Worship

August 23, 2020 | Scripture, Sermon, & Prayers

August 23, 2020 by Kim Williams Leave a Comment

With our routines and world upended by the Shelter in Place Order that affects all of California, we are looking for ways to stay connected during a mandate to physically stay apart from one another. This is a continuation of our time together, even though we’re in different spaces.

Opening Hymn • The Church’s One Foundation

Opening Prayer

Lay Leader: Barb Colliander

Reading From the Hebrew Scriptures • Isaiah 51:1-6

Lay Leader: Barb Colliander

Tithes and Offerings

Checks can be mailed to:
Grace Community Church
C/O Rene Horton
P.O. Box 368
Auberry, CA 93602

Epistle Reading • Romans 12:1-8

Time for Families • Tiny Sacred Spaces

The Children’s Time will be a Time for Families for a few weeks as we explore ways for families to deepen their spiritual practice at home. All are welcome to join in on this, and if you would like to receive mailings with more details on spiritual practices, no children are necessary, just email me to get on the list (and make sure I have your address!) and you are welcome to delve deeper into your spiritual life at home with us!

Gospel Reading • Matthew 16:13-20

Lay Leader: Barb Colliander

Church at Prayer and The Lord’s Prayer + Prayer of Healing, Hope, and Comfort for North Fork

All are invited to email me prayer requests for next week’s prayer, or to get in touch any time during the week. We are in the midst of an unprecidented global event, and I am available as a compassionate ear if you find you need to talk through what’s going on.

Hymn • The Church of Christ in Every Age

The Message

Sermon Transcript

What do you know about rocks? Without being a geologist, or having ever gotten higher than a C grade in any sort of natural sciences class, I can offer a few of my observations on rocks. Rocks are hard, even though some are softer than others—there is quite a difference between soapstone and a diamond. The differences in shape and smoothness, the color variations, the ways the rocks were formed in the beginning and the ways the elements they were exposed to shaped them, mean that rocks can be quirky as people are. Some have impossible angles, others shimmer like there’s a light from within them. Some end up in Charlie Brown’s trick-or-treat bag, others wind up skipped across the glassy surface of water. They’re pretty sturdy, until they aren’t. Sometimes you’ll find a gigantic boulder split in half, a tree growing in the middle of it. Sometimes you’ll be hopping across a creek from rock to rock, thinking they all look pretty solid, only to find the base of the rock was not well-gummed into the mud and you’ll end up with soaked hiking shoes.

Our reading from Isaiah says, “Look to the rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug.” Rocks, like people, have places they came from. Archaeologists can trace ancient travel routes based on finding a rock in an archaeological site hundreds and hundreds of miles away from where it should be. Rocks can be neatly arranged in a geometric grid to help assist in cultivating and maintaining certain types of energy, they can be laid in slabs across kitchen countertops, and worn on necklace chains. They find your big toe when you walk around outside barefoot, they provide a place to sit when you’re weary on a hiking trail, they are tiny pebbles and they are mountains.

So when we hear that Jesus has called Peter the Rock, which is gonna be the foundation for the church going forward, with all of these thoughts about rocks, how does that all work out? What kind of rock, anyway?

We remember Peter is a nickname given to Simon by Jesus. The name “Peter” means stone. Nicknames are a funny thing, they can convey affection and irony all at once. I have a super laid back uncle who moves…at his own pace, and his nickname from my dad since they were young men has been “streak,” no, not because it was the 70s and steaking was en vogue, but instead as an ironic ode to the relaxed pace at which he moves through the world. So when I think about Jesus latching onto calling Simon Peter, I have a lot of fun working through the possible scenarios leading to that nickname. Simon called Peter was Jesus’s first disciple. He has followed Jesus through every single moment in his ministry, has been a witness to incredible miracles, has watched Jesus’s own arc of personal growth in his ministry. Simon called Peter was also the disciple to step out of the boat and take a few steps toward Jesus on the water before he panicked and sank…like a rock. Did Jesus know this would happen? Was Peter a pre-emptive nickname knowing this would happen?

Peter will also famously deny knowing Jesus three times. Rocks are considered to be steady, unflinching, and solid in their place. A guy who follows Jesus from day one, knows his ministry and teachings better than anyone, giving into fear, collapsing into grief, and denying any association with Jesus doesn’t seem super rock-like.

And yet, it is in this story that we hear Jesus ask “What are people saying about me?” and then pressing further, “Okay, but, who do you say that I am?” Peter is the first to blurt out “YOU’RE THE MESSIAH!” because how could he not, after all he’s experienced? After spending so much time in the transformative presence of Jesus. Even though Jesus wasn’t quite the messiah that had been expected based on the piled up hopes of a people wanting a strong warrior to deliver them from evil. Jesus was not a grand king, instead he lived in near-poverty, constantly moving from place to place without putting down roots. This confession that escaped Simon Peter’s lips must have been dancing through his mind, constantly flashing “messiah! Messiah! Messiah!” but he hadn’t had a chance to confirm what he believed, until now, suddenly, when Jesus decides to do some market research about what his target audiences think of him.

And so Simon Peter, “The Rock,” is met with approval by Jesus. Furthermore, Jesus puns on his name, saying “I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church…” and we hear Jesus talk about the Church, Ecclesia, for the first and only time, indicating that a distinct community of believers was to come together.

But it still doesn’t breed much confidence that the rock on which the church would be built was the same guy whose bravado pulled him out of a boat, nearly drowning him when doubt crept in, or who would deny every knowing the man he just proclaimed to be the messiah. It seems like a, well, rocky start.

The beauty of the Gospels is that we don’t get one dimensional characters and tropes whose actions we’ve already got figured out, and whose fates are neatly and predictably wrapped up by the end of the play. We experience these precious and brief years of Jesus’s ministry and life through the lens of real people, flawed people. Simon called Peter was not the bravest, he had real-life fears and quirks, his faith was great, and yet he also recoiled and avoided painful or dangerous situations. What does it mean that the Church—capital C—is built with a foundation like Peter, flawed but always learning?

When we go back to my earlier listing of the entirely unscientific qualities of rocks, we see a few things. One, that rocks are so unique, they have their individual qualities and quirks, flaws and all. Another thing to consider is that rocks are not nearly as solid or as unchanging as they appear if we stare at one for a few minutes. Years of water passing through a rocky area change the shape of the rocks, elemental changes, earthquakes, and little saplings becoming mighty trees in a small fissure can also change a rock from it’s initial forming. The church’s foundation is not rickety because it is built on an unlikely hero like Simon called Peter, whose legacy was written faults and all—because let’s face it, if it was important that all the apostles looked like they were the smartest, bravest, most confident people ever then it would have been written that way—it is a strong foundation because it is built on the assumption that change is part of life, that the church, and we the faithful, as we weather storms and are changed by our environment, that the church will also continue to be formed and shaped over time, ever true and ever relevant in each new age.

God, as we your faithful, quirky, sometimes craggy people ponder the scriptures, we appreciate the stories where we can see the great love and trust you have for faithful, quirky, sometimes craggy people, and we pray that we never question our ability to be the Church just because we don’t fit the mold of what we think we need to be in order to be followers of Christ. We are your Church, quirks, flaws, learning curves, and all, and that is a powerfully redemptive understanding for us to have. We thank you for your grace. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.

Closing Hymn • Sent Forth by God’s Blessing

August 16, 2020 | Scripture, Sermon, & Prayers

August 16, 2020 by Kim Williams Leave a Comment

Opening Hymn • All People That On Earth Do Dwell

Opening Prayer

Lay Leader: Victoria Thomas

Reading From the Hebrew Scriptures • Isaiah 56:1,6-8

Lay Leader: Victoria Thomas

Tithes and Offerings

Checks can be mailed to:
Grace Community Church
C/O Rene Horton
P.O. Box 368
Auberry, CA 93602

Epistle Reading • Romans 11:1-2, 29-32

Time for Families • Labyrinths

Gospel Reading • Matthew 15:10 28

Lay Leader: Victoria Thomas

Church at Prayer and The Lord’s Prayer

Hymn • Come and Find the Quiet Center

The Message

Sermon Transcript

How did the Word sit with you on this already hot morning? If you’re feeling perturbed a bit by this morning’s Gospel reading, it’s okay. I found myself trying to gauge whether it was the extra hot weather all week that had me so fussy about the text for this week, or if it’s just the text itself that doesn’t seem to sit well. Unlike other stories of Jesus explaining a parable and then performing a miracle, this one feels off. Did you feel that way, too?

First, Jesus starts by saying “Look, it’s not what you put in your mouth that defiles, it’s what comes out of your mouth.” I like this, as a former crash dieter who has always had food hang-ups. This first bit is okay. I can use this. It’s also a snappy comeback to pick out and use whenever I want. Unfortunately, we know that scripture can’t just be the good little bumper-sticker slogans, but has to be taken as a whole to be fully understood. So on we go, let’s get uncomfortable.

After Jesus says this, the Pharisees are up in arms about it. If there was Twitter in the first century, I can imagine all the Pharisees tweeting about how what Jesus has said is an attack on their religion (because, well, it kinda was a low blow, aimed at the Jewish purity laws) and how very mad they were about it, ignoring that if only good, helpful, loving things came out of their mouths then whatever went in wouldn’t be up for discussion. Jesus was Jewish himself, he followed many of the same rules when it came to what to eat, he was saying, “Just pay attention to what comes out of your mouth,” but instead, the pharisees were upset with the way he worded it. Jesus wasn’t on Twitter, he was probably an Instagram guy. Or maybe LinkedIn—All the connections in the world, and not owned by Facebook. Either way, the disciples, who had multiple Social Media accounts, let Jesus know that the pharisees were tweeting about him.

So Jesus says the first thing that makes me incredibly uncomfortable in this morning’s reading: “Let them alone, they are blind guides of the blind.” Oof. We’ll come back to why this makes me uncomfortable in a minute, but for now we’ll finish walking through this story.

