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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton, Massachusetts
Maureen Frescott
Ash Wednesday
February 17, 2010

 “Too often Lenten observance becomes an individual thing: what am I going to give up for Lent?  How is my heart before God this Lenten season?  But to restrict Lent to individual piety is to miss the words from the prophet Joel: gather the children, assemble the aged, sanctify the congregation; true repentance is something done together.”

-          Geoff McElroy, United Methodist pastor

Scripture Lessons:
Isaiah 58:1-12
Matthew 6:1-6,16-21 

Our Lenten Journey

          Welcome aboard fellow travelers. This is our departure point on our Lenten Journey.

Our tour will begin here on Ash Wednesday and along the way we’ll be making stops at Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and we will end our journey at daybreak on Easter Sunday. I suggest you tighten your seat belts, secure any loose belongings and keep your hands inside the car at all times because it’s going to be a roller coaster of a ride.

We’ll begin here in the dimly lit entryway of Ash Wednesday where we’ll leave behind any unneeded baggage and receive a symbolic marking that will grant us access to all areas of the Lenten Journey.  I pray that you ate well before arriving here, as fasting is encouraged from this point onward. 

           As we move forward from Ash Wednesday we will gradually descend through the long, darkened tunnel of Lent. Here it will seem as if the walls are lined with mirrors - as we’ll be encouraged to look deeply at the images that we project to the world and examine how we might change the direction in which we’ve been moving - To move closer to love – love of self, love of neighbor, love of God - and further away from fear – fear of failure, fear of change, fear of our own mortality. 

            After 40 days and 40 nights of fasting and reflection we’ll gain altitude once again and ascend to the plateau of Palm Sunday. Here we will briefly emerge into the light of day and raise our hands in triumph at the arrival of Jesus, our beloved brother and guide, before dropping down once again into the darkened tunnel of Holy Week.

           As we descend, we will quickly gather momentum until we hit bottom on Maundy Thursday. You are forewarned that on this day, water may splash over the sides of the car and your feet may get wet. At this point on the journey we will share a meal together and remember the last night that Jesus spent on earth. As we exit Maundy Thursday the few remaining lights inside the Lenten tunnel will dim to black, and we will press on in silence.

            As we move into Good Friday our tour will then slow to a crawl. This section of the journey is not for the faint of heart. The sights and the sounds that we’ll experience there are not pleasant but I encourage you to resist the urge to cover your eyes and plug your ears, for we cannot truly experience the thrill and the joy of the height that is to come unless we first know what it is like to go through this valley. The painful images, the cries of anguish, the metallic taste of fear in our mouths, and the smell of death will all converge and overwhelm our senses. But then, just as abruptly as this torment began, it will end. And the world will fall silent.

             On Holy Saturday, our tour will come to a complete stop. We will sit in the darkened stillness of the tunnel; and we will wait. We’ve been told that the exit lies just around the bend, but we can’t know for sure. At this point we will feel disoriented and lost.  It will seem as if our beloved guide has abandoned us, leaving us to find our own way home. But as the sun rises on Easter morning we will see a thin shaft of light glowing in the distance, and we will begin to move forward once again.

             Soon this pinpoint of light will grow to illuminate the walls and the floor and the ceiling around us.  As we exit the Lenten tunnel and emerge into the light of Easter morning, feel free to let loose with shouts of joy and to sing Halleluiah - as we feel the warmth of the sun on our skin and smell the sweet scent of freshly tilled earth all around us. There we will get our first glimpse of new creation, new life, the resurrection of all that is good and holy.  It is there that Jesus, our beloved brother and guide, will step forward once again to greet us, to welcome us home after our long and tiring journey, and to offer us rest in the loving arms of God.

            But we can’t get there, unless we begin here. Here in the dimly lit entryway of Ash Wednesday.  It is here that we scrub our faces clean and anoint our heads with oil.  It is here that we offer alms and pray to God for forgiveness. It is here that we begin our fast. A fast that has little to do with depriving ourselves of what we want or desire, and very much to do with letting go of what we no longer need. Our sins. Our sorrows. Our guilt. Our shame. The pain and regret we feel for having wronged another. The anger and resentment we feel against those who have wronged us. The fear we feel when we contemplate our own mortality. The emptiness we feel when we’ve distanced ourselves from God.

             It is here on Ash Wednesday that we make a conscious effort to take all these things and lay them at our feet. To spread them out on the ground so we can get a better look at them.  To say to ourselves: “These are the burdens that I’ve been carrying….What is it that God wants me to carry?....And what is it that God wants me to leave behind?”  The point of receiving ashes is to remind us that eventually it will all be left behind.  Returning to the dust from which it was created.

           Yesterday afternoon, as I watched the snow falling on the Andover Newton campus and sat mesmerized as the large yet delicate flakes drifted slowly to the ground - it was not hard to imagine that it was not snow that was falling, but ash. As it blanketed the grass and weighed heavily on every branch of every tree, the world took on an eerie monochromatic silence.

The greens and the browns and the reds and the yellows, were obliterated under a layer of ashen white.  I was struck that on the eve of Ash Wednesday, nature had chosen to paint over what God had created, as if to prepare the canvas for something entirely new to appear.

          Normally when I gaze out my window on campus and I see one of my classmates walking in the distance, with just a glance I can tell you who they are. Even if they’re too far away for me to see their face, I find familiar clues in their gait, their build, or even the color of their clothing.

Yesterday, their identities were a mystery to me. Bundled up in hats and heavy coats, moving quickly through the falling snow, each person looked just the same as the other. It was as if nature was using the ashen snow to paint over us as well.  And why not? We are part of creation.

We are not exempt from the cycle of life and death.  In Genesis, God said to Adam, “You will return to the ground for out of it you were taken. You are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Gen. 3:19).  From this we learn humility, for we die just as the leaves on the trees die, but we also learn that we are not above creation, but a part of it. And God aches to be in relationship with creation; God aches to be in relationship with us; and we ache to be in relationship with God.  And all this stuff we’ve spread at our feet, all the stuff that we’ve been carrying around for years, this is what is getting in the way of our relationship with God.

            So every year on Ash Wednesday, we come together in community and receive a smudge of ash across our foreheads.  To remind us that we’re not going to live forever, and that the time to unburden ourselves and move into the loving embrace of God is now. 

            Yet understandably, contemplating our own mortality and taking a good hard look at our shortcomings, is not something that we are eager to do. Which is why many of us choose to skip this stage of the Lenten journey.  In choosing to walk with Christ we’re often tempted to walk just part of the way - to skip joyfully by his side during the celebratory times and to run on ahead during the painful times.  Perhaps because spending 40 days in the wilderness picking at our scabs is too much for us to bear. Perhaps because contemplating Jesus’ suffering reminds us too much of our own.  Perhaps because witnessing his death forces us to face the fact that we too will one day die. 

             But if our focus is only on the living Jesus… and the risen Jesus, are we missing the point of the incarnation? Perhaps we’re neglecting to see that God so ached to be in relation with us that God became one of us - so we might know God better and God might know us better. And part of becoming one of us is to know what it is like to suffer and to die.

            As we leave here and continue on our Lenten Journey I encourage you to see it through to the end. To resist the inclination to fast forward to the high points, moving from Christmas to Palm Sunday to Easter Morning, touching only the mountain tops and avoiding the valleys below.  To take the time to visit Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday.

          We know the Resurrection is coming, but let’s not be in such a hurry to get there.

Let’s spend some time walking along with Jesus as he trembles in the shadow of the cross.

Let’s spend some time in the wilderness pealing off the layers that prevent us from moving closer to God.  Let’s invite nature to take its ashen paint and brush it across our forehead, preparing a fresh canvas for God to create anew.               Amen. 

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton Massachusetts
The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg
February 14, 2010

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land.

—Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
at Mason Temple in Memphis, TN on April 3, 1968
the day before he was assassinated.

Scripture Lessons:
Exodus 34:29-35
Luke 9:28-43

The Rapture of Romance and the Work of Love

Because today is Saint Valentine’s Day, I considered talking about love rather than sticking with the Lectionary passages as I usually do.  Love is a biblical ideal.  Paul talked about love as a spiritual gift.  Love is a sacred moral force in the universe, and both testaments of the Bible command us to love. 

When we read of love in scripture, we are at something of a disadvantage by reading an English translation.  In Hebrew scripture, there are different words that are translated as “love” in the NRSV (translation we use in worship here at Second Church).  For example, the word translated as “steadfast love” in Psalm 119:41 is the Hebrew word hessed.  This same word can accurately be translated as “steadfast love,” but is also frequently translated as “kindness” or “loving kindness.”  The other Hebrew word that is often translated into English as “love” is ahava.  The imperative, in Deuteronomy 6:5 “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your might,” is viahavta, a form of ahava.  When I asked Greg Mobley, a professor of Hebrew Bible at Andover Newton, he said that ahava is used to describe the love between human beings, or human love for God.  In a sense, it is the love between equals, or the love of a subordinate for a superior.  Hessed can be described as the love of a superior for an inferior.  Greg called it “Un-coerced loyalty or affection… unmerited.”

There are three different Greek words that are translated as love:  filios, eros and agape.  There are differences between those three kinds, or contexts of love.  Filios is family love.  Eros is romantic love or sexual passion.  Agape is divine love, the love of God.  Two out of these three appear in the New Testament.  Guess which two.  Agape is used most frequently, though forms of filios are used as well..  This makes perfect sense, given Jesus’ practice of addressing God as Abba or Daddy.  I am not surprised, though a little disappointed, that there is no broaching of erotic love in the New Testament.  Such expressions are not foreign to Christian or Jewish traditions.  Both faiths embrace the vivid erotic love poetry of the Song of Songs as a metaphorical expression of the love between God and God’s people.  The fondness for this poem is striking when you consider the fact that God is never, not even once, mentioned in the eight chapters of Song of Songs.  The poem begins with the impassioned plea, “Oh give me the kisses of your mouth, for your love is more delightful than wine.”  (Song of Songs 1:2)  Twelfth century monk and mystic, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, wrote an entire sermon on just the first half of that one verse.

Love is rich and love is complicated, and I would not want to become too fixated on one kind or one expression of love.  For example, eros is not an end in and of itself.  Often it is a beginning.  In human relationships, eros is often the starting point for a relationship that can reveal agape in a sacred covenantal union, which is the beginning of filios.  What I felt when I first saw Jane in front of the Guilford College Library nearly thirty years ago this fall was different from what I felt when Max walked Jane down the aisle at our wedding, or what I felt the night Oscar was born.  Eros is different from the blessings born of covenantal commitment that keep us going through better and worse, richer and poorer, sickness and health.

It is somewhat telling that there are so many words for love.  No single one is quite adequate to encompass love’s dynamic and transcendent qualities.  Perhaps that is how we know that love is revelatory, dynamic, mysterious and infinitely complex.   Loves we know continue to inform loves we are still discovering, as we attempt to describe loves we experience in our constantly changing world.  For example, romantic love helps us understand love that may not have anything to do with erotic love, yet resemble romance in other ways.  Consider the term bromance.   It is a relatively new  term that has been applied to a certain kind of relationship between men.  Bromance is not unrelated to the phenomenon of the man crush.  Wikipedia defines the term this way:  ”A bromance or man-crush is a close but non-sexual relationship between two (or more) men.”  If you ever want to see a great example of bromance in film, check out the bromantic comedy, I Love You Man.

As far as I know, the term bromance does not appear in the Bible, and I know of no equivalent term in Hebrew or Greek that could be translated as bromance.  That does not mean that there are no examples of bromance in the Bible.  There is bromance between David and Jonathan.  In 1 Samuel, the text flatly states, “…The soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” (1 Samuel 18:1)  I think we can see the signs of bromance in today’s Gospel Lesson.

Jesus must have inspired feelings of bromance in his disciples.  How could he not.  Jesus was charismatic and miraculous.  The disciples traveled together and had amazing adventures.  Jesus taught them wonderful and astounding things and changed their entire approach to life.  In Luke’s account of The Transfiguration, Peter, James and John went to the top of a mountain with Jesus.  There they witnessed Jesus transfigured, arrayed in dazzling white and conversing with the two most celebrated prophets in Israel’s history.  They heard the voice of God declaring that Jesus, “…is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”  (Luke 9:35b)

Peter’s excitement was palpable.  He did not want the moment to end.  He blurted out, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah…”  (Luke 9:33b)  But bromance, like romance is not an end unto itself.  Romance is important, and it is wonderfully intoxicating.  But it is a beginning.  A sensation that speaks of possibility and compatibility, but it has to give way to something more.  Love must eventually grow into something of substance.  That is not to say that we have to give up on romance.  It can return to keep us together, just as it brings us together.

What followed after the transfiguration is instructive.  Jesus led Peter, James and John back down the mountain.  They encountered a man whose son was possessed by a spirit that tormented the boy.  It caused him to suffer seizures and froth at the mouth.  Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit and rescued the boy from his ordeal.  Here we see love in all it’s substance.  We see a father desperate to help his son, and we see a compassionate, loving response by Jesus.  We cannot fully understand love without witnessing its fruits, its effects on real human beings.  Love is more about what we do than what we feel.  Passionate notes and whispers of sweet nothings are wonderful.  But for love to be real, we have to put it to work.

