest of blues, like dancing diamonds across the surface of the deep. The sprouts pushed through the soil, the greening of the earth had begun, lush and nourishing. Stars and galaxies, sparkling in the richest of hues, giving light and heat to all, and the sun and the moon, whose energies push and pull the tides. All forms of animal life, from the ant to the humpback whale - all created in an abundance of love and care. The earth was teeming with life, and God created humankind in God’s own Sacred image, and charged them with caring for the earth and all its inhabitants. And finally, God created a day of rest, not just for Godself, but for all of creation - a time of renewal, a time of recreation - a time of re-creation. And with all of it, and through all of it, God saw that it was good. Why does this phrase repeat over and over? What is the author trying to tell us? I believe that there is no way for God’s goodness to be separated from creation; we are all Sacred, and to borrow an idea from the tradition of native people, all of the two-legged and four-legged creatures are infused with Divinity, with a Love that makes us all so precious in God’s eyes. And we know from the book of Romans that nothing can ever separate creation from the love of God through Christ. I’d like to close with a poem from Mary Oliver entitled Mysteries, Yes. Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood How grass can be nourishing in the mouths of the lambs How rivers and stones are forever in allegiance with gravity while we ourselves dream of rising How two hands touch and the bonds will never be broken How people come, from delight or the scars of damage, to the comfort of a poem Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers Let me keep company always with those who say, “Look!” and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads As we seek to live into our divine and human natures, may we recognize the divinity in every living thing, and in the stones, in the trees, in the rivers and lakes, and in the very air that surrounds us, so that we may say, “and it was, is, and will forever be good.” - Pastor Christy Wright |
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