Peter wants the parable explained. Maybe it’s for the benefit of the pharisees who are still probably in a heightened state, waiting for more ammunition so they can get upset at Jesus again, or maybe Peter truly didn’t get “Don’t be a holy jerk.” when he first heard the parable. Jesus questions this, “Really, Pete? You still don’t get it?” And he responds with potty humor. He talks about the digestive process, everything ending up in the sewer, which, as the mom of kids in the tween-teen ages, I appreciate, and then he says that it’s when evil intentions come from the heart that we can really truly become worse than an unserviced port-a-potty in 111 degree heat. Defiled.

Jesus also says that unwashed hands do not defile. That’s what this whole thing was about, just before our reading started, the Pharisees had asked Jesus why they start eating without washing their hands, thus starting this whole teachable moment. However, please, if you pluck one bit of wisdom from today’s Gospel, do not hold too tightly to this bit about unwashed hands. Jesus wasn’t giving this chat during a pandemic. Wash your hands, please. What he is saying is that all the clean-eating, raw, keto, vegan diets in the world won’t matter if you’ve got garbage in your heart. Being open to God’s love, sharing this love with others, is above all other rules. Even if it means eating a gmo carb. Following the law is important (Remember,Jesus says he isn’t here to take down the Law, but to uphold it) but if you can’t multitask and follow the law while being a good human at the same time, then being a good human takes priority.

So then, we start the second half of this morning’s story. The part where things get really uncomfortable.

Jesus and company come to the district of Tyre and Sidon, and as they’re approaching a woman comes to him. In Mark 7, where we find the writer of Mark’s version of this event, Jesus is in someone’s private residence, hoping to go unnoticed. That detail didn’t make it into Matthew’s story, but to my mind, it sounds like Jesus is, once again, tired. Maybe irritable. He was hoping no one would find him. In Matthew, we don’t get this backstory for the events that unfold. We are simply told that on the way there, a Canaanite woman approaches him, shouting.

Quick refresher on the Canaanites before this interaction takes place: they were the indigenous peoples of what became Israel, and were at this point in history a displaced people. Hold that in your mind as we get to these next parts.

The Canaanite woman is yelling and shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon!” As a Canaanite, she is a Gentile. She is an outsider to him. Her ancestors have been displaced from their land by his, yet she comes to him, recognizing him as not only Lord, but also as someone from royal Jewish lineage. Keeping track of where the power lies in any given situation is important, because it gives more insight to the interaction.

Her daughter is possessed by demons. We can often read into what it meant to be possessed by demons at this time. We can infer mental or physical illness into many of these situations, though we need to be careful when we do so to make sure that it isn’t just being done to fit our own narrative. What we do know for sure is that someone with a child who is possessed is a) used to advocating on her child’s behalf, b) most certainly an outcast, which means that as a gentile in a jewish area, this woman is pushed even farther to the margins, and c) she’s probably exhausted and looking for help from the most unlikely places. So she makes the desperate decision to plead to Jesus for assistance.

And Jesus straight up ignores her. Just keeps walking. Where is the bereft, but not too grief stricken to heal and feed the masses Jesus from just a chapter ago? She’s at his feet and he keeps walking. His disciples ask that Jesus do something about it, she’s just so persistently yelling at us, and can’t we just get there in peace? It’s unclear whether by “send her away” they mean he should dismiss her, or if they mean “send the demons away”, which is a gentler way of reading it, but by Jesus’ responds, I think we can guess they’re wanting to be rid of the woman and her possessed daughter.

Here’s where it gets super cringey. Jesus resonds with “Not in my job description, lady. I’m here for the lost sheep of Israel.”

Yikes.

As we used to say in high school, Dissed and Dismissed. I don’t know if they still say this, but it fits here. Jesus was not being nice.

And that’s hard to hear. We tend to think of Jesus as the nice guy who is ever merciful and here we see him on an off day.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

She blocked his path, kneeling, saying “Lord, help me.”

Jesus, again, fires one back at her. “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” This is the burn of the century. No matter how you translate it, re-read it, or do mental gymnastics to soften it, jesus calls her a dog. Dogs, in the first century, were not like my spoiled little corgi who is, as I speak, laying on his back, konked out and dreaming of the delicious wet food topper I’ll put in his bowl of kibble later, before he climbs the doggy stairs we have so he can get up to the bed with us. Dogs were persistent scavengers. They were pests. He has called her a scavenging pest, he has reduced her to less than human. He has essentially called her the “B-Word.”

Our Jesus! The Prince of Peace! The “That they may all be one” guy! Except, here, he is only worried about other Jewish people. This Canaanite woman, this displaced granddaughter of indigenous peoples, is nothing but a howling animal.

But then, and here is the truly beautiful moment of this whole reading, she turns the tables on him. “Yes, Lord, yet even dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

In that, she challenges what he has said. She challenges him to reconsider how he sees her, because how, in all of his anti-imperial speeches against the colonization of Rome, how can he ignore that she has just shown him to be as much the colonizer of her people as she says “Master’s Table.”? How can he ignore what he had JUST PREACHED at the beginning of this pericope, about it not mattering what goes in one’s mouth, but what comes out of it. He has been challenged to uphold his own teaching.

This is a profound learning moment.

So Jesus responds with, “Great is your faith!” and her daughter is healed on the spot.

This is a hard interaction to read because it is so uncharacteristic of the “Jesus, without sin” image we carry, but what we learn here is that it is not a sin to learn better and then do better. We witness growth, personal growth, within this short story. We see that Jesus is caught not fully practicing what he preaches, and instead of throwing a tantrum or shutting her out even further, Jesus heals the girl, and after all of the times he’s been the teacher, today he has been taught.

We can take a lot from this “Know better, do better” story. My first suggestion for us comes from the text itself. Remember how I said the blind leading the blind thing bothered me? This is one “know better, do better” that we can do immediately. Just as Jesus learned that he could go off-job description to help this woman, we can also learn to use better words when we encounter texts like this. Blind guides of the blind is ableist language that we rarely question when we encounter it, especially since it has Biblical roots. We’ve come a long way from the first century, however. We know better, we fully embrace the god-created wonder of every person, and we must do better by not using examples like blindness to illustrate our points, especially if we’re using it in a negative sense. Same thing with using the term “Blind Spot” when we really mean our growing edges.

My second suggestion is that we look back at our own stories for areas of growth, or growth potential. There’s a criteria in biblical scholarship for determining the historical accuracy of a story, and it is, would this story be an embarrassment to Jesus if he knew it was published widely? If so, then it can be assumed to have really happened. This story is a calling out in the biggest way, it pairs his teaching with him not behaving the way he just told other people to behave. It reminds me of every time I’ve been called out for my words and actions not syncing up, I wouldn’t want that published and distributed. We can assume this story is doubly accurate because it shows up two times in all it’s cringe-worthy glory. And yet, it was important enough to the writers of the Gospels Matthew and Mark that they kept it. Growth is a powerful thing, even when it’s uncomfortable and embarrassing. Even when it challenges us in the middle of the road, pointing out all of our flaws. Jesus took the challenge, he grew. He didn’t force his apostles to never mention the miracle of being called out and learning from his misstep. We can do the same. It is a Christian, biblically-supported action to examine when we behaved very poorly indeed, and do better next time. We should always be learning and doing better. I hope that if I revisit this sermon in the future I cringe at it because I’ve learned better and can deliver a better one.

As we go into this blisteringly hot week that will undoubtedly irk us and make us irritable, if we find ourselves doing something or speaking in a way that is gross, defiling, and ignoring that God’s salvation and love is for all, I pray that we learn from it, know better, and do better. In the name of Jesus Christ, who taught us all that growth is holy work, Amen.

Closing Hymn • Sent Forth by God’s Blessing

August 9, 2020 | Scripture, Sermon, & Prayers

August 9, 2020 by Kim Williams Leave a Comment

Opening Hymn • When Morning Gilds the Skies

Opening Prayer

Lay Leader: Mary Jo Renner

Special Music • Come to the Water • Mary Jo Renner

Reading From the Hebrew Scriptures • 1 Kings 19:9-18

Lay Leader: Mary Jo Renner

Tithes and Offerings

Checks can be mailed to:
Grace Community Church
C/O Rene Horton
P.O. Box 368
Auberry, CA 93602

Epistle Reading • Romans 10:5-15

Children’s Time • Blessing of the Backpacks and Devices– Please have your child grab their backpack, laptop, tablet, etc…

Gospel Reading • Matthew 14:22-33

Lay Leader: Mary Jo Renner

Church at Prayer and The Lord’s Prayer

Hymn • Jesus Calls us O’er the Tumult

The Message

Sermon Transcript

:::Announcer’s voice:::: Last week on “The Gospel According to Matthew” Jesus had received the news of John the Baptist’s death, tried to get some me-time, but then there were crowds! His celebrity status followed him to the remote location he had gone to for solitude. Then, miracles! Bread! Fish! Abundance!

This week, we are given another familiar Gospel story, but just because we know it well doesn’t mean we know it completely. The beauty of these ancient sacred texts is that they have so much packed into short snippets that we could rediscover them our entire lives and still find new meaning and wisdom nestled within. So that’s what we’re doing today, it’s our voyage to use sea-faring language.

Jesus sent everyone away. He had given the crowds the spiritual and physical nourishment they needed, and it was time for him to get his much needed alone time. Something that never ceases to strike me as important is how human Jesus was, how we can relate to the way he experienced the same emotions we experience. What a gift, a blessing, that God sent us someone who got worn down, who felt overwhelmed, who recognized a need for quietude in an unrelenting world of busyness that could be all consuming. What a gift that we have precedence for asking for a break because the Son of God was unafraid of disrupting his productivity or delaying meeting his healing and saving quotas because he was worn down and ragged. And in the case of this morning’s reading, he was certainly that. We can read the exhaustion in this passage by the way that it says “Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds.” He risked being stranded in a remote place by sending his disciples off ahead of him, but he risked being interrupted again in prayer if he kept them all hanging out, waiting for him. He risked feeling obligated to wrap it up quickly so not to inconvenience them while they sat idly, the night growing deeper and darker.