In our culture, we have an unfortunate tendency to sentimentalize love.  I say unfortunate because it tends to make vague and fuzzy what is for Christians a motivating and saving force in the universe.  The Gospel According to John tells us that Jesus came because “God so loved the world…”  (John 3:16)  At the last supper, Jesus commanded us to “Love one another as I have loved you.”  (John 13:34-35)  Instinctively, we recognize the power of love.  Maybe the power of love scares us.  Perhaps by turning love into a marketing ploy for greeting cards, candy and jewelry, the way we do around Valentine’s Day, is a way of insulating ourselves from the real power of love.  Can love be tamed and still be love?

If we trivialize and sentimentalize love, we can protect ourselves against the power of love to really move and change us.  But tokens of love can never replace the power of love.  When we really love, we become vulnerable.  When we really love, we do things that we would never have thought ourselves capable.  Jesus and Peter gave their lives for love.  Every day people give their lives to love.  You see it every day with new parents.  You see it every day when people cook meals for the homeless.  We see it as volunteers swarm into Haiti to help neighbors they have never met.  Love can change us.  Love can change the world, one life at a time, in a world without end.  Amen.

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton Massachusetts
The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg
February 7, 2010

How great a being, Lord, is thine,
Which doth all beings keep!
Thy knowledge is the only line
to sound so vast a deep.
Thou art a sea without a shore,
a sun without a sphere;
Thy time is now and evermore,
thy place is everywhere. 

―John Mason (c. 1645-1694)

The majesty of God

Scripture Lessons:
Isaiah 6:1-8
Luke 5:1-11

The World As If

The other day I heard an interview with Philip Hoare, whose most recent book is called The Whale: In Search of the Giants of the Sea.  He told a story about snorkeling in the Azores near a pod of sperm whales.  Hoare said though the water was a brilliant blue; visibility under the surface was no more than twenty feet.  He described swimming slowly toward the enormous, powerful and intelligent animals.  The sperm whale has the largest brain on the planet, weighing eighteen pounds.  Unlike other large whales which cannot swallow objects any larger than a grapefruit, a sperm whale can swallow giant squid and great white sharks whole.  As he drew closer to the pod and they became visible, he saw a single whale break away from the pod and swim in his direction.  He was transfixed by the whale as it moved slowly toward him.  At the same time, he knew that if the whale opened its mouth that would be the end of him.  He said it was, at the same time, both the most frightening experience of his life and also the most beautiful experience of his life.

I think that Hoare’s encounter in the waters off the Azores was an experience of the holy.  He had come face to face with the object of his lifelong fascination, and was confronted with the whale’s enormity and overwhelming power.  He was made intensely aware of his own smallness and weakness by comparison.   These were things he already knew intellectually.  But suddenly confronting them in concrete terms in real time jolted him into a heightened sense of awareness.  As the whale drew close, in all its immensity, he must have wondered who was seeking whom.  Was a man seeking a close encounter with a giant marine mammal, or was a giant marine mammal looking for a bite to eat?  I am probably not alone in being reminded of Jonah by this encounter, but Jonah was not looking for a whale, or a “big fish” as it is often translated into English. 

Our Gospel Lesson tells a kind of miraculous fish story, as a crowd gathered around Jesus, on the banks of Lake Gennesaret.  Still early in his ministry, Jesus was already building a reputation as a teacher and a healer.  He had preached in various synagogues in Galilee, including in his hometown, Nazareth.  After he taught in the synagogue at Capernaum, as he left he cast out an unclean spirit from someone.  Then he went home with Simon, and healed Simon’s mother-in-law who was suffering from a fever.  So Simon (whom Jesus would later give the name “Peter”) already knew Jesus by the time they met that day on the shore of Lake Gennesaret.

Perhaps that is why he was willing to do as Jesus asked and put out from the shore so that Jesus could get a little breathing room from the crowd that was pressing in on him.  Simon, at this point, was an intrigued acquaintance, but not yet a committed disciple.  Simon was coming off a bad night of fishing.  He had been out on the lake all night with the other fishermen without catching anything.  Simon told Jesus this when Jesus instructed him to go out to the deep water and drop the nets.  Simon said, “Master, We have worked all night but have caught nothing.  But if you say so, I will let down the nets.”  (Luke 5:5) 

The fishermen dropped their nets, and pulled in an enormous catch.  The fish filled two boats to the point that they worried about sinking.  It amazed Simon.  He now looked on Jesus with awe and, apparently, not without some fear.  He wanted to send Jesus away.  He pleaded, “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man.”  (Luke 5:8)  Simon Peter perceived that he was in the presence of great power and overwhelming holiness.   He previously found this local teacher compelling but it now was getting a little intense for him.  Cyril of Alexandria commented on his reaction, “For this reason also Peter, carried back to the memory of his former sins, trembles and is afraid.  As an impure man, he does not dare to receive the one who is pure.”  Peter deemed himself impure, and yet Jesus called him and the other fishermen to be his disciples.  Jesus put it in terms they could relate to, saying, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.”  (Luke 5:10)

That was not unlike Isaiah’s reaction to his vision of God and the seraphim in the sanctuary of the temple.  As the six-winged angelic beings flew about the divine presence singing hymns of praise, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of host.  The whole earth is full of [God’s] Glory.”  (Isaiah 5:3)  The altar quaked at the sound.   The sanctuary was filled with smoke from incense and burnt offerings.  Overwhelmed by the presence of God, Isaiah became keenly aware of his own shortcomings and those of his community.  He exclaimed, “Woe is me!  For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”  (Isaiah 6:5) 

One of the seraphs took a burning coal from the altar and touched it to the prophet’s lips.  That scene is portrayed in the center panel of the Cole Window, along the north wall of our sanctuary.  I have always thought that act made the prophet’s lips a burnt offering.  Though Isaiah felt inadequate and unworthy, God met him where he was and drew him out of his despair.  The seraph informed Isaiah, “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.”  (Isaiah 5:7)   God sanctified Isaiah for his mission, and asked, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?”  (Isaiah 6:8)  This time, Isaiah responded with renewed confidence, saying “Here I am; send me!” (Isaiah 6:9)

The Bible is filled with people who became overwhelmed when they encountered God.  It is not unusual for a biblical hero to respond with shock and earnest protestations of unworthiness.  Remember how Moses responded when God instructed him to go tell pharaoh to “Let my people go?”  Moses tried to tell God that his brother Aaron was a much better speaker.  One might wonder why God, the omnipotent ruler of the universe, would need such flawed and sinful humans to serve God’s divine purposes.

The truth is we are all unworthy sinners with profound limitations, even the best and most gifted among us.  But the creator and ruler of the universe is also the God of steadfast love who desires to be in relationship with us and for us to be in righteous relationship with one another.  I think that God calls us to serve as an expression of God’s love.  God calls us as if we were worthy, and the appropriate response is to step up as if we are worthy.  To serve God is a blessing that brings purpose and meaning to our lives, in no small part because we were created in the image and likeness of God.  There is something about us that needs to serve God.  We can accomplish great and wonderful things when we serve the God for whom all things are possible.

Yet God knows that we are painfully aware of our own limitations.  That is why God gives us to one another, warts and all.  God gives love for us to share.  We have scripture to guide us and the Spirit of God in our midst to inspire us and drive us.  With all our flaws and quirks we can surprise ourselves with what is possible together with God’s help.  That is why it is so important for us to worship together as a community and join together to do our congregational business, discerning God’s intentions for us.  When we gather in the name and Spirit of Christ to earnestly and lovingly struggle to be faithful to God, to each other, and our neighbors near and far, we are capable of great and miraculous things.

What we are doing here now and what we will do in Fellowship Hall today is important.  We all know there is plenty of pain, suffering and trouble in the world, and everyone who is dedicated to seeking truth and doing good is needed.  That is why we are here.  To share the good news and to do good things.  It is by sharing God’s love with others that we experience it most keenly, in a world without end.  Amen.

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton, Massachusetts
The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg
January 24, 2010

In the gray beginning of years, in the twilight
    of things that began,
The word of the earth in the ears of the world,

    was it God?  was it man?

—Algernon Charles Swinburne
Hymn of Man [1871]

Scripture Lessons:
Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10
Luke 4:14-21

Words on a Page

What we witnessed in the passage from Nehemiah, with Ezra the priest and scribe and Nehemiah the Governor, displaying what may be our first glimpse of a Torah scroll.  They are presenting it for a reading to a gathering repatriated exiles in the process of rebuilding Jerusalem’s Temple and repairing the city walls.  When I see this scene I can’t help thinking we are looking at the first Bible Sunday.  Okay.  Maybe it was a Saturday.  Of course, when I talk about Bible Sunday, I am referring to the particular ritual we at Second Church observe on a Sunday in November, which is also Stewardship and Thanksgiving Sunday.  We present our fourth graders with their own Bible.  In that same service, we dedicate our pledges of support on the altar, in imitation of the sacrificial cult of ancient Israel.  From the altar, we take the Bibles inscribed to the fourth graders and present them, passing God’s Word to another generation.  In a sense, our Bible Sunday straddles both sides of a seismic shift in the focus of religious practice, from offering sacrifice to attention text.

Our passage from Nehemiah, tells us that this assembly occurred in the first day of the seventh month.  This would mean that it was the beginning of the High Holidays.  This gathering takes place on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year.  According to Leviticus, this calls for sacrifice.  “The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: ‘Speak to the people of Israel, in the seventh month on the first day of the month, you shall observe a day of complete rest, a holy convocation commemorated with trumpet blasts.  You shall not work at your occupations; and you shall present the Lord’s offering by fire.’”  (Leviticus 13:23-25)  The fact that this first Torah scroll was read in the sacred city at the most sacred time of year is significant.  It is clearly a sacred convocation, though trumpet blasts and sacrifice are not mentioned.  Nehemiah only relates reading of the scroll and the community’s response.  That is pretty amazing, when you realize that this it the first opportunity in a generation to offer a major sacrifice on the New Year, in the holy city.  And yet, the primary focus is on the reading of scripture.

We cannot be certain what the content of the scroll Ezra read that first day of the seventh month in Jerusalem after the returning exiles had come back to re-settle in the land  They do refer to it at “The Torah” which we understand to be the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy.  These are also known collectively as the Pentateuch.  In The New Interpreters Bible, Hebrew Bible scholar Ralph W. Klien points out “While it is not possible to be certain about the exact identity of the law book ascribed to Moses, it seems to be something quite similar to our current Pentateuch.”

The translation we generally read in worship is the New Revised Standard Version describes Ezra the scribe (and Priest) reading “the book of the law” (Nehemiah 8:3) to the Israelites.  The NRSV is a Christian translation.  The Jewish Publication Society’s widely used English translation, translates the same phrase as the “scroll of the Teaching.”  The Hebrew phrase in question is “ספר התורה”.  Whether you translate “ספר” as “book” or “scroll” is of little consequence.  However, in English there are significant differences of nuance between “law” and “teaching”, even though both are correct translations of the Hebrew word “תורה”.  

While the five books of The Torah do contain legal codes and regulation, both religious and civil, that is certainly not all that is contained in them.  Genesis is contains the creation stories as well  as well as primordial stories the Tower of Babel and the Flood as well the Patriarchal wanderings.  Exodus tells of the liberation of Israel from Egypt, the wanderings in the wilderness and the giving of the Torah at Sinai.  Though the Torah does, in fact contain law, there is more much more.  This argues for a broader understanding of Torah than mere “law.”

And yet, Christians have a reason to translate Torah as “law.”  There are strong theological themes throughout the New Testament that characterize the religious practice contemporary Jewish practice and scripture as legalistic.  New Testament writers like Saint Paul drew a dichotomy between life under the law verses life under the Holy Spirit.   This is why Christian interpreters would lean toward translating Torah as “Law.”  Translation inevitably involves interpretation, if not implicit commentary.   That said, even as the early Church composed and adopted their own body of Christian scriptures, they continued to embrace Torah and the rest of the Hebrew Bible as sacred and authoritative.  There were voices in the early Church who called for abandoning the scriptures that had come before, as they became a new religion.  There were church leaders who insisted that the Hebrew Bible was incompatible with the New Testament, and argued that it should be abandoned.  Perhaps the most famous proponent of this view was Marcion of Sinope.  Marcion was denounced as a heretic by the Church in the Second Century CE.

That decision by the early church is important.  By saying that, I am not applauding denouncing Marcion as a heretic.  I imagine that some of the most important ideas in human history were considered heresy when they were first proposed.  What I do applaud is that the early church leaders resisted the temptation to simplify the body of scripture by abandoning the Hebrew Bible and making the New Testament the only “official version.”  They certainly could have avoided a lot of theological tension created by a body of literature composed over centuries by a multiplicity of authors.  And yet, what would Christianity be without the Hebrew content that Jesus was raised on and taught from?

In the synagogue in Nazareth we see how Jesus was grounded in the sacred texts of his community.  He read from the Isaiah scroll, whose original audience was the generation of exiles who returned to Jerusalem and listened to Ezra read the Torah scroll in the court near the Water Gate.  The passage he read was from Second Isaiah, who consoled the exiles as they prepared to leave the lives they had built in Babylon to return to a ruined city.  The passage comforts a defeated people and offers them hope.  Consider the people gathered in that Nazareth synagogue.  How did they hear it?  “Good news to the poor… He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives…to let the oppressed go free.”  The prophesy was over five hundred years old, and how must it have sounded to people in the rugged countryside of Galilee, living under Roman occupation?  And Jesus declared, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”  They must have thought that had been written just for them.