While this isn’t the only point that bears importance for us in our ever-busy world, I want to make sure we take notice of it. Jesus, who in just a few moments will walk on water, needs a break sometimes. And if the Son of God, the one who is both fully human and fully divine, can’t just recharge and resume a hectic, packed schedule, how on earth can we expect it from ourselves? How can we expect it from others? Hold onto this. We’re moving on from the Self Care speech in a moment, but it is important, especially as we are pushed harder than ever while we adapt to new technologies and are emotionally and mentally drained from merely being aware of what is taking place in the world around us. Jesus, who had enough work piled up to be able to work nonstop for centuries without it ever being done recognized the need for prayer, reflection, and time away from “work.”

And so, with Jesus’ dismissal, the disciples are off on a boat, leaving him alone. The seas had turned rough by the end of the night. The winds picked up, and their boat was being battered by waves. We’ve experienced this kind of choppy sea before, in Matthew 8:23-27. In that pericope, Jesus is in the boat with them, and he is asleep. The apostles wake him, afraid for their lives, and he gives the familiar “You of little faith” speech as he calms the seas. I like to picture that he snuggled back up and went to sleep again, but I think that’s the cranky parent in me that has shone too many lights under the bed looking for monsters in the middle of a REM cycle. This story is slightly different from the other calming the storm story in that the disciples are alone in the boat. If we pay attention to the story, we see that the apostles are not afraid of the waves, or of the deep waters below them. Instead, it’s Jesus that scares them.

Jesus, the guy they’re following and devoting their lives to. The man who does amazing things on the regular, but this, this is something new. This is far from shore. This is in the middle of the Sea of Galilee. Fun fact, these winds that kick up in the story are something you can actually experience today. The geographic location of the sea makes for sudden and violent storms as the wind whips in over the eastern mountains. The cool air rushes in over the warm air that was previously hanging above the sea, and as the warm air rises the sudden change can create some dramatic winds. So this is what Jesus is quite literally walking into, and it scares the men in the boat, who assume they are alone in the middle of this tumult. And they think he’s a ghost. And they don’t trust that it’s really him. Peter, who we give a lot of credit to for stepping out of the boat, is stepping out as a challenge to the Maybe-Jesus, Maybe-Ghost figure on the water. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He steps out and takes a few steps before faltering, realizing that the winds are whipping at the hems of his clothes, and that he is standing in the middle of the deep, mysterious, tumultuous sea. And he cries out for Jesus’ help, which Jesus gives. “You of little faith…” Jesus says again, just as he did before, but this time, for Peter’s benefit only. Jesus calms the seas, stops the infamous winds of the Sea of Galilee, and everyone in the boat worships Jesus, awed by what he has just done.

There are so many jumping off places for theological reflection within this short miracle story that one hardly knows where to begin. We’ll start with the story itself. As we know, the Gospels are made up from four different accounts of the life, death, and in some, the resurrection of Jesus. The Gospels each have their own flavor and style. The stories don’t always link up, there are differences between them. This is why, at Christmas, sometimes we feel like we haven’t heard the whole story—in our brains we have collectively smushed the separate birth accounts together, but in reality, there are very different ways that the birth of Jesus was recorded. Forgive me if I’m over-explaining this, but a refresher is always good. We have the synoptic Gospels, Mark, Matthew, and Luke, and then we have John. Mark, Matthew and Luke are lumped together because they are considered to have common source material they drew from. These three were composed at different times, in different places, with Mark being the oldest of the documents. John is a more recent book, composed in the later part of the first century. The synoptic Gospels have a lot more overlapping material, John has some similarities, but often it has it’s own storytelling tradition that is divergent from the other three. I give this bit of backstory because I think this next tidbit is fascinating. The story of Jesus walking on water appears in three of the four gospels, however, it’s not the three we expect. It is in Matthew, Mark, and John, however it is omitted in Luke. This is significant. Rather than being a tradition handed down from the same source material and reworked by the authors of the synoptic volumes, it is a story that appears in John as well. This was an important event to be shared and carried on through multiple traditions and retellings.

So what was so important about it that it made it through oral tradition in these different strains? One could argue that it’s the whole Walking on Water thing, that is so well known and pervasive in our lexicon that folks who have never even cracked open a bible would get the reference. Or, as we talked about last week, it could be the subtle miracles nestled within the big flashy one.

Theologically, water has deep meaning for us. The sea is deep, mysterious, scary. It is filled with unknown peril. It’s kind of like the world we live in. It’s filled with unknowns, especially right now. Jesus calms stormy seas twice, and this isn’t just a magician’s trick. Theologically and metaphorically, Jesus is offering assurance in a world that is unpredictable. For the early church, the folks who circulated the traditions that eventually were put to paper and made into these Gospels, it was a scary time. Jesus was gone, so how could their belief in him sustain them. Christ followers in that first century were not popular folks, and lived in danger of persecution and death. Jesus was in the boat with the apostles the first time he calmed the storm, but they were alone the second time. Even so, Jesus appeared, calmed the storm again. This is strong comfort for a church that is weathering the storm of establishing itself without its leader. Even without Jesus in the boat, he will come to their aid, will give them a hand up from the choppy waves when they fall in.

And that brings us to Peter. Peter questions Jesus, challenges him. He too tries to walk on water, but has a moment of doubt and falls in. This snippet about Peter only shows up in the Matthew account. Why? What in the tradition in which Matthew was formed caused this part of the story to be retained and passed down when the others omitted it? Peter fails when he tries to walk on water, fails when his faith in Jesus is overshadowed by his very real, very human emotions of fear kicking in, but Jesus helps him up. Jesus chastises him, “you of little faith…” but perhaps it’s done with a good natured chuckle, as he helps his friend, who will later deny him, and gives him unconditional love. This is important for us to hear, because Jesus witnessed one of his own apostles directly challenging him, and then once Jesus has helped this headstrong dude who has just STEPPED OUT OF HIS BOAT to be able to stand on the water as well, Peter loses faith. It would be easy to be mad at this, to say, “forget it, you’re not disciple material.” And let him sink. Or at the very least kick him out of the club once they were back on solid ground. Instead, Jesus loves him, and loves him again.

Our waves are choppy, folks. Our seas have been stormy. Sometimes it’s hard not to let doubt seep in, to question things. This story, this miracle, is that even when we cannot have full faith, when we are shaken, when we have that moment when we’ve stepped out of the boat and realize we are no longer safe or comfortable, Jesus is still reaching out a hand, catching us. His love is inescapable. We need only to cry out to him when we realize we are sinking if we find we are unable to keep up with the stormy demands of stepping out of the boat. May your seas be calm, but when they are rough, may you know that Jesus is always within your reach. Amen.

Closing Hymn • Sent Forth by God’s Blessing

August 2, 2020 | Scripture, Sermon, & Prayers

August 2, 2020 by Kim Williams 1 Comment

Opening Hymn • O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing • Chalice Hymnal, 5

Opening Prayer

Lay Leader: Mary Beth Harrison

Special Music • Come to the Water • Mary Jo Renner

Reading From the Hebrew Scriptures • Genesis 32:22-31

Lay Leader: Mary Beth Harrison

Tithes and Offerings

Checks can be mailed to:
Grace Community Church
C/O Rene Horton
P.O. Box 368
Auberry, CA 93602

Epistle Reading • Romans 9:1-5

Children’s Time

Gospel Reading • Matthew 14:13-21

Lay Leader: Mary Beth Harrison

Church at Prayer and The Lord’s Prayer

Hymn • Love Divine, All Loves Excelling • Chalice Hymnal, 517

The Message

Sermon Transcript

“We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” Did you pick up on that line from this morning’s Gospel reading? I know you heard it, but did you really pick up on it? I know I’ve read it before. I know I’ve listened to it and gone down some weird mental rabbit trails wondering who had the fish, were they freshly caught since this pericope started near water or were they like, someone’s pocket fish they had on hand for snacking on the road while on tour with Jesus? The mind reels. Sometimes when we know something as well as the loaves and fishes story, it’s easy to skim over it, to miss the nuance because we’ve heard this story enough times that we feel justified in taking it easy during the reading, it’s like putting on a favorite movie while cleaning. I can run the vacuum and still follow along with the plot of Clueless, so it’s the same for the loaves and fishes story, right?

Except, that’s not the way to approach scripture. When we let our brains go into “Ah, that old story? I got this!” mode, we miss the opportunity for the words to have new meaning for us, for the old words to strike a new chord with what we’re experiencing right now. Today, in the midst of “What’s Next?” 2020 unrest and weirdness and grief. For me, reading that line this time, it caught me. It grabbed me. It convicted me. I’m curious if it did the same for you, or how you were stirred by these old words we know. “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.”

Let’s back up a bit.

Our scene is set by Jesus hopping on a boat to get some alone time. All we’re given in the opening of this morning’s lectionary reading is “Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself.” What Jesus had heard was devastating news. His cousin and mentor, John the Baptist, was dead. The disciples had collected the body and buried it, and immediately after they informed Jesus. John’s death had been gruesome, his head had been delivered on a platter to Herod’s niece and her mother, a gift he wasn’t thrilled about, but was obligated to give, as he had promised her anything she wanted. Things were complicated then, too. Herod was king, but Rome was bigger, and the constant pressure of keeping peace while occupied by an empire required delicate footing. John, with his prophetic reputation, was a dangerous person to have alive, but because so many regarded him as a prophet, he was also a dangerous person to kill. But, it had been done. And Jesus needed a moment.

Grief is an unwieldy, wild thing. Even after years, it still can find ways of taking one’s breath away. In those first moments of hearing the news , Jesus recognized the need to be alone, to sit with the emotions away from people. To quit for the day, and retreat to a deserted place where he could pray, recuperate just enough from the devastating blow to continue his work. We cannot be at our best when we are depleted, even Jesus recognized this.

Anyone who has ever been interrupted in the middle of taking time out can empathize with this on a basic level. Jesus took a moment for self care, but word got out where his secluded spot was, and people flocked to that place, on foot, from great distances. An opportunity to see Jesus! We know, we know, he’s trying to take some time off, but we are sick! We have problems! Please, just help us! And so he did. He healed and cared for them all afternoon and into the evening.

If you’re anything like me, you may have been filled with cringey indignation at this. The disciples certainly were! He just needed like, ONE afternoon, people, can’t your problems wait a few hours?! In a moment of trying to protect their teacher, they tried to pull Jesus away from the crowd, which he had been surrounded by, immersed in all day. The disciples wanted him to take care of himself first, they wanted to send people back to the villages to buy food, and squeeze in an exit for Jesus. But compassion for the sick and afflicted again overrode grief, and Jesus told his disciples, “No, they don’t need to go, YOU give them something to eat.”

Wait.

What?

It’s no wonder they responded the way they did. “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” None of them had anticipated a crowd, let alone imagining THEY would be on the hook for catering the whole affair. Can you picture the scene, the huddle of apostles, just barely able to pull Jesus from doing the work he was moved by compassion to do, all circled up thinking, “Okay, so we give up everything to travel with him, we are essentially just as destitute as everyone else here, but he wants US to feed them? What do you have, Bart? Bread? Saaaaaaame. You Andrew? Fish. Of course, it’s alllways fish with you. Sooooo, I’m guessing I know what’s in your satchel too, Pete. Alright. 5 loaves, two fishes. Fish? No, one perch, the other’s trout, fishes. Look, we don’t have time for the language police, there’s a huge crowd out there. Who got the head count? “5,000, plus women and children.” You only counted men? That’s not very accurate, not that we’ll get very far as it is. Well, I guess we better tell Jesus the bad news, “Rabbi, uh…We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.”

We know the rest of the story. The crowds sat, and using words we will hear again when we celebrate the eucharist, the food was blessed, the bread broken, the pieces of loaves were distributed, a basket for each apostle was passed, person by person through the entire crowd, until all were fed. When the disciples, undoubtedly in the first ever recorded act of church ushers skillfully navigating the baskets through the assembled congregation, finally met with their baskets at the back of the crowd, the baskets were still filled, teeming with bread, filled to the brim. Leftovers, even! Out of Andrew’s musty pocket tilapia and my day-old baguette!

That a miracle occurred, there is no question. Whether you’re of the “defies logic, physics, and breadcrumbs” camp or the “everyone banded together and filled the baskets with what they found in their own satchels to share” group, there is a miracle to behold here. Something my dad taught me is that, when reading the miracle stories, to look for the side-miracles as well, to get a fuller grasp of exactly what had been accomplished here. You know, the less flashy ones without the fantastic biblical pyrotechnics and tons of fan art made about them through the ages. When I look for the other miracles at work in this pericope, I see two. First, the miracle of Jesus’ attention during a time when he had fully intended for mourning and prayer. His compassion runs so deeply that turning away the immediate and pressing need of a crowd, hurting, scared, afflicted, and living under the thumb of empire looking for hope was not an option for him. He gave of himself, even when it hurt and he needed to be cared for just as all those in the crowd. But also, he didn’t give alone.

The other fireworks-free miracle was that he managed to flip the scarcity mindset of “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” within his own inner circle, to remind them that ours is a God of great abundance. I think this hidden and kind of, well, beige miracle might have the most wisdom for us, a people who are hurting, scared, afflicted and *ahem* living under the threat of empire, looking for hope in this Covid-coated, what-on-earth-did-I-just-hear-the-newscaster-say, is this even real life or did we slip into a bizarre parallel universe 2020 world.

As we are experiencing all of these things, and sighing deep, communal sighs of grief, feeling tension well up as we witness atrocities, and swimming in the mixed feelings of never being able to do quite enough to fix everything, we might find ourselves fighting against a “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.”mindset. How can we replicate church when we aren’t allowed into church? How do we shape a future that we never asked for using only the things we’ve known from the way we’ve done them in the past? How can we grow our membership, our ministries, our evangelism-yes, I know I chafe against that word too, but we need to say it, our evangelism to do God’s work here on earth, if we haven’t had to do it this way before?

We aren’t alone in doing this. Just as Jesus didn’t do his work alone, remember the “No, YOU feed them” piece?- and we aren’t alone in the work we are called to do either. For the disciples, it took moving past the scarcity mindset and trusting that the five loaves and two fish would be enough. How is the scarcity mindset keeping us from trusting the miraculous abundance of a compassionate God and bringing that abundance to the world? In what ways are we as a church, or as a community, as a country, finding we are being caught up in looking at what we don’t have instead of being open to what we do have, already here with us, and how can we turn these things that don’t look like much or feel sufficient in the face of huge change and newness, how will we turn them into more than enough to not only carry us through this pandemic but to come out of it with even more than we had imagined? None of us knows how our world will be changed when we come through the other end of this, or what profound impact this will have on the way we live, relate to one another, or worship. We might be meeting this way for a long time, and not to be a downer, but we may have to sit with unresolved grief and climb many more hurdles before we find ourselves together again physically. So what do we have? The hidden miracle for us is that one of creative abundance using what is right in front of us. So often, we assume that the best solution to a big conundrum is going to be expensive and will be impossible to pull off with the limited resources at our disposal. In order for Jesus to do his work, he needs us to trust in what we already have with us, trust that what we bring to the huddle as we figure out how best to be the church now, at this moment, is not only adequate, but will be enough to sustain us well beyond distance-churching and into whatever our post-COVID world will ask of us.

And finally, where the lectionary leaves off, the folks were full of good food and their spiritual and physical needs had been tended, but it leaves us wondering what happened to Jesus? Did he ever get his break? Well, without giving away too many spoilers for next week’s lectionary text, yes. He did. In order to be abundantly available and to get through all the unknowns to come, Jesus needed to rest and pray.

May you find time this week to begin a practice of seeing abundance when resources initially look scarce. May your compassion swell and grow, even in this difficult time, and may you discern when it’s time to find some quiet and pray. May your readings of the same old texts give fresh insight, and may you trust that what you have to offer in service to co-creating a new vision with God is enough. Amen.

Let’s Talk About Us

Closing Hymn • Sent Forth by God’s Blessing

July 26, 2020 | Scripture, Sermon, & Prayers

July 26, 2020 by Kim Williams Leave a Comment

Opening Hymn • As Grain on Scattered Hillsides • Chalice Hymnal, 491

Opening Prayer

Lay Leader: Rene Horton

Special Music • This is My Father’s WONDERFUL World • Mary Jo Renner

Reading From the Holy Scriptures • 1 Kings 3:5-12, Romans 8:26-39, and Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

Lay Leader: Rene Horton

Tithes and Offerings

Checks can be mailed to:
Grace Community Church
C/O Rene Horton
P.O. Box 368
Auberry, CA 93602

Children’s Time

Church at Prayer and The Lord’s Prayer

Hymn • You Are The Seed • Chalice Hymnal, 478

The Message

Sermon Transcript

We’ve been meeting out in my garden for the last few weeks, as we’ve unpacked parables that have had a seed theme. Two weeks ago, we talked about cultivating our soil, making sure we were ready for the Word of God. This soil cultivation is done by doing our own work, working the soil so that we are receptive for whatever seed God scatters among us, so that when it lands it can take root and weather all storms and droughts. Last week, we discussed what it feels like to be in the weeds. It’s feeling pretty weedy these days, and it’s hard not to ask God why evil and hardship are allowed to continue. A small explanation is offered in the parable of the wheat and weeds, it is that our roots are in the same soil as the roots connected to these difficult times. We are so important to God that God does not want to risk any of us being lost by pulling the weeds prematurely, our little rooty-tendrils wrapped around and intertangled with the roots that are holding in place the very things that we pray deliverance from. Instead, we are tended to in place, we are cared for by God who wants our success as we navigate hard things. So, this week, we have a handful of parables illustrating the Kingdom of Heaven, starting with… are you ready for it…

A mustard seed.

I know, shocking. Seeds.

But before we move onto some of the other wisdom offered by today’s readings, let’s not gloss over the mustard seed, even if it’s tempting because, well, we’ve probably all heard sermons on the mustard seed a billion times. This two-verse chunk from today’s Gospel reading has a lot to deconstruct within it. The word choices and the little details make it extra interesting when you sit to chew on it a bit. Especially if it’s deli mustard on whole wheat with turkey and melted cheese… Mmmm…

First, let’s look at the mustard seed itself. Tiny. If you only had one single mustard seed, it would be easy to lose it. In this parable, Jesus tells us that someone has just one, and this person sows it in his field. The field is his, and by the use of the word “sow” we can guess this person probably has crops. This field is not likely a field that is unused, however, it is a little bizarre, isn’t it, that they sow only one seed? When I’m planting my garden, even if I’m not using the whole packet, I usually plant a few seeds. And I definitely don’t call it sowing. Not for my haphazard little plot. So, there’s already some dissonant language within this simple parable that tells us there’s something different here. Something that is slightly off.

Mustard, a favorite for about half of my household, was also used as a condiment in the ancient world. It also may have been used medicinally. But to put a single mustard seed in a field is weird, even knowing it would be used. Why not a whole field of mustard?

Then it grows up pretty huge. So big that birds nest in it. When we look back at our earlier weeks of seed stories, this seems like a bizarre placement for mustard. The other seed sown in the field would then be in less than ideal growing conditions once the mustard grew to it’s full height, taking most of the nutrients, it’s roots spreading and making it so the other crops have less room to grow, the massive height of it shading the other crops.

The kingdom of heaven is like…

…

like someone put a seed in a field that no one expected to be there, and no one noticed until it was so huge that it practically had its own ecosystem.