That is the amazing thing about this mass of writings that speaks from across the centuries, conveying centuries of experience and wisdom with startling human realism.  Yes, there is a great deal of supernatural content.  The Bible speaks about the wonders that God performs, but it also speaks of real human beings encountering God and trying to do God’s will.  Amazing things also happen when we encounter the text and let it read us.  Throughout the centuries, the Bible has inspired revolutionary transformation.  Even though there are parts of the Bible that regulate the institution of slavery, 19^th century abolitionists were moved by their biblical faith to oppose slavery.  The Bible inspired Martin Luther to reform the church.  There is a lot of life left in there pages, in a world without end.  Amen.

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton Massachusetts
The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg
January 10, 2010

Each age is a dream that is dying,
  Or one that is coming to birth.

―Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy

Scripture Lessons:
Isaiah 43:1-7
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

Making a Promise Our Own

Most years, we make Confirmation part of our celebration of Pentecost.  There is a certain logic to celebrating this rite of Christian coming of age, as we observe what some refer to as the as the birth of the Church. When Jews from around the world gathered in Jerusalem to celebrate the giving of the Torah at Sinai, filled by the Holy Spirit, Peter preached a sermon.  With the other Apostles at his side, he quoted the Hebrew prophet Joel, repeating a kind of universal call to prophesy:

Then afterward, I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh,
And your young men shall see visions,
And your old men shall dream dreams.
Even on the male and female slaves,
In those days, I will pour out my spirit. 

(Joel 2:28-29/Acts 2:17-18)

Because of this, Pentecost makes a great day to celebrate Confirmation.  The passage from Acts echoes with promise.  Not only do the words of Joel tell of God’s Spirit speaking through every one, regardless of age, gender or social station, but Pentecost is a new beginning and a differentiation from what had come before.  Though Peter was speaking from the experience and religious traditions of Israel, he was announcing something new. This is why we call this the birth of the Church.  Pentecost represents a fork in the road, at least within New Testament literature.  While the emergence of the Church as a distinct religion did not happen quite so abruptly, but over a period of years, Pentecost signals a genuine theological and cultural shift that led to the emergence of Christianity as a separate religion. 

But this year we are confirming these new members of the Second Church on the First Sunday after Epiphany, rather than Pentecost.  There are reasons for holding Confirmation Sunday on the First Sunday after Epiphany, which celebrates the light breaking into darkness as the Magi paid homage to the Christ Child, a celebration of new life and new hope.  It would also make sense that a service dedicated to affirming baptismal vows would be done on a Sunday when the Lectionary gives us Luke’s account of Jesus’ baptism by John. 

For our purposes today I cannot help but notice a detail that the other Gospels do not mention, but Luke does.  Luke describes John as baptizing Jesus along with others who had come to the Jordan that day.  It’s kind of like Jesus was part of a Confirmation Class.  Luke writes. “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him…” (Luke 3:21-22a)  Of course Confirmation has everything to do with baptism.  As young adults, our confirmands are taking ownership of promises made for them when they we baptized as babies.  Confirmation is not the initiation to the church that baptism is, but it is a recognition of coming of age and taking responsibility.

It is notable that in all four Gospels, Jesus was baptized just before he began his ministry. In our tradition we say that we are all ministers by virtue of Baptism, and it is in baptism that we become members of the Body of Christ.  However, I think it is interesting that the ritual of Confirmation is more like an ordination than baptism.  The symbol at the center of baptism involves water and represents both being cleansed of sin, and of being born into a new spiritual reality.  The laying on of hands, which is practiced at the ordination of deacons and clergy, is symbolic of passing on the touch of Jesus, which was transmitted by Peter, the Apostles and on to every bishop and priest after them.  The laying on of hands is not a magical act, but rather a symbolic recognition that we trace our faith and our ministry back to Jesus.  In other traditions the laying on of hands is conferred by a bishop.  In the Episcopal Church in which I was confirmed, the bishop visited church on Confirmation Sunday, for a special service in which the bishop anointed each of the confirmands with oil.  We also practice the laying on of hands, but because our theology is different and our authority structure is very different, we confer laying by the authority of the congregation itself, represented by the Confirmand’s parents, mentor and the pastor. 

You’ll recall that just before the laying on of hands, we all renewed our Second Church Covenant of membership.  After we heard the Confirmands confirm the baptismal vows that were made for them as babies, which made them a part of the Church, united with all who confess faith in Jesus Christ in every land and every age, we all affirmed our Covenant with this church, in this place, with these people to serve God as members of this congregation.  As these five confirmands made their covenant with God and with all of us, we affirmed our covenant with them, one another and God.  At confirmation we all restate and renew our covenant because our congregation and community are renewed by these five young people making their promises today.

The covenant starts with the big picture.  We become members of Second Church based on our love of God and our faith in Jesus Christ.  Love is the organizing principle of this and every other church.  When Jesus was asked to name the greatest commandment, he named two commandments and they both had to do with love.  At the last supper, Jesus commanded us to love one another as he loved us.  Our covenant is based on love and it brings us joy.  After we affirm our love of God and our faith in Jesus Christ, we declare that we “joyfully enter into the membership of this church.”

Once we declare our love, faith and joy we talk about our intentions and we promise our loyalty, presence and work.  Our commitments are rooted in a depth of feeling, but those feelings, those sentiments are made real through what we do.  We share in the work, worship and support of Second Church which is part of the work and ministry of every church all over the world.  Second Church is a community joyfully dedicated to loving locally and globally.

All we have to do is read the paper or watch the news to know that the world is in need of love and healing and a little joy couldn’t hurt.  We operate out of a wonderful paradox that the stronger and deeper the commitment we make to becoming a faithful community dedicated to following the teachings and example of Jesus, the more we experience the love, joy and healing of our church.  The faithful works that we do, work on us.  I can think of no better example than last year’s dinner and talent show to raise money for the Mission Trip to West Virginia.  Last spring we came together to share a meal, to have some fun, and in the process we helped send our youth and their leaders to help some people they and we never met.  Our kids came back from West Virginia bearing witness to the profound faith of the Farmer Family, who told them unequivocally and without hint of irony, that they were an answer to their prayers. 

Katie, Andrew, Sarah, AnFei and Ben, in so many ways you are the answer to our prayers.  By the commitments you have made today you have increased our household of faith.  I hope and pray that you will take those promises seriously.  You have a ministry here, and you can make a difference here.  We want you to make a difference, here and beyond.  You can make a difference by being yourselves and letting your light shine in our midst and in a world without end.  Amen.

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton Massachusetts
Maureen Frescott
January 3, 2010

I wish that there were some wonderful place

Called the Land of Beginning Again,

Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches

And all of our poor selfish grief

Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door,

And never be put on again.

—Louisa Fletcher Tarkington

The Land of Beginning Again

Scripture Lessons:
Jeremiah 31:7-14
John 1:1-18

 Once Upon a Time…

                Two years ago, as I finished up my college degree and prepared to enter seminary, I took a job working in a bookstore in a local mall. The best part of the job was watching the faces of the children as they entered the store and ran to the Kids’ Section in the back, screeching in delight.   This was a section I could never keep in order. Often a child would enter in a frenzy and leave with a pile of books left scattered all over the floor. But I didn’t mind. For the kids it was like digging for treasure. After pulling everything off the shelves, they’d carry the book they’d chosen to the register and reach up on their tippy toes to set it on the counter, their eyes stretched wide with excitement.

Their frazzled parents would often complain about how many books the child already had at home and how quickly they’ll read this one before requesting yet another. Too often, the child never made it to the register, and instead was carried screaming from the store as the parent rattled off a list of errands they needed to run, and places they needed to be. “We don’t have time for stories,” they’d say.  But their children knew better. There is always time for a story.  

We are a people who love stories.  When we hear the words:

Once upon a time…

In a land long ago…

In a galaxy far, far away…

 We can’t help but prick up our ears and stop what we are doing. Our full attention is given the source of these words. Whether we read them on the printed page, see them scrolling across a movie screen, or hear them tripping off the tongue of a wizened elder, an exuberant child, or a stranger on the street.

            One thing that all human beings have in common is the love of storytelling. Before we even had language our species was scratching stick figure images onto cave walls because we couldn’t resist the urge to tell the story of our existence. We drew pictures of the people we lived with and the animals that fed us, and the first hunters told tales of the one that got away. Storytelling was so easy, a caveman could do it. With the development of language came not just the ability to give commands and express wants and needs verbally, but the ability to take those images off the cave walls and bring them to life in the minds of others using words alone.

            Now some 35,000 years after the first cave drawings appeared, we’re still enamored by the art of story telling. In the form of books, movies, television, or theatre; and in good old-fashioned oral form – from stories passed on from generation to generation, to a simple retelling of what we did over the weekend. Whether tales of truth or fiction, it is through story that we put aside the harsh realities of our own lives, and live vicariously through the experiences of others. When we hear a story, we often put ourselves in the place of the characters involved and imagine how the plot would unfold with us in the driver’s seat, or we see our own lives mirrored in the stories of others and we feel a little less alone in the world.

             You each have a book in front of you right now that is said to contain the Greatest Story Ever Told. If we got around to cracking its pages every once and a while we’d see that there’s stuff in there to rival even the most gripping of mystery novels, the most exciting of adventure movies, and the most voyeuristic of reality TV. The Bible is the collective effort of a people living in a particular time and place, to explain how our world - how WE - came to be.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep…Then God said let there be light, and there was light, and God saw that the light was good. (Genesis 1:1-4)

            These are the opening words of the Torah, the beginning of what we Christians call the Old Testament.  In the New Testament, we hear an echo of this creation story in the opening words of the Gospel of John: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” (John 1:1)  While the opening words of Genesis tell the story of our beginning, the opening words of the Gospel of John tell the story of Jesus’ beginning. This, believe it or not, is John’s version of the Christmas story.

         Now, this is not the story we’re accustomed to hearing. While Matthew and Luke tell the story of Jesus’ birth using imagery that is identifiably from the human experience, John has another story in mind. In John’s version of the Christmas story there are no shepherds, no traveling wise men or guiding stars. Instead, John takes us all the way back to the formless void that we encountered in Genesis. In the beginning there was God, AND in the beginning there was the Word.  For John, the Word, or Logos of God, did not enter into our history when the baby Jesus drew his first breath in a cold and lowly manger.  The Word has been with us, with God, since the beginning.

              Now truth be told, for many of us this is point in the story where our eyes usually glaze over.   We can relate to stories of shepherds, overcrowded inns, and newborn babies. And while some us struggle with the idea of angelic apparitions and virgin births, Matthew and Luke’s Christmas stories are at least told in a language that we can understand. In comparison, John may as well be speaking in a foreign tongue.  As one seminary professor told his students:

“'In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God?' How do you explain this in a sermon? You can't. You could say those words every day for the rest of your life and still not understand them."  Which is probably why Richard left the preaching for me today.

               In reality, the author of John’s gospel WAS speaking in a foreign tongue. He was speaking to a Greek audience who lived in the waning years of the first century. In John’s time the philosophy of Hellenism was in vogue, and thus he employed the language of Hellenism – using words like Logic, light, and life - to tell the story of Jesus to a people who would have found it difficult to relate to the older, culturally specific language found in the earlier gospels. In contemporary terms, we can imagine that Matthew and Luke were writing for rural farmers and blue-collar city dwellers in the 1950’s, while John is a modern day professor of Philosophy writing for an audience of university students and college professors. And yet while many of us here, are now or have been university students or college professors, our eyes still glaze over when we read the Gospel of John.

            The passage from Jeremiah that we heard this morning, while also written for another time and another people, is much easier for us to comprehend. Because it tells a story that we recognize and can relate to.  Jeremiah 31 is essentially the story of the prodigal son told on a national scale. Those who had been scattered to far away lands were to be gathered back together. God told Jeremiah:

“With weeping they shall come,

      and with consolations I will lead them back” (Jeremiah 31:9)

Jeremiah 31 carries a message of hope.  It comes near the end of a book that consists primarily of dire predictions of the evil that would befall the nation of Judah over its refusal to follow the covenant of Moses. But in chapter 31 a ray of hope bursts forth – although Judah’s people will have to face exile and punishment for their misbehavior, God makes the promise that once the punishment has brought about the desired humbling effect, the people of Judah will once again be restored to their beloved Promised Land.  The end of the story will read: “And they lived happily ever after.”

             Like many of the ‘happily ever after’ tales found in the Bible, Jeremiah 31 is a promise for the future.  We read these stories and identify with the suffering and the isolation and recognize that although we, like the people of Judah, are still living in the middle of the story there is hope to be found in the end yet to come.  But how does the promise of a happily ever after help us in the here and now?  How does a promise made to a people living some 2600 years ago, a promise of a utopia that has yet to be realized, have any bearing on how we live today? For one possible answer, lets return to the opening words of the Gospel of John:

           “The Word was God…and the Word became flesh and lived among us.”

                                                                                                                 (John 1:1,14)

All four writers of the gospels agree that Jesus is the embodiment of the hope that is yet to come. Jesus is the Happily Ever After. Jesus is a physical manifestation of the divine presence that we are meant to be, the example that we are meant to follow, and the vehicle by which we are meant to come to know God.  It is through following Jesus that we make our way to the Promised Land. 

            In literary terms, the birth of Jesus is the climatic moment in the Christian story. Everything that came before, from Genesis onward, was merely foreshadowing of what was to come.  But while Matthew and Luke have Jesus entering in the middle of our story, and returning at the end, John writes him in at the beginning. While it can be argued that this was John’s way of blatantly expressing a belief that the other gospel writers merely danced around – the belief that Jesus was in fact God incarnate, I would offer another interpretation. One that relies not on the language of philosophy but on the language of story:

Once upon a time, in a land long ago, a baby is born.

A baby that in many ways is just like you and me, and in many ways is the personification of who we are meant to be.  This baby embodies the hope and potential that each new life has to offer the world.  Yet this baby does not come into this world alone. This baby has guardians, teachers, companions and friends. This baby is born helpless just as we all are, and without the gift of human love and compassion, this baby will never grow to be the guiding light that many will come to rely on. This baby is the expression of God’s love and grace entering into the world, and it is up to us to nurture it to fruition.

            One way of interpreting the opening words of the Gospel of John is to recognize that this baby is not one life but ALL life.  Genesis tells us that God spoke the world into existence; Creation itself is the Word of God.  John tells us that the Word is the conduit by which God enters humanity and writes sacred history into our history. John writes:

The Word was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.  (John 1:2-4)

For John, the human being that we came to know as Jesus was the ultimate personification of the Word, but the Word has been with us from the beginning. We might say, the Word is the life in each of us.

             Admittedly, this is not the traditional way to interpret John’s gospel, as John most certainly believes that Jesus alone is the personification of the divine Word. In fact, in this respect John’s portrayal of Jesus is radically different then the other gospels. John’s Jesus knows who he is and is not secretive at all when it comes to making sure everyone else knows it too. John’s Jesus performs a multitude of miracles; he teaches using truth statements rather than parables; and while he expresses emotions as evidence of his humanity, characteristically he is more God-like than he is human.  Personally, I prefer Matthew, Mark and Luke’s portrayal of Jesus. The Jesus who upset the status quo by telling stories and asking pointed questions; the Jesus who cried out in anguish in the garden as he prayed; the Jesus who questioned God and asked to be let off the hook when the time came for him to fulfill the divine plan.  I prefer the Jesus who came into the world the same way that we do – wide-eyed and screaming, and who left the world the same way that we do – with a mixture of joy and pain, and uncertainty and hope.

             The reality is that none of the gospels gives us a complete picture of who Jesus really was.

Journalistic accuracy, while important to us, was of little concern to the writers of the gospels; the point was to tell the story of Jesus in a way that would resonate with the audience each was addressing. The point was to make the story come alive for the listener, with poetic license fully invoked.

           Ultimately, it is through story telling that we look to the heavens and ask: “What is the meaning of life?” “What is our purpose?” “What ending are we working towards?” And it is through storytelling that we explore all the possible answers. Through religion, science and philosophy we craft different stories containing a multitude of answers to these questions. As individuals some of these stories resonate with us, while others do not. Like children rummaging through storybooks on a bookshelf we choose the one that has the most colorful pictures and the plot line that makes us want to hear it again and again. We choose the story that speaks to us.

          In the story that resonates with me, God answers our questions by becoming one of us.

In this story, the purpose of Jesus’ incarnation, the Word made flesh, was not just to point to a future hope, a far-off happily ever after, like the one that God promised Jeremiah many years ago. 

God became one of us to show us that living was our purpose. The meaning of life, is life itself.

Complete with the joy and the pain; the laughter and the tears; the beginnings and the endings.

In this story God says: ‘The Promised Land is the land on which you now stand. Make of it what you will, and I will be right there with you offering strength and assurance.’

            God created us to live out the story of creation. In a way, we are the Word made flesh. Just as God spoke us into existence, we speak God into existence through our actions and our words. 

As we come together today to celebrate the continuation of the Christmas story, the birth of a new year, and the baptism of a new member of the body of Christ, it’s as good a time as any to think about the story that resonates with us.

What story do we choose to take off the shelf and read again and again?

And just as importantly, what story are we helping to create?

What plot lines would we like to begin, and which ones do we need to bring to an end?

How do our stories intertwine with those around us, and how might we interject some of our God given love and compassion into the stories of those who find it lacking?

What world do we imagine when hear the words: “Once Upon a Time…”

      And how can we work together, to write our own, “Happily Ever After.”

Amen

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton, Massachusetts
The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg
December 13. 2009

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. 

John 15:12

Scripture Lessons:
Zephaniah 3:14-20
Luke 3:7-18

What Are We Waiting For?

We spend the season of Advent preparing for the arrival of a baby, the Christ Child.  I recently heard a story of an expectant father that has completely colored my experience of this Advent.  The expectant father, Lt. Jim Cathy was an active-duty Marine, preparing to deploy to Iraq.  The night before he left for Iraq, Lt. Cathey slept with a blanket his wife Catherine had knitted for the baby.  He knew that he would not be home in time to see the baby born.  But when the child arrive, he wanted know what his father smelled like, even if he could not be there.  Though I am certain the child will grow up hearing countless stories about his father, the fading scent of his father on a blanket would be all that the child would ever know of his father.  Lt. James Cathy was killed in Iraq before his wife would give birth.

I learned about the Cathey Family in an interview with Jim Sheeler, and Lt. Col. Steve Beck.  Sheeler is a reporter from the Rocky Mountain News who won a Pulitzer Prize for a series he wrote about the Marines who accompany the bodies of their fallen comrades home for burial. The series called Final Salute, and has been expanded into a book by the same title.  Marines, like Col. Beck accompany the body to its final resting place, perform the flag ceremony and present the folded flag to the family.  They often assist the family through the funeral period and sometimes remain in contact with the family long after.  It is a somber act of tribute and devotion.

I was profoundly moved by the tenderness of this warrior, sleeping with his unborn child’s baby blanket in an attempt to give something of himself.   The fact that he would make the ultimate sacrifice in combat before his child was born spoke to me of the realities of the Advent Season that we too often fail to consider.  Advent is a season of glowing gloom.  We light candles because we need them.  It is not yet Christmas.  Our commercial, materialist culture with all its glitz and noise tends to drown out the spirituality of the season.  All the blinking lights are beautiful and cheering in a cold dark time.  But they have little to do with the lights hope, peace, love and joy that we kindle to carry us through a dark season.  They are statements of faith in a broken and troubling world.

Consider all the falderal of commercial Christmastime that overshadows Advent and ends as soon as the shopping does, when Christmas actually arrives.  Rather than face the gathering darkness of the Advent Season and be guided by the simplest of lights, we embrace the darkness instead.  We eat too much.  We drink too much.  We spend too much on things we probably don’t need and often cannot afford.  It is hardly original to criticize cultural Christmas, as being at odds with the religious holy day.  Our puritan forebears did not like it either. 

Three hundred-fifty years ago this year, in 1659 Governor Bradford and the General Court of the Massachusetts Bay Colony banned Christmas: “For preventing disorders, arising in several places within this jurisdiction by reason of some still observing such festivals as were superstitiously kept in other communities, to the great dishonor of God and offense of others: it is therefore ordered by this court and the authority thereof that whosoever shall be found observing any such day as Christmas or the like, either by forbearing of labor, feasting, or any other way, upon any such account as aforesaid, every such person so offending shall pay for every such offence five shilling as a fine to the county."  I read that and a part of me just wanted to take the day off, eat a big sandwich and go caroling. 

The ancient feasting of this season certainly predates Christianity, and we yearn for distractions on the long cold nights.  But that is what we do at Christmas.  Advent is about waiting for the arrival of the Christ Child.  The hope and deep yearning for a messiah and a savior has its roots in the experience of the people of Israel.  By the time John the Baptist was haranguing the people who came to hear him on the banks of the Jordan; the Israelites were in pretty tough shape.  It had been centuries since the glory days of David and Solomon.  They had been conquered by in the north by Assyria, in the south by Babylon, by the Greeks and were currently living under occupation by Rome.  John hints at what Roman occupation meant for the average Judean when he exhorted the soldiers who came to hear him.  John told them “‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.’”  This one sentence tells us that the locals lived in fear of the Roman troops, and that, and that the soldiers saw the locals as a source of easy money.  Things would get worse before they would get better.  The Romans would destroy the Second Temple and crush all resistance in Judea.

John preached dire warnings of coming wrath and unquenchable fire to anyone who would listen.  He seems to have gotten people’s attention. 

John gets thoroughly confrontational from the start, calling his audience a “brood of vipers.”  It seems odd the way Luke ends this account, “So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.”  Coming wrath and unquenchable fire does not sound like good news.  The image of “unquenchable fire” makes me think about the conversation going on in Copenhagen right now, at the UN Sponsored conference on climate change.  Global warming seems rather remote on a cold winter morning like this. But the evidence of receding polar ice and rising average temperatures and a growing scientific consensus is hard to ignore.  John asked, “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”  So where are we supposed to flee?

As I said, Advent is about waiting, and enduring John the Baptist’s tirades and stern warnings.  We have a little ways to go before the angelic chorus of Christmas Eve.  In our anxious period of waiting in the midst of looming crisis, we light candles for hope, peace, love and joy.  We need all four of those lights to carry us through anxious time.  It is important to remember that though there are four Sundays in Advent, there is a fifth candle on the Advent wreath.  The Christ candle is in the center.  Christ is at the center.  Christ inspires and calls us to hope, peace, love, and even joy. 

            And this is not simple sentimental talk about the little baby Jesus, even though that is the central image of Christ in this season.  We, the Church, are called to be the Body of Christ in the world.  In Advent we are waiting for salvation, and we are preparing to become instruments of salvation.  Just as Jesus Christ came to heal, and cast out demons and proclaim the Good News, we are commanded to love one another, to confront evil and to be healers in a wounded and beautiful world without end.  Amen.

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton, Massachusetts
Maureen Frescott
November 29, 2009

The house lights go off and the footlights come on. In the orchestra pit, the violin bows are poised. The conductor has raised his baton. In the silence of a midwinter dusk, you hold your breath to listen. You are aware of the beating of your heart…The extraordinary thing that is about to happen is matched only by the extraordinary moment just before it happens. Advent is the name of that moment.

—Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

Scripture Lessons:
Jeremiah 33:14-16
Luke 21:25-36

People Get Ready

            When I was six years old, it was during Advent that I became well acquainted with the word anticipation.  In church every Sunday we’d watch the lighting of the Advent wreath, eagerly counting how many candles were left to burn.  Every morning my sister and I would run to the kitchen where my mother had hung the Advent calendar, and we’d pull back the small paper doors, never knowing what picture or what words from the nativity story we would find underneath.  And like most children of the 1970’s, during Advent I spent an inordinate amount of time pouring over the pages of the Sears and Roebuck Christmas catalog. Imagining how complete my life would be if I found a Barbie Dream House AND a GI Joe Headquarters under the tree. Yes, when I was six years old it was during Advent that I became well acquainted with the word anticipation.

           I have a vivid memory of lying awake on Christmas Eve night. The cold wind rattling against the windowpane, while the old radiator in the corner of my bedroom clanked and clanged filling the room with a dry hissing heat. I lay perfectly still under the covers. Not daring to move.

My eyes clenched shut but my ears wide open. Straining to hear beyond the rattling and the clanking, to every sound that did not belong. Every creak, every knock, every thump on the ceiling above had me convinced that St. Nicholas and his reindeer had arrived, and Christmas had finally come.  Oh, if only we as adults could await the arrival of Christ with the same anticipation and excitement of a six-year-old waiting for Santa Claus.

          Advent for many of us is unfortunately a time of hurried business, as we prepare for Christmas day with shopping, cooking, decorating and traveling.  We pack our schedules with visitations, parties and pageants, and while we enjoy the ride we can’t wait for December 26^th to arrive, when we can stop, put our feet up and exhale for the first time since Thanksgiving Day. The anticipation associated with Advent is there humming in the background as we make our holiday preparations, but we have to ask ourselves, what is it that we’re preparing for?

          Now, lest you think this is going to be yet another Advent sermon bemoaning the fact that we’ve lost the true meaning of Christmas to the evils of consumerism, think again – That’s a road that’s been trod down too many times before, and in the enduring words of Robert Frost:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I

I took the one less traveled by…

Advent is when we typically talk about anticipation and hope as we await the birth of the Christ Child, but this week’s scripture readings have something else in store for us. Before we head off running down Main Street toward yet another Christmas, decking the halls and singing songs of joy as we go, we’re going to take a little detour down the road less traveled by - as we talk not about the first advent, but the second advent.

          The word Advent means “arrival” or “coming.”  Every year on the first Sunday of Advent the lectionary gives us a text that deals not with the first coming of Jesus, but the second coming.  Right off the bat we’re reminded that the anticipation we feel as we prepare for the arrival of the newborn babe in the manger is only part of the story. Before we get to the beginning, we have to look at the ending - and as modern day Christians, particularly here in the United Church of Christ, we tend not to dwell too long on the ending.

          We love the story – During Advent we spend a whole month preparing for Jesus’ birth, and in the spring, during Lent, we spend another month preparing for his death, but there’s a whole other part of the story that we would prefer to just skim over, if we give any attention to it all.  But in reality this is the part of the story that we’re preparing for, this is the Advent - the coming - that we’re anticipating. The first Advent, the birth of Christ, has already happened. It’s a past event for us. It’s the Second Advent, the return of Christ to this world - this is the event that lies in our future. Yet we can’t bring ourselves to talk about it. Because it involves a cataclysmic change that we just can’t wrap our minds around.  It involves terminology and theology that for many of us is not part of our every day vocabulary or our confessed beliefs. It’s where we encounter words like Eschatology - Armageddon – Apocalypse – and Parousia (which is just a fancy word for ‘second-coming’). Words like these often catch in our throats as we say them, or need to be proceeded by qualifiers like “some people believe” or “the tradition has it.”  But no matter what words we use to describe this future event, the result of the cataclysmic change that both Jesus and Jeremiah predict in our scripture readings today involves the end of the world as we have come to know it. Perhaps the reason why we’re reluctant to talk about it is because we don’t quite understand what “the end” means.  But as any good storyteller knows, endings often lay the groundwork for extraordinary new beginnings.