The next verse jumps to another analogy. A woman puts yeast into flour, leavening it. Okay, so this isn’t weird in our day of being able to buy self-rising flour, it seems like maybe even this woman is the inventor of self-rising flour, but let’s look at in context. Bread needed to be unleavened for the sabbath. This was an important piece of the spiritual ritual of the Jewish folks listening to Jesus give this message. Three measures isn’t just like, three cups of flour. It’s like, flour for 100 people. It’s a lot. In some translations, including the RSV, which is the one we have in our pews at Grace Community, instead of a woman putting yeast into flour and intentionally mixing it as the NRSV reads, it says, a woman took and hid leaven in three measures of flour. Hid. There’s something a little more subversive, a little…off-putting… about that wording. So she stashes some leaven in all the flour stores, and it spreads, until the next thing you know, it’s in everything.

A man finds a treasure, and buries it in a field. Then sells everything just to but the field with the buried treasure? Why? Why not just go home and sit and gawk at the treasure with all of his other stuff as well? There’s something bizarre going on here.

All of these scenarios are shocking. They require some form of patience, of some waiting time. Time for the seed to grow, for the flour to leaven, for escrow to close on the field. Anyone who has bought a house knows that’s the most uncertain, unsettling, long time of their entire existence. Not sure what the ancient version of escrow was, but certainly there is not an immediate opportunity for the man to enjoy the treasure he has found and buried. If you’ve been following along with what we’ve been doing for children’s time for the last few weeks, you’ve seen that we planted a seed and then checked on it every week. To watch all the videos right now in a row, it would seem pretty fast from initial sowing to the first shoots of the plant popping up, but trust me, in kid time (or impatient adult time) it felt like ages. Last week, showing the empty, boring, plain cup of dirt in the children’s time video felt anti-climactic. Like, womp womp, nothing’s happening. But this week, there was a sprout! There’s a wait, there’s anticipation, and there’s an element of surprise to God’s kingdom. I had no clue my nasturtium seeds would come up kind of purply gray. I was ready for bright green.

God’s creation, here on earth and beyond, defies what we think we know about it, and surprises us. What may start as our initial understanding of God’s love for us starts small and then is overwhelming in its abundance.

I was fully prepared to focus on the Matthew reading and just go from there this week, but yesterday while hiking, thunder crackling above, the greenness of the trees, ferns and moss dimmed by a sudden overcast, something (the holy spirit?) told me to re-look at the Romans reading. I had shoved the print out of today’s readings into my pack before we took off, so while walking, I revisited Romans. It hadn’t been an easy hike for me, my energy was off. Funky. Low. I could feel a headache coming on. Every single step was filled with “Ugh. I don’t wanna.” I can usually keep myself going by humming Taize songs or trying to remember the words to hymns (Yesterday it was “Everlasting Arms,” and somehow I could only remember “leeaaaaning, leaaaaning”). But even this, which I try to pass off as a pretty basic form of prayer and connecting to the divine, was not really working. It’s hard to be prayerful when you just have “dun dun duh duh duh, dun dun duh duh duh leaning on the everlasting arms” on loop without any of the substance. So that first line in today’s Roman reading grabbed me pretty immediately: “Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.”

I mean, it was practically like the Spirit heard my struggling through the hymn and sighed deeply and was like “Oh for cryin’ out loud, just read the Bible, Kim!”

And so there it was. The piece I had been looking for to bring more clarity to each of the seed stories over the last three weeks. They’ve taught us about how to be prepared, how to thrive under crummy conditions, and how to wait and be surprised, but what is it that’s so compelling that keeps us here, firmly planted among the weeds? Why do we want to make sure our hearts are ready for the Word? What could possibly be so amazing that we are willing to accept that a farmer willingly put a behemoth of a mustard bush in his field?

Romans 8:35 lists hardship, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, peril, and sword as those things that might attempt to separate us from the love of Christ. Those sound a lot like the weeds, the rocky ground, the spiritual droughts, we might face, especially in these difficult times we are living in. However, the equivalent of the mustard tree-bush-birdhouse becomes apparent in the words that should shock us to our very core. If they don’t read them again, hear them again, take the “heard it before” blasé out of the equation: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, no height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

I mean, that’s everything. Nor COVID, nor politics on Facebook, nor a divided nation, nor protests, nor tear gas, nor murder hornets—remember them?,—nor whatever August 2020 has in store, will be able to separate us from divine, unending, redemptive, reconciling, surprising love. That’s what’s planted in our fields, that’s the leaven that’s making its way through our flour, invisibly, quietly. That’s what we can expect at the end of all of this uneasy suspense. It’s the surprise we should have seen coming, but how can we ever expect such things when life has been so hard? And so we tend our soil. We pray and maintain connected to God, even when the weeds are thick around us—even if our prayer is feeble and the words aren’t right, as long as it’s the best one we’ve got. We remain ever-ready for what God has to offer us.

Love.

Love that is all-encompassing, bigger than we could ever imagine, and that will find us and stick to us no matter where we are or what the headlines are saying today. That’s the good news we receive this week. May you be covered by the astonishing, inseparable, and sometimes baffling love of God in Christ Jesus. Amen.

Closing Hymn • Sent Forth by God’s Blessing

July 19, 2020 | Scripture, Sermon, & Prayers

July 19, 2020 by Kim Williams Leave a Comment

Opening Hymn • Come Ye Thankful People Come • Chalice Hymnal, 718

Opening Prayer

Lay Leader: Victoria Thomas

Special Music • Be Not Afraid • Mary Jo Renner

Reading from the Hebrew Scriptures • Wisdom of Solomon 12:13, 16-19

Lay Leader: Victoria Thomas

Epistle Reading • Romans 8:12-25

Lay Leader: Victoria Thomas

Tithes and Offerings

Checks can be mailed to:
Grace Community Church
C/O Rene Horton
P.O. Box 368
Auberry, CA 93602

Gospel Reading • Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

Lay Leader: Victoria Thomas

Children’s Time | Special guest appearance by the aggressively affectionate KitKat

Families: You should have received mail from me last week with an activity packet and seeds for your children to plant. If you did not, please email me and I’ll make sure to get one out to you. If you are not in the Grace Church directory but would like to request a packet of seeds and activities email me your address and I’ll get it in the mail right away!

Church at Prayer and The Lord’s Prayer

Hymn • In Christ, There Is No East or West • Chalice Hymnal, 687

The Message

Sermon Transcript

A few nights ago I was out on my walk, and I remembered how the sidewalks in my neighborhood were covered in chalk with inspiring notes of encouragement in those early days of Shelter in Place. You know, back in April, even though it feels like five years ago. People had signs in their yards that read “separated but together” or “Kings County Strong” and there was a unified sense of “we’re in this together” that seemed to connect everyone, even though no one was personally getting close to one another. The chalk has all washed away from the last rain shower we had in May, and homes have gone back to being individual entities, the construction paper hearts in the windows have faded or have been taken down completely. In the months in between early March and now we have divided again, and perhaps even more than we had before Shelter in Place. I desperately wanted to write in chalk my feelings on this on the sidewalk in front of my house, but how to even put into words succinct enough for the passing jogger to catch as they run by? I wanted it to be at once a rallying cry for us to support one another, and an apology for my own contributions to the division. But I also wanted it to be true, and how could I not be divisive with my own lawn sign that reads “we believe that…” and then it lists everything from black lives matter to listening to science. Taking a position is polarizing because we aren’t creative enough not to see everything as a binary. Division seems like its part of the way our brains are coded.

In the meanwhile, things are not getting easier, or better, or less stressful. People are still being infected with and are dying of COVID-19 at an alarming rate. There are things taking place in our country which we should be very worried about, the limiting and controlling of scientific information or unmarked vehicles picking up protestors are just a few. And we are divided. Intense debates on whether to open schools or begin the school year online. And we are divided. Which lives matter. And we are divided. I could go on, but you’ve all felt where the divisions pop up in your lives, among your families and friends, in your community. I hardly need to harp on them. But we are in a mess, and we’re so upset with our neighbor that we have a hard time loving them.

And it is with this sort of environment all around us that we approach today’s Gospel text. Last week we talked about soil, and making sure that our own soil was being tended to so that as the seeds, which are parable-speak for The Word of God, are scattered, we are ready to nourish and flourish, and so that we will weather the hard times, the good conditions and the droughts. From what I’ve already spoken about this morning, at least for me, it sure feels like we’re enduring a less than ideal time for growth. Maybe these are the rocky ground, or these are the thorns. Perhaps it’s drought. To continue with the theme of gardening, this week’s Matthew text introduces a different seed parable. The weeds and the wheat. On first reading, it feels a bit ominous. It is a bit ominous. The owner of the field sows wheat, and when everyone is away from the field, the enemy shows up and scatters the seeds of weeds, mixing them in with the good seed. Anyone who has gardened and is watching seeds sprout all at once knows the difficulty in at first discerning the weeds from the wheat, and then the difficulty in pulling those weeds, with their tangly, hardy roots up from the ground without uprooting the seed closest to it. The owner of this field wants to make sure that all the wheat has a chance to grow, and so it is given the less-than-ideal growing situation of making it to harvest among weeds. Greedy, water-sucking, nutrient-stealing weeds. At harvest, the weeds will be pulled and disposed of, and the wheat will then be harvested, living out its fullest purpose.

Jesus then explains that the owner of the field, the one who sows good wheat is the Son of Man. The field is the world. The good seed are the children of the kingdom. The weeds are…and this is the part I struggle with, because it has heavy and judgmental implications, the children of the evil one. The devil is the one who sowed them. The harvest is the end of the age, the reapers are the angels.

Okay, does anyone else hear a record scratch at this? It feels pretty heavy. Pretty, like, I dunno, how do we know which ones are the evil little weed-children and which ones are…us? This may be a harder parable for any of us who have been told by someone that we are not living up to Biblical standards, to those of us who have been called sinners. Where are we supposed to read ourselves in this parable with such baggage? And when we come to this with the baggage of the difficult growing conditions we’re experiencing, how does this parable affect us? What does it mean for us? How can it give us hope or foster our growth?

First, this is a story that reminds us that we are not the judges. This is good news, because no matter where you fall on the “called out as a sinner” scale, the judgment of others is not gonna stick. It ultimately is the work of God and of Jesus to do this. As we know from the Wisdom of Solomon reading, God judges with mildness, God is fair. We also know this isn’t a free pass to go out and oppress people willy-nilly or to do harm, because in the same breath we hear from that text that we are to be kind, this is part of the give and take. God is good to us and offers repentance and second chances and unending grace, but in return we are to be kind. A little side-bar about kindness. It is also easy to say that since we should not be the judges ourselves because that’s not in our job description, that this severely curbs our ability to seek justice. Being kind isn’t always being nice. Sometimes kindness looks like hard truths. Being kind takes more guts than being nice. Being nice can gloss over gross problems and smile like they were never there, which is harmful to those who are on the other end of those problems. Being kind takes more discernment, requires navigating conversations truthfully in order to create better outcomes. We are not judges of others based on what we perceive to be their sins, and we are to be kind (not nice!) because God is a redemptive, saving, powerful God. God will be the one who separates the wheat from the weeds. Our job description as children of the Kingdom, or if you like to use a term that is less kyriarchal, kin-dom, is not to judge, but to work, and work hard at reconciliation. There are some deep divides, but what if not everything was an either/or binary? What are the small ways we can begin healing conversations that are still truthful, but don’t alienate. How do we grow our field toward a plentiful harvest without succumbing to the energy-stealing weeds around us?

And then in our present situation, it’s not just people that feel like the weeds around us. If we look at everyone as someone who God loves deeply and dearly, it’s easier for us not to play judge. But let’s look at what we’re mired in. A certain amount of it is out of our control, I mean, there’s a pandemic taking place! We’re stuck in centuries-old institutionalized systems of oppression which benefit some and harm others. There’s a lot that feels out of control. Weedy. Last night I had a conversation with my daughter about her anxieties over this pandemic never ending, us never going back to normal. Never going to an art gallery without masks on again. It’s a real fear, and the weeds around us are fertilized and nourished by it. Our roots are becoming entangled in the roots of the weeds of all of these things happening. However, God is not willing to risk losing any one of us. God is our advocate, is our attentive gardener. If, in these months we’ve asking why God lets these things happen, this offers a word of explanation. Here we are, entangled, interwoven, stuck with the weedy reality of COVID-19, of injustice, of fear, of indifference. To pull it out would be to effectively pull our roots as well. There’s too much at stake for God to be the divine weed-puller so early on in our own development. So God monitors the situation. God tends the crop. Just because we’re saddled with an overabundance of goatheads, fiddlenecks, and foxtails doesn’t mean we can just sit back inactive. We can bear witness to the kin-dom of God even in all this, the presence of weeds doesn’t destroy all the wheat. The presence of evil, of impossible situations, does not destroy God’s goodness. Instead of being self-righteous judges as we put on our gardening gloves to pull some evil weeds, Walter Wink reminds us we can instead move forward by “naming” “unmasking” and “engaging” the “powers that be”—you know all those institutions and systems that we’ve talked about before. Knowing we aren’t the judges allows us to be kind, to do this work with love and accountability.

We won’t be in the weeds forever. The divisiveness, the sense of yuck, won’t last. God is watching, tending the garden, and will one day free us from the weeds. Amen.

Closing Hymn • Sent Forth by God’s Blessing

July 12, 2020 | Scripture, Sermon, & Prayers

July 12, 2020 by Kim Williams Leave a Comment

Greetings

Opening Hymn • From All That Dwell Below the Skies • Chalice Hymnal, 49

Opening Prayer

Lay Leader: Palmer and Gren Families

Special Music • Rejoice • Mary Jo Renner

Reading from the Hebrew Scriptures • Isaiah 55:10-13

Lay Leader: Palmer and Gren Families

Epistle Reading • Romans 8:1-11

Lay Leader: Palmer and Gren Families

Tithes and Offerings

Checks can be mailed to:
Grace Community Church
C/O Rene Horton
P.O. Box 368
Auberry, CA 93602

Gospel Reading • Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Lay Leader: Palmer and Gren Families

Children’s Time

Families: You should receive mail from me this week with an activity packet and seeds for your children to plant. If you do not, please email me and I’ll make sure to get one out to you. If you are not in the Grace Church directory but would like to request a packet of seeds and activities email me your address and I’ll get it in the mail right away!

Church at Prayer and The Lord’s Prayer

Hymn • Wonderful Words of Life • Chalice Hymnal, 323

The Message

Sermon Transcript

What do you know about soil? For having grown up in the central valley, bread basket of the world, you would think all this agricultural influence would have given me a better understanding of what it takes to make stuff grow. I’ll admit, even though I love gardening, I do a pretty haphazard job of it. Sometimes I remember to fertilize the soil. Sometime I’ll even aerate the ground, but usually that happens when I’m wearing heels and I forget and walk across the lawn, leaving little puncture marks as I struggle back to the sidewalk without turning an ankle. But I do know that there are certain conditions that make for a good garden. And the conditions that might be right for one plant could be wrong for another. I’ve learned that growing clover in one’s lawn helps to boost the nitrogen in the soil, which leads to a greener lawn (but let’s be real, the true benefit here is growing clover and watching the bees buzz around). I know that when I plant roses I should throw some rose food in the hole before I put the rose bush in because it makes for healthier plant. I know I should probably be composting my green kitchen waste because I’ll make for a nice, cheap mulch to spread in my garden beds. I’ve even purchased “beneficial nematodes” off the internet to put into my garden because I liked saying “nematodes.” But when it comes to what’s actually happening with my soil I’m not really sure. I’ll plant two geraniums, impulse purchased on the same trip to Tractor Supply, and one will thrive and the other will wither once I put them in my garden. Both spots looked exactly the same as far as shade/sun ratio and how much water they get. It has to be the soil, right?

Today’s parable is the Parable of the Sower, but it has much more to do with the soil than the sower or even the seed. Yesterday, my husband and I took a hike in Sequoia National Park. We were ambitious, perhaps overly so, and went for the Alta Peak trail. With the parable of the sower bouncing around in my brain, I started noticing where things grew and where they did not. The Alta Peak trail is 15 miles round trip, so there was plenty of time to look at plants as I was trying not to think about my aching feet! I noticed that certain flowers only grew near streams, and as we climbed higher, the bright green of the ferns and moss disappeared and the darker, hardier greens appeared only in little clumps here and there, clinging to crevices in between rocks, where they were able to get their roots in deeper. Admittedly, once I was in the last mile, I was paying less attention to plants and soil, but I can tell you this, it was very rocky, very sandy, and the only plants I saw were the kind that lay low, almost like a cat hiding in the grass, blending in with their environment. They were the pussypaws rather than the lupine. They were the pink heather rather than the sierra shooting stars. Rugged, scrubby, the kind that look like if I were a plant I wouldn’t want to pick a fight with them. The verse, “As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away.” played in my mind, imagining a stray Columbia Lily making it’s way up to the peak at 11,000 feet and just after the snow melted, while the winds were cool and the sun not yet at it’s mid-July harshness sprouting up, getting what it needed from snow run off and spring rain, but as the summer comes closer, the roots not being able to burrow deeply or perhap spread wide and shallow enough to access the scarce water. It would wither. This is probably a flawed image, I have no clue what the root base of a Columbia Lily look like or if it spreads by seed or by bulb. But without proper oxygen getting to my brain, it was the best I could do.

The soil where the seed is scattered matters. That’s what this parable is getting at. It needs to be appropriate for the kind of seed that shows up in order for the seed to take root and endure all the drought and heat, or conversely mushy marsh and constantly wet conditions that come it’s way. If the soil is right, the seed will then grow, bloom, produce a zillion more seeds for the next wildflower season so that intrepid hikers who are out of their depth can look at them for inspiration as they stumble their way uphill.

Jesus isn’t giving his contribution to the Old Farmer’s Almanac, however. Most people who were listening to him speak would have known that if you scatter seed on rocky, shallow soil the bird are going to get it before it can ever take root, or that if the plot isn’t tended, weeds and thorns will choke the plant out. My garden is a testament to this one. His point is that the seed will scatter and if it doesn’t land on the right soil, it will struggle. The soil isn’t just the bag of Miracle-Gro potting soil we picked up at the nursery, it’s us. We are the soil, and the scattered seed is the Word of God. Jesus explains this in the second half of the pericope, noting that he had once again confused those listening. And that they were confused only proved his point, if they (the soil) were not ready for what he had to say (the seed) then the Word simply wouldn’t make sense. Tend to your soil, folks.

What does this parable of ancient, inefficient gardening practices have to do with us, here in 2020, worshiping from home while huddled around our smartphones and computers? How does this speak to us, even more specifically, as members and attendees of Grace Community Church?

We, as a church, are in a time of flux. Church, capital C, is having to reimagine worship and find ways to reach one another through the incredibly impersonal medium of the internet. We may be stuck doing this for a long time, which breaks our hearts. I long for a room full of people who are praying and singing together, or the vivid chatter of coffee hour. We also know, that Church, capital C will not look the same or simply go back to the way it was pre-COVID-19. Our hearts break further when we acknowledge that important parts of our worship services, like singing together and group recitation of prayer will no longer be safe to do when we come back together. The traditions that comfort us and connect us to the Divine and to one another are forced to end, possibly temporarily, but it could be longer. We never imagined back in March that we would still be having coffee hour using Go To Meeting in July. Our church, Grace church, has also been in flux. The many, many months of pulpit supply, lay leadership taking on roles that are traditionally what the pastor tends to, as a congregation, we’ve weathered a lot of question marks over the last few years. What does our soil look like?