          The prophet Jeremiah tells us, “The days are surely coming, says the LORD, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.” (33:14-15)

And in the Gospel of Luke, Jesus says: “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.” (21:25-26)

          This is apocalyptic language. Apocalypse is another word for “unveiling” or “revealing.” Apocalyptic writings revealed the things to come.  Viewed in its historical context, this is the language of a people who are experiencing a cataclysmic event or pain that they have no other means to comprehend.  It is the language of a people who feel persecuted and small, to the point where they express their hope for deliverance, and their trust in the God who is really in charge of everything, by speaking in large, dramatic terms.  How else would God upend the power of something as mighty as the empires of Babylon and Rome than by doing big things in big ways, even bringing down the heavenly bodies from their orbits?  For people in need of a dramatic reshuffling of the cosmic deck, metaphorical images like the moon and stars falling out of the sky signify the end of one age and the birth of another.

            In our time we may leave apocalyptic language such as this to the writers of the Left Behind series or to our Christian brothers and sisters on the opposite end of the theological spectrum, but seeing worldly events as having apocalyptic meaning was fairly common in first century Jerusalem, as it was in Jeremiah’s time some 600 years prior.   Jeremiah’s words sent a mixed message to the struggling nation of Judah. In the aftermath of the destruction of the first Temple, his words were both comforting and distressing. The people liked the parts about Yahweh’s protection and coming reign. They did not like the part about exile and laying down their strategies of resistance against the power of Babylon. Jeremiah’s words offered hope, but not the kind of hope they were looking for.  They wanted to act, and he was telling them to wait.

Be patient for just a while longer – a Messiah will soon come to set us free. 

           600 years later, the author of the gospel of Luke offered his first-century readers a similar message. The apocalyptic passage that we heard today from Luke is also found in the gospel of Mark, but in Mark it carries a greater sense of urgency.  In Mark’s gospel, the destruction of the second Temple in Jerusalem was to be a sure sign that the end times had begun.  Yet, unlike Mark, who wrote his apocalyptic predictions soon after Jerusalem fell to Rome, the author of Luke wrote his gospel some 15-20 years later.  If the destruction of the Temple was to be THE sign that the end of the world was soon to follow, why had the end not yet come?   Why were the people of God still suffering when Christ had supposedly set them free?

           This is a question that has echoed down through the ages. Jesus said “Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place.”  Yet twenty years later, the generation who had heard Jesus’ claim with their own ears, began to die off, and the people began to ask, “Why has the end not yet come?”

Another twenty years went by, Jerusalem fell, and Mark said surely this is a sign that the apocalypse has begun!  But again the people were left to ask, “Why has the end not yet come?”  Twenty years after that, the author of Luke said the fall of Jerusalem was not the beginning of the end, but the beginning of the time of the Gentiles, for the Gentiles were now invited into God’s covenant along with Israel, and both were called to hear the Good News that the Kingdom of God is near.  Fast forward through 2000 years, and a multitude of doomsday predictions that have yet to come true, and still the people ask:  “Why has the end not yet come?”

           Some would respond, when Jesus said “this generation” shall not pass, he was referring collectively to all the generations that will live between the first and second comings. We are still in that time, the time in-between, the time of the Gentiles and the Church.  The end will come when all have heard the Good News.   Others would say that it is not our place to even ask WHY the end has not yet come.    Jesus said that even he did not know when it would occur; only God was privy to that information. It is enough for us to know that we need to keep alert, to be on guard, for the Kingdom will come when we least expect it.

              As writer and pastor Barbara Brown Taylor describes it:  Jesus will come like a thief in the night, “with a wool cap pulled down low on his head and socks on his feet so that you do not even know he is there, until you wake up to the sound of someone breathing over you in your bed. You can lock your windows and deadbolt your door, there is no way to keep him out. All he has to do is watch you, and you will show him the way in.” (Home by Another Way, 1999)

But as Jesus sneaks in without a sound, the Kingdom of God will arrive with a mighty roar.

             As Luke tells us, just as the budding leaves on a fig tree announce the arrival of summer, the shaking of the heavens and the earth will announce the arrival of the Kingdom of God. And there is no reason to fear when this happens, for it is Good News that this day will soon be here!

But for those of us sitting here comfortably or uncomfortably in the twenty-first century with our mortgaged homes, upwardly mobile careers, and 401K retirement plans, this is not good news; in fact it’s rather disturbing news. This is not the future that we are planning for.  Few of us have a ten-year plan that includes the Apocalypse. But to the first century fishermen and artisans living under the oppression of Roman rule, to hear Jesus say that soon all of this will be gone - this was GOOD NEWS.  Soon, it would all be over, the persecution, the poverty, the pain. All of it will pass away and be replaced by a new heaven and a new earth. Where there will be no more gnashing of teeth, no more tears. Death itself will be defeated, and humankind will be redeemed, restored to its original form as one who is made perfect in the image of God.

          We don’t have to be a first century fisherman to welcome Jesus’ promise of the coming of the Kingdom of God. There’s plenty of poverty, persecution and pain in this century to understand why there is a need for an apocalypse – a revelation of things to come.  There are plenty of us who are teetering close enough to the edge that we’d welcome the sight of Jesus descending from the clouds, as the world as we knew it crumbled beneath our feet.  Because we know the second part of the promise is that a new world will grow in its place. A world free of war, poverty, and disease.  A world where greed, genocide, violence, oppression, and injustice in all its forms no longer exist. A world where love conquers fear, hope conquers despair, and light conquers darkness. But isn’t this the world we’re already anticipating?  Isn’t this the world we’re working towards making a reality?  Isn’t this the world we see when we say our faith calls us to make the world a better place? Isn’t this the world we help to bring into being every time we help our neighbor, love our enemy, give to the poor, spend time with the sick, visit the imprisoned, clothe the naked, and stand up for those who are oppressed, marginalized or suffering injustice?  As members of the United Church of Christ we may not spend much time thinking about the end times, or worrying about the impending signs of the apocalypse.  But we do know how to envision the Kingdom of God.

              My suggestion during this Advent season is that we take the time to sit with our anticipation of the things to come. To spend just as much time thinking about what the second coming might bring, as we do fussing over the details of what the first coming has already given us. To step off the well-trodden path lined with Christmas lights and Nativity scenes, and take a stroll down the road less traveled by. To wander down the darkened road of what will be.  If we do this often enough, perhaps, just perhaps, we may find ourselves lying awake one Christmas Eve night, with our eyes clenched shut and our ears wide open, listening for the sounds that don’t belong, the thump on the roof, the creak in the floorboard, the breath in our ear, the cries of joy rising up from the world outside, letting us know that the Kingdom of God has finally come. Amen.

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton, Massachusetts
The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg
Stewardship Sunday
November 22, 2009

Scripture Lessons:
2 Samuel 23:1-7
John 18:33-37

Taken Seriously

In one of the Stewardship mailings most of you received this fall, there was a single sheet, full-color brochure that had six variations of the Second Church spire at the top.  On the bottom of the page were some snapshots of life at Second Church over the past year or so.    That brochure was created with Adobe Photoshop on my computer.  Photoshop is great for someone like me who likes to express creativity in the visual arts but is frustrated by actual drawing and painting.  Photoshop provides an opportunity to produce some fairly interesting work with digital photographs or scanned images, playing with color and composition.  Whether you realized it or not, everyone here has likely seen images created using Photoshop.  It has many more possibilities than simply manufacturing retouched gag photos of political candidates. 

I just recently learned that the English painter David Hockney, perhaps the most well-known living painter in the world, was present at the 1990 launch of Adobe’s groundbreaking photo editing program in Silicon Valley.  While Hockney is still a traditional paint and canvas artist, albeit with a thoroughly contemporary style, he is quite content to utilize technology in his creative process.  He argues that painters are practical people and always have been.  He talked about how Monet, when working on a large canvas of a landscape, had a trench dug to set the canvas in so that he could more easily reach the upper portions of the canvas as he worked.  To solve a similar problem, working on a large painting that is now in his current exhibition, Hockney used digital photography to review the whole painting as he worked.  He would put it on a computer monitor before going back to it with paint and brush. 

At the same time, he does not resist using digital media to compose original works.  In the past few years, Hockney has created hundreds of pictures on his iPhone, using an application called Brushes.  He talked about how, from May to August, the rising sun would hit him in the face in his bed.  He started reaching for his phone to sketch the sun as it rose.  He was struck by the fact that, as a subject, the sun was well-suited to “painting” on the iPhone.  Hockney found that the luminous screen of the iPhone enabled him to sketch something he would not have likely attempted with a pencil.

He was clearly excited about the new possibilities he discovered by having a full color sketchpad in his pocked or on his nightstand.  He said “With a luminous screen it becomes rather good…”  After listening to the interview, I googled “David Hockney iPod paintings” to see what they looked like.  It was striking how much they looked like his actual paintings done with brush and paint, even though they were executed by rubbing his thumbs on the touch screen of a mobile phone.  And yet, reflecting on the act of painting the sun, Hockney said it was a, “Terrific subject really.  After all, it is the source of everything.” 

When I heard him say that, I realized that despite the use of a digital medium, he was no different from the prehistoric artists who depicted bison on the caves in Lascaux 16,000 years ago, or Van Gogh painting the Harvest 120 years ago.  He was following an eternal human spiritual impulse to merge his vision with the natural world around him, to connect with an audience by turning perception into expression.  Hockney talks about it being his job to look, and said, “I think the process of looking is a joyful thing.”

Hearing Kurt Andersen’s interview* with Hockney made me think about how we practice our religion and how our faith informs our engagement with the world.  Like art, religion is essential, primal and utterly human.  Religion like art constantly changes, while both remain primitive and visceral.  Either can be elegant, simple, complicated, cerebral and sometimes all at once.  Art and religion are both universal and personal human pursuits.

Today we gave Bibles to our fourth graders.  Hopefully this will inspire and encourage them to explore what they have been hearing about in worship and Sunday School.  Though the words of scripture are fixed, the Bible is a river we can never step into the same way twice or exhaust it of meaning.  We are different and our situation is different every time we open the Bible.  We evolve spiritually and adapt to new conditions even as there remain certain constants.  I invoke evolution deliberately, because an acceptance of evolutionary theory need not negate biblical insights.  We need not, nor should we turn our backs on the Bible.  We do not have to take the Bible literally to take it seriously.  Because we now read the creation narrative with more information, more empirical evidence than the ancients did, it raises different questions for us.  If we look at the vast sweep of biblical literature, we will discover a record of spiritual and theological evolution between the covers.

You can see an evolving understanding of political power in relation to God’s purposes.  In the reading from 2 Samuel, we read an account of King David’s last words.  “The utterance of David, son of Jesse, the utterance of the man set on high, the anointed of the God of Jacob.”  (2 Samuel 1:1)  Anointing is a symbol and sign of kingship.  The Hebrew word used in this verse is משיח.  Sound familiar?  It is from that, we get the word Messiah.  2 Samuel draws a vivid picture of political power coming directly from God.

In the Gospel Lesson, we heard a conversation between Pilate, the Roman governor of Judea, and Jesus, his prisoner.  Pilate asked Jesus if he was a king, trying to determine if he was a political threat.  Jesus reframed the discussion from the literal understanding of king to a metaphysical one.  “My kingdom is not of this world.”  (John 18:36)

My hope is that we can engage scripture seriously, wherever we are on our spiritual journeys.  If we wish to consider ourselves educated we need to know the Bible.  You can’t fully appreciate Shakespeare unless you know the Bible.  I hope we will engage each other as we delve into scripture and seek inspiration.  I hope we will be open to letting the Bible read us as we read it.  As we come to the end of this liturgical year, let’s resolve to dig deep into our biblical heritage, making friends with the friends of God, in a world without end.  Amen. 

*Studio 360, November 9, 2009

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton, Massachusetts
November 8, 2009

Joy is not the same as pleasure or happiness.  A wicked and evil man may have pleasure, while any ordinary mortal is capable of being happy.  Pleasure generally comes from things, and always through the senses; happiness comes from humans through fellowship.  Joy comes from loving God and neighbor.

—Bishop Fulton J. Sheen

Scripture Lessons:
1 Kings 17:8-16
Mark 12:38-44

                                            Sharing the Pulpit

The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg                                 Bishop Danny Ainge

                                                     Part I

Second Church’s commitment to interfaith and ecumenical relationships goes back for decades, if not longer.  Our friendship with Temple Shalom dates back to the founding of that congregation in the early 1950s.  Every one of their senior rabbis has preached here.  I and some of my predecessors (going back to Ross Canon) have preached at Temple Shalom.  Such pulpit exchanges are much more common now, but not so in the 50s.  Ever since the Second Vatican Council opened the door to ecumenical dialogue and fellowship between Roman Catholics and Protestants, an ecumenical study group of Newton Protestant and Catholic women has met on Thursday mornings in the Second Church Living Room.  They still do.

Eight years ago to the day, last Sunday, we held an interfaith All Saints Day service in the Chapel Gallery (which is now occupied by Congregation Dorshei Tzedek).  All Saints Day is when Christians remember and honor our dead, celebrate our hope in resurrection and contemplate the Communion of the Saints.  That particular All Saints Day had pointed significance, less than two months after the attacks of 9/11.