We are in a time of flux and transition, both as the church as one body of Christ, but also as our own local church, the place that means so much to us. In this time, how are we tending our soil? When we begin to unwrap what the Church, capital C looks like post-Coronavirus, how will those seeds germinate when they hit our ground? What if we are stuck worshipping like this for even longer than we are currently imagining? Our enthusiasm to overcome the obstacles and make church happen online has been awesome so far, and we’ve risen to the task to finding ways to stay in community while also 6 feet or more apart. But what about the possibility of this dragging on?

I think we have an advantage, having been already used to the flux of being in search and call for so long before we were pulled apart from one another. Grace Church is well practiced in tending soil that can weather change, but what other ways is God calling us to care for our soil? If we were to buy one of those fancy soil PH testers, what would we find out about who we are as a community of faith? How will we tend one another so that God’s Word can continue to take root in our souls, even while things are rocky around us or we are choked by the thorny underbrush of alienation or grief? How can we nurture our own soil during this time so that when it is revealed to us what Church capital C will evolve into, we are receptive and ready to grow with it? I leave these questions with you today to ponder, and I leave you with the charge this week to find one new way you can tend to your own spiritual soil so that it enriches our communal garden plot at Grace Community Church. May our soil produce deep, meaningful roots. Amen.

Closing Hymn • Sent Forth by God’s Blessing

July 5, 2020 | Scripture, Sermon, & Prayers

July 5, 2020 by Kim Williams Leave a Comment

Opening Hymn • All People That on Earth Do Dwell • Chalice Hymnal, 18

Opening Prayer

Lay Leader: Judy Ahrens

First Reading from the Hebrew Scriptures • Song of Solomon 2:8-13

Lay Leader: Judy Ahrens

Second Reading from the Hebrew Scriptures • Zechariah 9:9-12

Lay Leader: Judy Ahrens

Epistle Reading • Romans 7:15-25a

Lay Leader: Judy Ahrens

Tithes and Offerings

Checks can be mailed to:
Grace Community Church
C/O Rene Horton
P.O. Box 368
Auberry, CA 93602

Gospel Reading • Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Lay Leader: Judy Ahrens

Children’s Time

Coloring Page Download

Church at Prayer and The Lord’s Prayer

Hymn • There’s a Wideness in God’s Mercy • Chalice Hymnal, 73

The Message

Sermon Transcript

Due to technical difficulties this morning, there is no transcript. I apologize for the inconvenience.

Closing Hymn • I Am Thine, O Lord • Chalice Hynmal, 601

June 28, 2020 | Scripture, Sermon, & Prayers

June 28, 2020 by Kim Williams 1 Comment

Opening Hymn • Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing • 16, Chalice Hymnal

Opening Prayer

Lay Leader: Barb Colliander

Faithful God,
your love stands firm from generation to generation,
your mercy is always abundant.
Give us open and understanding hearts,
that having heard your word,
we may seek Christ’s presence in all whom we meet. Amen.

Psalm 13 • How Long, Lord? • Mary Jo Renner

Reading from the Hebrew Scriptures • Jeremiah 28:5-9

Lay Leader: Barb Colliander

Epistle Reading • Romans 6:12-23

Lay Leader: Barb Colliander

Tithes and Offerings

Checks can be mailed to:
Grace Community Church
C/O Rene Horton
P.O. Box 368
Auberry, CA 93602

Epistle Reading • Matthew 10:40-42

Lay Leader: Barb Colliander

Children’s Time

Coloring Page Based on Matthew 10:40-42

Church at Prayer and The Lord’s Prayer

Hymn • Rock of Ages • 214, Chalice Hymnal

The Message

Sermon Transcript

Last night I was out walking after the sun set, as I often do during these hot summer days. It has the added bonus of being less people-y, which as we’re finding ourselves still in the middle of this pandemic, is always desirable. I’m not sure if you’ve played “walking path chicken” yet with someone coming toward you, also engrossed in their workout playlist, and waited it out to see who would step off the path to allow for 6 feet of space to safely pass one another, but navigating who will step off the sidewalk and onto the grass or the road gets a little hairy when there are lots of people out on the trail. So armed with my little can of pepper spray and a great podcast, I set out last night as usual. I had just finished the podcast (which was on hospitality, of all things) when I noticed a car pulled to the side with it’s hazards flashing. A man was standing outside the car talking to the couple in the car, so I pulled my earbuds out to ask if anyone needed any assistance. The couple in the car had hit a dog, which had caused part of their front bumper to drag directly in front of the driver side wheel. The man who had also stopped on his walk was in the process of trying to convince this out-of-town couple that they needed to at least pull off 11^th, which is a fairly busy street, and into a side street. I echoed this, I’ve seen folks rip down the 40 mph speed limit street at 70 or 80 at times. Definitely not the place to be fumbling around for a jack to see what could be done. But then there was the issue of that dangling piece of plastic in front. If they drove over it, they might damage their tire. “Do we have any rope? Bungee cords? Anything? The couple shook their heads, and then I remembered my (don’t laugh) fanny pack I wear as I walk. It’s stretchy, durable, and easy to fasten. So I pulled my phone, and other items out, and we got to work, distanced 6 feet apart, at tying the piece of plastic up to the grill of the car, keeping it from dragging directly in front of the wheel. The couple could move their car to a safer space, and the other man and I carried on with our walks once we knew they were okay, leaving my little pouch with them in case they needed it to keep the piece held up while getting the car to a garage.

Not to forget the other victim of the accident, I crossed the street to look for the dog, and found a man sitting on the grass, petting a beautiful german shepherd. He was waiting for the police to come take it to animal control services, and his calming presence was keeping the injured dog at peace laying there on the grass, panting heavily.

I have wondered a few times what hospitality looks like in this time when we are afraid of disease transmission, and I saw a glimpse of an answer last night. People had stopped, and while still observing as much distancing as possible, jumped in to help where they could. Having just listened to a podcast about the kid of hospitality that was discussed in our Matthew reading, I couldn’t help but see a through-line.

Today’s Gospel is the end piece to last week’s reading. If you remember from last week, we heard about the potential dangers of picking up the cross and following Jesus. Discipleship comes with risk. The man who was caring for the dog in my imperfect illustration from last night, for instance, was risking the dog turning on him in fear and in pain, but caring for a creature in pain overrode the potential danger of the situation. As disciples, we risk alienation, awkward conversations, and even potential violence as we follow Christ’s lead. This week’s reading picks up from there, talking about hospitality. And not just giving hospitality, which we hear in many other places in the Gospels, but also receiving it. I don’t know about you, but it’s a lot easier for me to offer help than it is to receive it. These are two sides of the same coin that we, as followers of Christ, have to do and do well.

Unfortunately, hospitality isn’t something that our culture is great at. America has this ruggedly individualistic mindset that lends itself more to suspicion of others than to openness or interconnection among others. When it comes to doing the hospitable thing, we aren’t always putting our best foot forward. Our doormats may say “welcome” in a cutesy, artsy font, but our Ring doorbells with video monitoring say otherwise. We can see our American individualism play out on a large scale as we hear the indignant statement, “I’m not wearing a mask,” even though studies have shown that mask wearing prevents the spread of airborne transmission of COVID-19. This is not an individual failing on the part of the cranky person without a mask just wanting to shop at Trader Joes without smelling her own coffee breath, but is a symptom of a much larger problem stemming from a culture that values the individual over the collective, that places worth on MY needs over a compassionate sense of hospitality for the others in our immediate breathing space.

Which, ugh, brings me to sin. In our reading from Romans, sin plays a pretty huge part. I’m not sure what your upbringing was, but I’m positive that if you’ve spent much time hanging out in churches, you feel some sort of way about sin. For me, talk of sin makes me anxious. I was not raised with a lot of focus on sin—and I don’t want to speak for all UCC churches, but I think it’s fairly common for those of us in progressive faith circles to downplay sin because it is divisive, has been weaponized against humanity across history, and it is not part of the feel-good story we love to tell about our loving God. I’m so uncomfortable with talking about sin that I’m pretty sure I had panic attacks the entire few weeks we spent on sin in my intro to theology class, which, of course, meant I was incapable of thinking too deeply about sin because I was just trying to get through the class session without having to have an opinion ether way. But to avoid seriously regarding sin is dangerous in it’s own way. If we don’t approach the topic of sin, it is impossible to know how we are participating in it without even knowing. So let’s talk about sin.

I’m just going to say it, rugged American individualism, Horatio Alger mythology, and pulling oneself up by one’s bootstraps is a sin. This is counter to everything we’ve ever been taught, indoctrinated into, and believe about how we operate as individuals in a society, but it is also a root of so many of the injustices that we are actively speaking on, marching on, and getting into Facebook arguments in the comments on today.

Our view of sin, as Americans, is equally individualized. Just as we look at a person who is unable to escape poverty and wonder what *they* did wrong to not be able to rise up out of their situation, we also have taken sin and packaged it into individual failings, seeing it as actions that one person does to impact them negatively, without viewing sin as a whole big ball of yuck that we’re all wrapped up in. We have used sin as a way to exclude folks from our dinner tables, or at least make them feel like they’re less than when we espouse “Love the sinner, hate the sin,” making this about them and their morality while lifting our own to a higher, purer, level. But what if, when we think about sin, we don’t just conjure up images of lust, greed, gluttony, or any of the other common individual sins as labels that can be slapped on anyone we feel is a sinner? What if we looked at a bigger, less convenient picture of what it means to truly sin?