The exhibit up in the gallery happened to be called Merging Waters.  We decided that merging waters, at that moment in history, were our tears.  We were joined in our sorrow and loss with Americans of every faith.  I was joined in leading worship by Rabbi David Widzer of Temple Shalom, Imam Taalib Mahdi from Masjid al Quran in Roxbury, as well as members of those communities.  We read from the Torah, The Gospel, and the Quran.  We affirmed that we were united in our condemnation of the attacks and any claim that any religion could or would justify such an act.  We also acknowledged that though we were alike in our sorrow and our outrage, we are not the same.  There are significant differences in what we believe.  To pretend otherwise would be foolish and counterproductive.  We can make competing truth claims without coming into conflict.  The best way to strengthen our respective claims was through faithful acts of righteousness, justice and compassion.  In that righteous competition, we all become a blessing to one another and glorify God, whatever name we give our creator.

As far as I know, this is the first time we have formally shared our sanctuary with a Mormon Choir and a Mormon Bishop, even though we have a veteran Mormon Missionary ministering to us through music every Sunday.  Since Andrus Madsen joined our staff, I have learned more about Mormonism than I ever did in Seminary.  As a former Missionary, he has never wasted an opportunity to encourage us to share our church’s gifts by inviting friends and neighbors to join in worship and fellowship here.  Andrus has also expressed his frank appreciation of some of the unique witness of the UCC.

Fruitful interfaith and ecumenical relationships depend on the courage to be ourselves.  We could all hold hands, sing Kumbaya and feel really good about ourselves, but we would not learn anything.  At one important level, we are all the same: we are all created in the image and likeness of God.  I also think the UCC and LDS Church have some striking theological similarities.  The Congregationalist tradition has a radical reliance on the Holy Spirit to guide the congregation gathered in Christ’s name, in real time.  Our most recent expression of that conviction is a new motto of the United Church of Christ, which is “God is still speaking.”  The symbol our denomination chose for this assertion is a red comma.  It is red, because it is the liturgical color of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit came to the Apostles in an upper room in Jerusalem.  The choice of a comma was inspired by a remark made by the comedienne Gracie Allen: “People should never put a period where God left a comma.”  By embracing additional revelation in the Book of Mormon as sacred and authoritative, as well as having institutionalized the role of prophet within your church structure, I suspect we share a similar reluctance to do what I call closing the book on God.

But we need not ignore our differences.  We can learn from them.  And we can learn from one another without agreeing with one another.  Healthy relationships do not require agreement.  Healthy relationships require honesty and respect.  In that spirit I rejoice in welcoming our Mormon neighbors and pray for a growing friendship.

We at Second Church are currently in the midst of our Stewardship campaign, and I have learned from Andrus that there is a strong ethic of tithing in the Mormon Church.  Given the fact the Lectionary provided two rather pointed scriptures this Sunday on the subject of giving, I asked Bishop Ainge if he might share his thoughts on tithing.  I have already spoken enough anyway, and am eager to hear what he has to say.  It is a pleasure to welcome Bishop Danny Ainge to our pulpit.

Part II

I am quite pleased to be here this morning. Thank you Rev. Malmberg for inviting me to share the pulpit with you and making it possible for our choirs to sing together.

This is my old stomping grounds. The first home my wife and I purchased was on 371 Highland St. just around the corner, back in 1981, and we lived there approximately 4 years.

I hope this is the beginning of a long and friendly relationship.

Members of the United Church of Christ, Congregationalist and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have more in common than their similar names and your Minister of Music Andrus Madsen, who worships with us practically every Sunday afternoon.

For instance, we may be related.  The early founders and leaders of the Mormon church (and their heirs) descended from prominent New England families, Puritans like the Marburys, Dickinsons, Howlands, Houghs, Calkins, Hutchinsons, Bradfords, Lathrops, and Tilleys.  A remarkable number of prominent Mormon leaders – Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, Parley and Orson Pratt (among others) descended from Ann Marbury Hutchinson.  Anne Marbury Hutchinson is recognized as one of the first in the American colonies to champion freedom of religion and freedom of assembly, which brought persecution upon her. Thanks to her example and that of others, a century and a half later these rights were explicitly granted to all U.S. citizens in the Bill of Rights.

This past week in the sports pages, there were three stories that I am very familiar with. The first was that an ex-celtic player who had earned 110 million dollars by age 33, was broke by age 34. The second was of another player who had earned 63 million and at age of 38 was in serious debt. And the third story was that a 23 year old point guard was rewarded with a 55 million dollar contract.

In all 3 articles, the players gave the same quote when they signed their contracts. Ironically, they said, “My family will never have to work again.”  

We live in a world that worships its own kind of greatness and produces its own kind of heroes. Today’s heroes are the tough, the rich, and the glamorous, including movie stars, television stars, athletes, musicians. The world’s heroes are constantly before us—on television and on the internet and magazine covers. We hear almost daily of athletes breaking records, scientists inventing marvelous new devices, and doctors saving lives in new ways.  We see people with perfect teeth and flawless features, wearing stylish clothes and doing whatever successful people do.

Because we are being constantly exposed to the world’s definition of greatness, it is understandable that we might make comparisons between what we are and what others are—or seem to be—and also between what we have and what others have. We often allow unfair and improper comparisons to make us feel unfulfilled or inadequate or unsuccessful. These feelings can lead us to dwell on our failures while ignoring aspects of our lives that may contain elements of true greatness.

A while back my wife, Michelle, was filling out an application that asked her what she had accomplished.  She was distraught as she thought about all of the degrees and business successes of her friends and the worldly acclaim and accomplishments of her husband.  Yet, she accomplishes more in a day than anyone I know. She has raised 6 children and spent her life serving them and our neighbors.

In 1905 our Prophet Joseph F. Smith made this most profound statement about true greatness: “Those things which we call extraordinary, remarkable, or unusual may make history, but they do not make real life. After all, to do those things which God ordained to be the common lot of all mankind, is the truest greatness. To be a successful father or a mother is greater than to be a successful general or a successful statesman.”

A couple of weeks ago I was watching the old movie “The Fiddler on the Roof.”  Tevye, a poor Jewish milkman, asks, “Would it spoil some vast eternal plan if I were a wealthy man?”

I’m sure that is an often thought sentiment today. It is tempting for many to believe that if they were rich their lives would be easy. If only I had more money…

But the Savior taught us that in fact that the obtaining of temporal wealth does not equate with righteousness and that the accumulation of wealth is often the enemy to righteousness.

Last week, when I sat down with Rev. Malmberg, he asked if I would comment today on tithing. It is his understanding that the Mormons are pretty good at it. First, let me explain, where our money for tithing goes. In The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Church members give their tithing donations to local leaders. These local leaders transmit tithing funds directly to the headquarters of the Church, where a council determines specific ways to use the sacred funds. This council is comprised of the First Presidency, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and the Presiding Bishopric. Acting according to revelation, they make decisions as they are directed by the Lord. (See D&C 120:1.)

1.   Tithing funds are used for the Lord's purposes—to build and maintain temples (We have 150 temples built or under construction or in planning around the world, where soon there will be a temple within 200 miles of 90 percent of our members) we use tithing to build and maintain meetinghouses, (all our buildings are paid for with no debt) to sustain missionary work, to educate Church members, (a family of six can afford to send all of the children to an affordable college with great reputations) and to carry on the work of the Lord throughout the world.

2.   Throughout the world, our Church provides humanitarian relief in times of crisis.

In 2007 our church responded to major earthquakes in five countries, massive fires in 6 countries, hunger and famine in 18 countries, and flooding and severe storms in 34 countries. In total our church and its members responded to 170 major events—nearly one every two days for the entire year.

In the hurricanes in Florida we were first to respond. I was reading one article from Orlando Fl just after the hurricane had hit and a city official said, “I would like to thank the two groups of people who came to our rescue, The Mormons and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints. Those here who don’t get that joke, we are the same. 

In addition to national disasters, we undertook thousands of public health initiatives.  Over 1 million people benefited from church sponsored clean water projects in 25 countries. More than 60,500 people received wheelchairs in 60 nations. In 11 countries over 54,000 individuals now enjoy improved vision. Over 16,500 health care professionals in 23 countries were trained in infant neonatal resuscitation; they, in turn, will train many others. In an effort to eliminate measles, 2.8 million children and youth in 10 countries received immunizations. The combined effects of these outreach endeavors directly touched nearly 4 million people in 85 countries.

In all of these humanitarian endeavors, our church has been successful by joining with other good churches and organizations around the world. We also take care of our own among us and our local communities.  

Examples like these are reminders of the true heroes that do exist- even though they may not be getting news coverage. People who give of their resources and time to their neighbors around the world.

When I was a young boy, I got a job delivering papers around the neighborhood on my bike each morning. Once a month I would go around to all those on my route and collect my payments and tips. My father sat me down and taught me of the Lord’s law of tithing that has stuck with me ever since.

A tithe, he taught, was defined by the Lord as 1/10 of all my increase, and that 1/10 is a very small price to pay the Lord for all he has blessed you with. I couldn’t wait to pay my tithe each month. I then graduated to bigger jobs such as bean picking, caddying, and dusting crops. Tithing remained easy, and I was proud to tell my Bishop that I was a full tithe payer each year.

When I turned 18 years old, I signed a professional baseball contract and received a signing bonus. Wow, that is a lot of tithing. Why should I have to pay more tithing than my parents have paid in their entire lives. But the words of my father were engrained in me. One-tenth to the Lord is the best investment you will ever make.

For the next 20 years I paid my tithing, but it wasn’t always as easy anymore.  Why would it be such a struggle for someone who had an abundance? Just like these other athletes, and many in our financial world we have been reading about, the Lord cautions us of the great spiritual danger that awaits when we own many worldly possessions. He said to his disciples in the Sermon on the Mount, “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal.”

And In Luke Chapter 12: When a man asked how he should divide an inheritance with his brother, Jesus replied, “Beware of covetousness; for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.”

To the rich young ruler who desired eternal life, He said, “Sell whatever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven.” The young man turned away, preferring his riches over following Christ. This prompted the Savior to lament, “How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God.”

In my world of professional sports where the mega-million dollar athletes’ wealth is small compared to the owners, it is obvious that having wealth can easily divert a person’s attention from righteousness toward the accumulation and care of those possessions. There are some who give and give greatly, while they are at the same time preoccupied with providing for their own pleasures.

So, how do we protect ourselves from becoming too consumed with money we want, money we’ve earned, money we have or money we’ve lost…. ?

I think some protection comes through the privilege of paying tithing.

For each of us personally we have the opportunity to show our gratitude to God for our blessings, and remember continually that, indeed, all that we have is His. Regular payment of tithes helps us resolve to trust in the Lord rather than in material things.

Through the prophet Malachi, the Lord declared:

"Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it" (Malachi 3:10).

The Bible indicates that God’s people followed the law of tithing anciently, just as we do today. 

One of the most humbling and powerful stories from the life of the Savior is that of the widow’s mite. Jesus’ words on this occasion leave us with much to ponder as we measure our generosity against that of a ‘certain poor widow’.

When Jesus sat teaching in the outer court of the temple, He noticed a lone, destitute woman as she approached one of the 13 trumpet-shaped receptacles provided for the voluntary deposit of contributions by worshippers.  It was Passover time, and the temple court was crowded with people from all walks of life. Just ahead of her had been several rich people who had thrown large amounts of money into the basins. As the woman approached, Jesus discerned the hearts of those in the line and called to His disciples. He pointed to the woman and said, “This poor widow hast cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury.  But she had only given two mites, the smallest coins then in circulation in Palestine. Jesus then explained the mystery, “for all the rich did cast in of their abundance; but she, notwithstanding her want, did cast in all that she had, even all her living.”

I believe that, ultimately, God isn’t concerned with whether I earn the wages of a young paper boy or a professional athlete. I believe He is concerned with the desires of my heart. My gratitude, my obedience, my willingness to give whatever He asks of me.

I have seen the blessing that tithing is in the lives of others as well.

When I left coaching in the NBA for personal reasons, I was called as a Bishop’s counselor in Gilbert, AZ. One of my responsibilities was to count and reconcile the tithes and offerings of our Ward or congregation. That experience has changed my life forever, as I was a witness of the many who gave of their living, who sacrificed, and who put off the comforts and conveniences of life to take care of their financial duties to God, nation, and others first. I saw first hand many who sought first, the kingdom of God. I continue to be strengthened by the great faith of many of our congregation, some who are with us today in our choir. I’m grateful for these righteous examples, and only pray that all of us could know of the blessings showered upon these faithful people.

I express my deepest gratitude for every blessing of the gospel of Jesus Christ, especially that greatest of all gifts, the exemplary life and atoning death of God’s Only Begotten Son. I know I can never repay Him for any of His compassion, but there are many ways I will  try to show my thankfulness. One of those ways is in the payment of tithes and  offerings. I want to give something back, but I never want it to be (in King David’s words) “that which doth cost me nothing.”

I testify that the principle of tithing is of God, taught to us in such scriptural simplicity that we cannot doubt its divinity. May we all claim its blessings forever, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton, Massachusetts
The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg
October 18, 2009

To seek God is to strive for the good; to find God is to do good.        

                                                                         —Leo Baeck

Scripture Lessons:
Job 38:1-7, 34-41
Mark 10:35-45

                                   Be careful what you pray for

As the twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall approaches, various commentators have been reflecting on that watershed moment.  Many see it as the symbolic end to the Cold War.  To evoke the feeling of that time, some refer to the “duck and cover” Civil Defense drills we had in school as preparation for a possible nuclear attack.  I was actually born during the week the Berlin Wall went up in August of 1961. I was in my late twenties when it came down.  Like many my age, trained in duck and cover and coming of age with superpower nuclear arms race ever in the background, I entertained the possibility of the world coming to an end suddenly as a result of a nuclear exchange.

Growing up in Dallas, those duck and cover Civil Defense drills had practical application.  Tornadoes.  Every spring in North Texas is punctuated by tornado watches and warnings.  A tornado watch means that favorable conditions exist for the formation of a tornado.  A tornado warning is issued when an actual funnel cloud has been spotted.  I spent a lot of time huddled under desks or lined up squatting along interior hallways with my classmates.

On April 10, 1979, the spring of my junior year of high school, tornadoes tore through Wichita Falls, Texas, northwest of us, near the Oklahoma border.  Forty-five were killed, 1,800 were wounded, and 20,000 were left homeless.  In the days following, there were Red Cross blood drives and appeals for clothing donations.  The local news was filled with stories of survivors who abandoned their cars when they spotted a funnel cloud and took refuge in roadside ditches.  Some of those stranded outdoors during the storm were riddled with debris that reached bullet-like speeds in the high winds.   

So, later that spring when the skies darkened during my French class and someone said he saw a lightening bolt strike the distant flat ground beyond the classroom window, nobody had to tell us twice to go to lecture hall and get under the desks.  I vividly recall thinking that could have been the end of my life.  When I think about tornadoes, I don’t think so much about them being a vehicle to the wonderful Land of Oz as much as I recall the images of Wichita Falls in the spring of ‘79.  It is as close to a real tornado as I ever want to get.

God answered Job from a whirlwind.  God appeared in the midst of a tremendous and fearsome force of nature.  It makes for an Impressive entrance.  But God does not need to impress Job, nor does God tiptoe about.  Job has been looking for God and he wants some answers.  Job should be careful what he asks for.

I am sure everyone here has heard the expression “the patience of Job.”  I don’t see it.  It is true that he has lost his health, his wealth and his children are dead.  Job has suffered profoundly and has endured the insult of his contemporaries who can only assume that Job has done something to offend God to deserve his misfortune.  Job does stop short of cursing God, but he is incensed by God’s seeming absence.  Job has played by the rules and he wants to know why God does not hold up his end of the bargain.

Barney Frank recently suggested at a town meeting that answering a question with a question is a typically Jewish answer.  This is just how God responded to Job: “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding.  Who determined its measurements—surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?” (Job 38:4-7)  Tom Dicken, the first Senior Pastor I worked with after I was ordained, summarized God’s response to Job with a slightly different take on the question.  “Don’t you read the paper?”  I think this captures something of Job’s character and complaint.  Did Job not notice or care about the suffering of others as long as things were going well for him? 

Job struggled to understand the meaning of his suffering, as his simpleminded companions tried to explain away Job’s suffering by blaming the victim.  Perhaps the reason Job cannot find God, cannot find the answer to his turmoil, is because he did not look for God in the midst of his troubles.  It makes perfect sense to me that God would appear to Job from a whirlwind, because Job does not know where to look.  Incidentally, this revelation from the whirlwind makes an interesting contrast to the way God came to the prophet Elijah.  From the cave at Horeb after Elijah led the massacre of hundreds of prophets of Baal, Elijah witnessed earthquakes, mighty winds and fire.  But Elijah knew God was not in the earthquake, wind or the fire.  Then Elijah perceived the presence of God in a still, small voice. (1Kings 19:11-13)

Job found God in a whirlwind.  Elijah heard God in a still, small voice.  Is this a contradiction?  No.  It is a complication.  God is complicated.  Life is complicated. The complexity found in scripture is a reflection of its realism.  God can be both unpredictable and reliable.  Given the complexity our existence, could we really worship a simple God?  I am not saying that simplicity in our needs, our relationships and our appetites is not an important spiritual value and discipline.  It is.  My father told me that one’s wealth is not determined by the ability to satisfy the most extravagant whim, but by the simplicity of one’s needs.  True wisdom exists somewhere between the discipline of simplicity and an appreciation of complexity.  My father had a Ph.D. in chemistry and could be satisfied by a peanut butter sandwich, thrilled if it was made on the two end pieces of the loaf.

We need the humility to let God be God, as if we even have a choice in the matter.  We’re all better off that way.  God is the creator and sustainer of the sparrow, the whale and the field mouse. I think we sometimes try to domesticate God to our own ends.  I think that is what is going on with James and John trying to negotiate the seating arrangements with Jesus.  “‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you… Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.’” (Mark 10:36-37)  It is unclear who these disciples believe Jesus to be.  Is he a political messiah come to reestablish the Davidic monarchy and kick the Romans out of the land and reunite Israel?  Is he the Son of God, Immanuel, God with us? 

The disciples’ understanding of Jesus was slow to dawn, and is still dawning on us.  James and John, the sons of Zebedee, did not fully grasp who Jesus was, but they knew he was powerful.  They wanted to benefit from their relationship with him.  Jesus wanted his disciples to understand that it was not about them.  Being his follower is not about what you can get out of it, it is about what you put into it.  Being Christ’s disciple is about being willing to engage the world as Jesus did.

Jesus used sacramental images to make his point. “You do not know what you are asking.  Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?...The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized…” (Mark 10:38, 39)  Both references speak of sacrifice.  The cup refers to communion and to Jesus’ death on the cross.  In fact, after the last supper in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed “…remove this cup from me...” (Mark 14:36)  Jesus talked about the disciples being baptized with the same baptism he was.  Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist, and we know what happened to him.  When James and John talk to Jesus about privilege, Jesus talks to them about responsibility.  Being Jesus’ disciple is not about privilege, it is about service.  “…whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” (Mark 10:44)

And yet, our salvation can be found in our service and it is a privilege to serve.  By being called to give means we have been blessed with gifts.  Jesus evoked sacrifice and service by referring to communion and baptism.  Both speak of new life, and community.  We face a world of troubles.  But we have what is sufficient to rise to the challenge, which means to accept the invitation.  We have the talents required and God gives us to one another that we might be a blessing, in a world without end.  Amen

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton, Massachusetts
The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg
October 11, 2009

To seek God is to strive for the good; to find God is to do good.     

                                                                         —Leo Baeck

Scripture Lessons:
Job 23:1-9, 16-17
Mark 10:17-31

Depends on Where You Look

For roughly two thousand years, Christians have been digging into the parables of Jesus, searching for meaning, finding reflections of ourselves and the lives we live.  In those compact stories we often find moral lessons and spiritual guidance.  Even after so many years and becoming so familiar with them, we continue to discover fresh insights relevant to our present time and situation.  Narrative has life and power.  Stories have unique ability to engage and teach us.

Storytelling is intrinsic to the human condition.  Jesus’ parables are as good as they get.  Yet we should recognize that Christianity is not unique in employing story as a means of spiritual, moral and theological illumination.  Within Sufi Islam (the mystical tradition of Islam) there is a body of folktales that tell of the exploits of Sheikh Nasra Din.  They can be funny, often told as jokes.  Nasra Din makes an appearance in Khaled Hosseini’s novel The Kite Runner. At one point Amir sneaks into Taliban-controlled Afghanistan to rescue his nephew.  As he camps along the way with his guide, the two men swap Nasra Din stories as they bed down for the night.

Chassidic Judaism has a rich tradition of folktales, usually revolving around famous rabbis.  One 18^th century folktale tells of the grandson of Rabbi Baruch, named Yechiel.  Yechiel was playing hide and seek with one of his friends.  Yechiel went to hide.  He found a good spot and remained quiet as he waited for the other boy to find him.  He waited a very long time before he came out to see what was taking the other boy so long.  When it dawned on him that the other boy was not going to look for him, he was hurt and disappointed.  Unable to hold back the tears, he ran to his grandfather and told him what his false friend had done.  Hearing the story, the rabbi also began to weep.  He said to the boy that this is how God feels, when he hides, but no one wants to look for him.

I thought of that folktale when I reached the part of Job’s complaint where the poor wretch seeks to understand God’s purpose in his suffering, but cannot perceive God’s presence anywhere.  Job says, “If I go forward, he is not there; or backward I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him, I turn to the right, but I cannot see him.”  (Job 23:9)  Unlike the folktale of Rabbi Baruch, Job is looking for God.  Presumably, God is rather good at hiding. 

The story of Job begins as a kind of a side bet between Satan and God.  God is quite pleased with Job’s pious devotion to him.  However, Satan sees no reason why Job should not be so devoted to God.  God has been good to Job.  Job is healthy, wealthy and has a beautiful family.  Satan here functions as a kind of cosmic prosecuting attorney.  He suggests that Job might not be so faithful if life were not so easy.  TJ Wray and Greg Mobley say in their book The Birth of Satan that “The book of Job is perhaps the Bible’s most bizarre masterpiece,” and describe Satan’s role in the story as an “angelic adversary.”  This Satan is not the embodiment of evil as he is portrayed in the New Testament, tempting Jesus as he fasted in the wilderness or entering Judas to cause him to betray Jesus.  The Satan we encounter in Job is a member of the heavenly host, a sort of courtier who exists in the divine presence, fulfilling a cosmic role.  In this case, he brings disaster upon Job, killing off his children, destroying his wealth and covering him with boils. 

Wray and Mobley are right to call Job a biblical masterpiece.  It really complicated biblical theology.  It presents a more nuanced portrayal of God’s nature and asks hard questions about the reality of justice in the world.  Consider the creation story.  What does God say after each stage of creation in the first chapter in Genesis?  “It is Good.”  By definition, God is good, as Jesus stated in our Gospel Lesson:  “No one is good but God alone.”  (Mark 10:18)  God is the ultimate source of morality in the universe.  God is the giver of law, from  the first commandment “be fruitful and multiply” (Genesis 1:28) to “Honor thy father and thy mother,” (Exodus 20:12) and beyond.  The Bible assumes, and therefore throughout the ages, faithful people have assumed that God is just.  The sense we get in much of the Hebrew Bible is that good things happen to good people and when bad things happen, you must have done something to deserve it.  This is an operative assumption that caused someone to ask Jesus about the man who had been blind since birth.  (John 9:2) They wanted to know if the man’s blindness was due to his sin or his parents sin, because it was certainly caused by sin.

Add to the understanding that justice and morality are essential to a universe created and ordered by a good and loving God, the sense that one’s national, ethnic and religious identity is defined by a covenantal relationship with God.  The devotion of Israel was rooted in the story of an old childless couple who followed God’s call, and were made into a great nation against all odds, despite sibling rivalries, slavery, desert wanderings and war.  Their entire culture was rooted in sacred living characterized by fulfilling the commandments of a God-given teaching and a call to be “a light to guide the nations.” (Isaiah 42:6)  This identity tended toward a kind of algebraic theology.  By that I mean, there is an assumption of a balanced equation.

But life is messy.  Life is complicated.  That got driven home when the idolator King Nebuchadnezzar laid siege to holy city of Jerusalem and destroyed the temple King Solomon built.  The elite of Judah and their families were marched off to Babylon and exile.  For generations prophets had warned that unless the Israelites dealt fairly with their workers and did not oppress the poor or turn a blind eye to suffering, disaster would come upon them.  They saw invasion and defeat by foreigners as God’s punishment.  But the cruelty and devastation they experienced at the hands of Babylon seemed to defy any concept of justice.  The innocent suffered along with the guilty.

The book of Job emerged from the experience of exile.  It was not the first time the Bible addressed this question.  Jeremiah asked, “why does the way of the guilty prosper?  Why do all who are treacherous thrive?”  (Jeremiah 12:1)  But the trauma of defeat and exile called for a more substantial treatment of the question.  While Job’s friends insisted he must have done something to deserve his misfortune, Job insisted on bringing his complaint to God.  Job demanded to know the meaning of his suffering.  Finally, God answered Job from a whirlwind, an answer that amounted to “I could tell you, but you wouldn’t understand.”   Suffering is real, but it is ultimately a mystery.

I think it is really interesting the way the Lectionary pairs Job’s search for answers with Jesus and the rich young man.  In a way, it is a different way to ask the same question.  Job asked: “what is the meaning of what has happened to me?”  The rich young man has not suffered as Job has.  His question is more like: “what can I do to make my life meaningful.”  He asked Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life?  Jesus gave him a standard, traditional answer: follow the commandments. 

Because the young man sensed there was something more to it, Jesus felt a welling affection for him.  I think he saw what a tough time the man was in for.  His search for meaning would not let him alone.  He was on an earnest spiritual search, yet his life was complicated.  The text says, “Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, ‘You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.” (Mark 10:21-22)

When I hear this exchange between Jesus and the rich young man, I think of the line in Kennedy’s inaugural address:  “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.”  Whether we find meaning, or eternal life depends on where we look.  Are we going to demand answers or are we going to be part of the solution?  We all have things to be grateful for and we all face challenges as we muddle through life in a country that has sometimes been characterized as a “culture of complaint.”  We have the power to reach for eternal life by asking ourselves, what does God ask of me?  What has God placed in my hands that will help me build the kingdom of God?  What can I do to heal a wounded world and help my neighbor?  If we look for meaning that way, we will discover the goodness God intends for us, in a world without end.  Amen.

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Rev. Mark S. Burrows, Ph.D.
Professor of the History of Christianity
Andover Newton Theological School
Second Church in Newton, UCC
27 September 2009

Hell hasn’t fared well in liberal Christianity. In fact, modernity has been defined in part by its rejection of such teachings. Hell is largely evacuated from our minds, and with it a severe doctrine of sin and divine judgment. Henry Ward Beecher, the great 19th century liberal preacher from Brooklyn, speaks in favor of this aversion. Indeed, he made his career by substituting a kinder and gentler God for one marked by the “shock and awe” of an earlier Puritan preaching, focused on divine terror and God’s unavoidable judgments of wrath or election. Writing in the New York Times, Beecher once insisted that “if I thought God stood at the door where [we] go out of life ready to send [us] down to eternal punishment, my soul would cry out, ‘Let there be no god!’ My instinct would say, ‘Annihilate him!’” He imagined that a god conceived to have made Hell would be more contemptible than the devil himself who had long haunted the Christian imagination. He may well have been right to think so.