Corporate sin does just this. To our American ears, when we hear of Corporate Sin we might immediately waggle our fingers at Wal-mart or Amazon or some big corporation for their sins, but again, that’s still focusing on induvidual sin, moral failing that can be pinned to someone else’s lapel. Corporate sin, instead is looking at sins that are committed in which we are all involved in. These sins are harder for us to pinpoint, and therefore easier to bypass, however, these are the ones that get to the heart of Christ’s teaching in a way that talking about individual sin never will. Corporate sins are the ones that uphold unjust systems of power. They are the ones that seem justified because that’s the way things are. Corporate sin is slavery as an institution, that was then transformed into Jim Crow, and then into mass incarceration and racial profiling by police. Corporate sin is committed, then, when we refuse to acknowledge that this harm has been done, that reparations have never been made, that people die because of lack of access to health care or because implicit bias makes police officers jumpy and ready to use force when dealing with black people and unsuspicious and accommodating in their dealing with white people accused of the same crime. Corporate sin is valuing a health care provider’s right to refuse to serve a person because they are transgender, since this upholds the individual’s right to their religious practice. We commit corporate sin when we are not outraged that basic human rights are being denied to people who are getting sick and requiring medical care because of some out-of-context, cherry-picked scriptural excuse for discrimination. Corporate sin is the destruction of the earth, poverty, homelessness, and child labor. Participating in corporate sin isn’t just on Big Oil, but it falls to all of us for our dependence on it. It isn’t just on our cities to find solutions to homelessness but it is on each of us when we don’t even look the beggar on a corner in the eye and see the human being sitting there. It isn’t on the family that cannot rise out of poverty because of decades of redlining and unfair housing and labor practices, but it is on us for allowing it to happen. It isn’t on the giant clothing companies that use child labor to manufacture their products, but it is on each of us for not looking at the tag to see where it was made and looking into the practices of each company. Corporate sin is failing to see the value in protecting one another during a pandemic, and it is played out in every time we value our own personal diva-tantrum comfort over the health and welfare of people we don’t even know next to us in the produce aisle. Sin goes beyond individual moral failing and the sins we should be going after as followers of Christ who vow to uphold hospitality and justice are the ones we ourselves are deeply complicit in. We don’t get a free pass just because we are “not under law but under grace” as Paul writes to the romans. We must address these deeper, bigger, systemic, in our air-and-water sins. Paul uses the illustration as either slaves to the one whom we obey or slaves to sin, but as we have not had such a great track record with that word here in America where meritocracy and privilege run rampant, instead we need to check where our allegiance lies. Is it to upholding systems that are intended to keep some in poverty while others profit or is it to God? Is our allegiance to guarding our own position of privilege (or ignoring that it even exists?) or is it to understanding and then tearing down white supremacy? As we wrap up, to cycle back to Matthew, are we offering a cup of cold water, extending life-giving, life-affirming hospitality to these little ones, to use Jesus’ words, to these ones created-in-the-image-of God (hint, that’s everybody), or is our allegiance to propping up and perpetuating large-scale systems of sin? This week, I encourage each of us to explore the ways we have ignored, overlooked, or purposely avoided our own complicity in big-picture, corporate sin. Which of these things made you squirm the most or bubble up with indignation and anger? Start there if you felt those feelings. What tugged at your heart? Filled you with sorrow? Guilt? Grief? Start there. Even though we are all part of these gigantic systems, that doesn’t mean we are helpless or actionless in dismantling them. Dig in, pray and read how Jesus responded to similar situations. Find one small thing you can do to loosen your own hold on keeping that sin propped up. Is it donating to your local BLM or NAACP chapter? Is it deciding to stop buying plastic when possible? Is it committing to ride-sharing instead of driving alone? Is it wearing a mask to Tractor Supply, or helping a stranger on the side of the road, even though it’s dark and you’re as vulnerable as they are? Find one thing, and do it with intention, knowing you are doing it for love of neighbor, for love of children and future generations, for love of creation, and most of all, for love of Jesus Christ. God be with you

Closing Hymn • Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus • 613, Chalice Hymnal

June 21, 2020 | Scripture, Sermon, & Prayers

June 21, 2020 by Kim Williams Leave a Comment

Opening Hymn • His Eye is on the Sparrow • Page 82, Chalice Hymnal

Opening Prayer

Lay Leader: Chris Williams

God of power,
you uphold us in times of persecution
and strengthen us to meet the trials of faithful witness.
As you delivered us from death
through our baptism in Christ
and the victory of his resurrection
send us forth to proclaim that glorious redemption,
so that the world may claim
the freedom of forgiveness
and new life in you. Amen.

Psalm 69 • But as For Me, O God •

Tithes and Offerings

Checks can be mailed to:
Grace Community Church
C/O Rene Horton
P.O. Box 368
Auberry, CA 93602

Holy Scripture • Jeremiah 20:7-13 • Romans 6:1b-11 • Matthew 10:24-39

Lay Leader: Chris Williams

Children’s Time

Coloring Page Based on Psalm 86

Church at Prayer and The Lord’s Prayer

Hymn • It is Well with My Soul • Page 561, Chalice Hymnal

The Message

Sermon Transcript

Father’s Day is a tricky one to preach. Just like Mother’s Day, it’s loaded with hidden heartaches and traumas at every corner. It’s tempting to just gloss over the fact that today is a big Hallmark holiday and cut straight to the gospel this morning. Of course, the folks who came up with the Revised Common Lectionary must have had a sense of humor. This week’s Matthew reading won’t fall on Father’s day every three-year cycle, but wow, when it does, it makes things kind of awkward, don’t you think? “For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me.” Um, okay.

These words are kind of harsh. We tend to hold family up on a pedestal. When it comes to making choices, often when tasked with choosing a certain path over the wishes of our families, we weigh heavily the repercussions of such an action. We don’t rock the boat over Thanksgiving dinner when Uncle Steve makes xenophobic comments. We keep our dreams to ourselves because our mom has been pushing for us to go into a sensible career for our whole lives. In America, we talk a lot about family values, and there are several iterations of this that use the word “family” as a coded way to push a religious or political agenda. Focus on the Family, Traditional Family Values, etc, are all things we’ve heard of in Christian contexts, and are often used to prop up heteropatriachal values and undercut the validity of families that are structured differently than the norm. When we begin to understand that by placing such a high value on family as an impenetrable structure, we have created an idol, it’s easier to understand how Jesus’ words could apply to us today.

In his time, family meant stability, security. Family was the way you got by and knew you had a future. As they mentioned in the Pulpit Fiction podcast, family was your 401k. They were your social status, this is how you had your wealth, these were the people in your immediate circle. Strong family ties meant a more comfortable, predictable, status-quo-y life. To say that he has come to set children against parents isn’t to give kids license to quarrel with their parents, even though my five year old would love that loophole. It is, in actuality, a call to be profoundly uncomfortable, vulnerable, and thus, completely open to God. Jesus isn’t anti-family, but he is aware that when we are more worried about filial piety and not upsetting Grandma we make for sloppy bearers of the Word. Especially since often we are not given easy tasks as Christians. Our role as followers of Christ will often set us against the world we live in, it will ask us to speak up on the side of love and justice when we’re in a room full of people who think differently. It will demand of us to speak truth even though truth won’t always fit into the polite, people-pleasing model our parents would prefer us to follow. It’s not easy to stand in the truth with people we don’t have any relationship to—how many times have you ever nodded along with a rant from a near-stranger just because it’s easier than saying your feelings on the matter? I did this just this week because I didn’t have to capacity to argue with someone on the phone about why they should care about other people. It’s hard, and when that person we’re engaged in conversation with is also family, it makes navigating those conversations even harder.

There is a serious cost that comes with following Jesus Christ. Becoming Christian isn’t quite like waving a magic wand and Poof!, all your troubles will be gone. You never have to walk alone through those troubles, but there will be toil. There will be controversy. There will be challenges to face that you’d honestly rather not have to deal with.

The Prophet Jeremiah laments some of those costs of being one who follows God. In our reading we heard an exposed, vulnerable lament which seems accusatory and shocking that Jeremiah would be so bold when addressing God. But we read it, and hear someone who is speaking God’s truths and only come up against mockery, derision, and humiliation. His friends laugh at him, and they’re waiting for him to slip up, to stumble, and he wants to give up, to stop speaking truth. He is tired of being set up for failure by God, again and again. But even as he swears he’s done with this prophet business, he can tell he won’t be able to keep hi mouth closed for very long. God burns within him. The words must come out. Jeremiah is no stranger to this later call to place God over all else. Does he like it? No. Does he argue with God over it? Yes. Does God abandon him for being mad about the frustrating situation he finds himself in?

Of course not. God rescues the life of the needy from the hands of the wicked. God is beside Jeremiah like a “dread warrior.” God is dogged in the way we are always supported and accompanied.

Will things turn out the way we envisioned them when we decide to take the path God lays out for us? Not always. Will our words get twisted around and taken out of context? Likely.

Are the risks and the costs of discipleship worth it? We might find ourselves asking that question from time to time. If we can learn anything from the example Jeremiah sets out for us, it’s that we can bring anything to God, no matter how borderline blasphemous it might be. God is our closest confidant. If we are harboring doubt within, God know it’s there anyway. When we openly lament, question, accuse God of the bait-and-switch when we speak truth to power and find ourselves humiliated, we give God an opportunity to respond, we just have to be courageous enough to listen to the answer we are given.

The Gospel, when applied to our lives, has the potential to disrupt our relationships. It has radical asks of us that will push us past our comfort zones. It will cause us to look at the world in a different way than many of our friends and family members. While keeping in relationship with one another is essential, our relationships must be honest, and unafraid. We must weigh the consequences of making people uncomfortable when we see that discrimination, racism, hatred, and bigotry of all kinds are rampant. So I leave you with this question, what injustices are you willing to accept to avoid discomfort? Wrestle with it, take it to God in a Jeremiah-style lament. Really assess how this sits with you. In which ways do you need to learn to become comfortable with discomfort? May God strengthen you in tough conversations, help your voice to be strong even when it will most certainly go unheard, and reassure you to speak up anyway. You are called by Christ to shake things up, and you will never be left abandoned for standing in God’s truth.

Closing Hymn • Rejoice Ye, Pure in Heart • Page 15, Chalice Hymnal

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