But what is it that Hell has to teach us, if anything? The poet William Meredith once wisely insisted that “the contrasts want to run together and must not be allowed to” because “they’re what [we] see with” (“What I Remember the Writers Telling Me When I Was Young,” in Partial Accounts, 176). We need contrasts, he suggests, so that we might make sense of our lives; no contrasts, no clarity. Without them, we remain in a realm of bleak and dismal indifference. 

What, then, are we to make of this ancient “place” – if such it is – that the Greeks called “gehenna,” or hell? Strangely, Jesus has nothing to say about sheol, that democratic netherworld spoken of in the ancient psalms into which all descend at life’s end. He didn’t argue for hell, but simply presumed its existence, citing it as a counterforce against our human proclivity to sin. Nor will we glean much about hell in his teachings, since he has precious little to say about it – except that it’s not a place you’d want to visit, this gehenna where “the worm does not die and the fire is not quenched.”

Dante’s hell is populated by those who’d chosen to lead lives of reckless cruelty, unbridled selfishness, wanton violence. His inferno is remarkably democratic, presumably containing sinners of all types, though the ones we hear most about are the notables of his day: popes and bishops, kings and nobles, governors and civil servants, and, yes, poets and artists. He includes, alongside his enemies and persons of his day noted for their wretched lives, some of his friends and even his most beloved teacher.

What is striking in Dante is that he does not make God out to be the cause of such judgment. He assumes that our actions determine our end, each of us deciding on our own fate. But we also have the freedom to repent, to change, until the very last moment of our lives. Dante’s justice is what he calls il contrapasso, a “counter-penalty” we bring upon ourselves. The punishment doesn’t simply fit the crime; rather, the crime becomes the punishment. God is, at most, the observer of such calamity, remaining decidedly outside the loop of judgment. 

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton, Massachusetts
The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg
September 20, 2009 

Wisdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop
Than when we soar.
—William Wordsworth, 1770-1850

Scripture Lessons:
Proverbs 31:10-31
Mark 9:30-37

The Natural Reordering of Things

Don’t you think it’s a little odd that so many Christian children are taught to ponder their mortality just as they go to bed?  You know the common bedtime prayer.  I am sure many of you said it.  Jane did.  “Now I lay be down to sleep.  I pray the Lord my soul to keep.  If I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”  The first bedtime prayer I learned was somewhat different: “Dearest Jesus, through the night, love me, keep me, hold me tight, Amen.”  Jane and I taught Max and Oscar that one.  I don’t know where it comes from, but it is must have been inspired by the familiar Sunday school image of children gathered around a gentle, nurturing Jesus.  A variation of this theme can be seen in the window of our Children’s Chapel, with words “The Lord will guide his children into all truth and beauty.”

In 1993, the year I was ordained, I interviewed at several churches all over the country.  I was searching carefully to find just the right church and the right senior minister to begin my ordained ministry.  Not yet married, I could be flexible about relocating.  I think in every church I visited, there was some variation of that image of Jesus and the little children.  At one church in Florida, one of their members had created a bulletin board portraying Jesus in the courtyard of their church, surrounded by all the children of the congregation.  This was before the widespread use of digital cameras and Photoshop software.  What this person had done was make cutouts of the children’s bodies with construction paper and then carefully cut their faces from about thirty snapshots and pasted each child’s face into the composition.  That bulletin board was a labor of love that encouraged the children of that church to imagine themselves in the gospel story.

Mark tells us that Jesus, “…took a little child and put it among [his disciples]; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “ ‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.’” (Mark 9:37-38)  At one level, we can interpret this as Jesus teaching the disciples to be as innocent and as guileless as a child in order to have a relationship with God.  However, Jesus’ central lesson here is about discipleship and social status. 

Notice what prompted Jesus to call the child to him.  The disciples were arguing about who among them was the greatest.  It may sound to us like a trivial, even shallow concern.  But the world that Jesus and his disciples lived in was acutely conscious of status and social station.  Men had more status than women or children.  Jews occupied a higher position than Samaritans.  Land owners had a higher position than laborers who were way better off than slaves.  Where one sat at a banquet and with whom one ate communicated position in the pecking order.  There is evidence of this throughout Christian scriptures.  This status-consciousness was probably made even more acute by the fact that they all lived under Roman domination. 

Jesus rejected this cultural obsession with status and did not want his disciples to buy into it either.  As soon as he learned that they were bickering over who among them was the greatest, he turned the whole idea on its head.  He re-ordered the whole concept of status.  Jesus did not want his disciples to think that being his follower entitled them to any special privileges.  On the contrary, it obligated them to serve others.  Mark tells us, “He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’” (Mark 9:35b)

This morning’s passage from Proverbs described a fairly privileged position within the social structure of ancient Israel. Proverbs is part of what biblical scholars call “Wisdom Literature.”  Within Wisdom Literature the personification of divine wisdom is female.  Both testaments of the Bible originate from a male-dominated, patriarchal culture, so we might be surprised to find the feminine elevated in such a way.  We should pay attention to this seeming anomaly, which stands in tension with its immediate context.  The incredulous tone of the first verse of our Hebrew Bible lesson betrays a cultural bias: “A capable wife who can find?  She is far more precious than jewels.”  (Proverbs 31:10)  Some scholars explain certain passages of Hebrew Bible that seem hostile to women as a reaction to ancient Near Eastern goddess worship and fertility cults. 

A similar tension existed during the years of the Early Church.  The Gospel was being preached in the midst of a diverse Mediterranean marketplace of religions.  This included various mystery cults, many of which were focused on goddess worship.  The cult of Isis was one of these.  Though originating in Egyptian mythology, Isis had worshippers throughout the Greco-roman world.  Though there is more than a little evidence that women had prominent roles among Jesus’ followers and in the Early Church, feminine imagery did not filter into Christian biblical literature very much.  In the past few decades, feminist theologians have worked hard to uncover what Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza has called “hidden histories.”

Hebrew wisdom literature does have surprisingly strong feminine imagery, and many such references can be found in the book of Proverbs.  In the first chapter Wisdom is identified as female, offering her empowering gift to anyone who will listen: “Wisdom cries out in the street; in the squares she raises her voice.  At the busiest corner she cries out; at the entrance of the city gates she speaks: ‘How long O simple ones, will you love being simple?’”  (Proverbs 1:20-22)  Her question reminds me of the expression: common sense is not that common.  In the book of Proverbs, Wisdom is not merely personified as an admirable woman, but God’s companion in the work of creation.  “The Lord by wisdom founded the earth; by understanding he established the heavens.”  (Proverbs 3:19)

Despite the unfortunate note of incredulity, it is worth noting how capable the woman “more precious than jewels” seems to be.  She is skilled and industrious.  Apparently she produces quality textiles that make it possible to provide food for her family and employ workers within the household.  She clearly has authority over the household staff, because she provides “…tasks for her servant girls.”  Here Proverbs depict a model of ethical, sustainable, socially sensitive economic growth.  The raw materials are organic and renewable, flax and wool. 

We know that this capable woman has a business plan with an eye to growth.  The text explains that with her earnings, she purchased land and planted a vineyard.  And though she is successful and industrious, her efforts have a purpose.  She works to support her family, and she does not lose sight of that purpose.  She takes delight in her family and her children perceive her happiness.  Her spouse regards her with pride.  That is important.  Around the time Jane and I got married, somebody told me that the best thing you can do for your children is to love your spouse. 

But it is important to notice that the family relationships are lived out, not in isolation, but thoroughly engaged and integrated in the community.  She does business in the marketplace and she addresses needs within the wider community.  This economic powerhouse and domestic goddess did not lose sight of her obligations to the vulnerable members of her community.  The text is explicit on this point: “She opens her hand to the poor, and reaches out her hands to the needy.”

What emerges in both Mark and Proverbs is a vision of the social and created order that looks very different from the vision our culture projects in mass media or what is played out in our consumer society.  God wants us to be responsible and responsive to everyone and everything that comes into our lives.  That means family, neighbors, the environment and all the creatures swim, fly, creep, and crawl.  It is true we live in economically insecure times.  So let’s take care of the ones around us who are in need as best we can and offer one another comfort and encouragement.  We also need to remember that on a world scale we have a privileged position.  In biblical terms, privilege equals obligation.  But we need not despair of our obligations.  We share them.   In Christian terms, obligation equals connection, equals relationship, equals tasting the goodness of God’s love in a world without end.  Amen.

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The Second Church in Newton, UCC
West Newton, Massachusetts
The Rev. Richard E. Malmberg
Welcome Back Sunday
September 13, 2009

Look at the animals roaming the forest:  God's spirit dwells within them.  Look at the birds flying across the sky:  God's spirit dwells within them.  Look at the tiny insects crawling in the grass:  God's spirit dwells within them.  Look at the fish in the river and sea:  God's spirit dwells within them.  There is no creature on earth in whom God is absent....When God pronounced that his creation was good, it was not only that his hand had fashioned every creature; it was that his breath had brought every creature to life.  Look too at the great trees of the forest; look at the wild flowers and the grass in the fields; look even at your crops.  God's spirit is present within all plants as well.  The presence of God's spirit in all living things is what makes them beautiful; and if we look with God's eyes, nothing on the earth is ugly.

―Pelagius, 4^th/5^th Century Celtic theologian

Scripture Lessons:
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Mark 8:27-38

                                           Sustained by Vision

One of the simple pleasures I enjoyed over the summer was taking long walks with our beloved mutt, Fletcher.  He has been a member of our family for almost a year now.  We adopted him the weekend before last Halloween.  He seems to have finally settled in and believe he is with us to stay.  Often when we walk, podcasts are part of the routine.  Fletcher’s not much for conversation, though he can be a very good listener.  But when he’s busy sniffing the path for signs of other dogs or food that may have hit the ground, I listen to some of the podcasts I subscribe to.  I always pull out the earbuds when I encounter a neighbor along the way.  Live, real-time conversation is always preferable to digital recordings.  We all have to be careful to share public space as a place to connect.

Podcasts are enticing by the way they allow us to transcend time and space in a real way.  Space is compacted by making available programs that are produced and broadcast anywhere in the globe.  Once you’ve downloaded the program, you can listen to it any time you choose, stopping and starting as desired which means certain demands of time are suspended.  Thanks to the The World of Ideas from BBC radio, internationally renowned thinkers join Fletcher and me on our walks.  These weekly panel discussions gather notable intellectuals accomplished in various disciplines to converse on topics of general concern.  It would not be unusual to have a panel made up of a novelist, a physicist, a religious scholar and a social scientist. 

On the July 19 program, the discussion focused on global climate change.  The panel included Ben Okri, a Nigerian-born poet and novelist; Sarah Hrdy, an American anthropologist; and Lord Anthony Giddens, a British sociologist who advised President Clinton on climate change.  “Discounting the future,” Lord Anthony Giddens warned, is a major obstacle to confronting the threat of climate change.  He is famous for what has been called Giddens Paradox:  When we begin to see significantly altered weather patterns, it will already be too late to do anything about it.  Lord Giddens brought up an observation by American environmentalists, Nordaus and Schelling, who cautioned that Martin Luther King would not have gotten anywhere if he had said “I’ve got a nightmare.”

Hearing this, Ben Okri quite astutely observed that, “When [Martin Luther King] said ‘I have a dream,’ it was set against a background of a nightmare that was becoming increasingly visible.  Civil rights struggles.  People being arrested…The unrest in the streets and strikes and street protests and so on.  So, it was in the midst of something already evidently unacceptable.  And the consequences of it [were] that this vision was positive.  So there is a kind of dynamic here between the dark and unacceptable and the dream and the possibility.”

Isaiah knew all about the dynamic between dark and unacceptable realty and dreaming the possible.  The Isaiah of Chapter 50 that Chip read from this morning is not the same author we read from Chapter 9 every year at the Christmas Eve candlelight service declaring, “Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given…and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isaiah 9:6)  That author wrote at a time of crisis, indeed, but he was speaking before the fall of Jerusalem and defeat by the Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar.  That first Isaiah spoke in the hope that his people would repent and avert disaster. 

The author of Chapter 50 lived a generation later, after the disaster.  The city and its temple lay in ruins.  He and his people had endured years of exile in a foreign land.  This author is often referred to by scholars as Second Isaiah, a literary designation, not a title.  We can certainly call him a prophet. He had a vision and a ministry.  He had to comfort and inspire his people in the midst of an ongoing trauma when they were confronted by an opportunity that seemed like an impossible task: crossing a desert wilderness to rebuild the city walls of Jerusalem and its sacred Temple.  The amazing thing is: they did it. 

Thanks to that band of returning exiles, who not only rebuilt their holy city and its temple, they collected and organized their written religious tradition.  We owe them a great deal.  The first Torah scroll appeared during the period of the Second Temple.   Who knows what might have been if those exiles had not taken the hard road home from Babylon?  But the prophet spoke the word of God and sustained “the weary with a word.” (Isaiah 50:4)  He prodded his community with an insistence that God was with them and urged them, “Let us stand up together.” (Isaiah 50:8)

I honestly did not plan it this way, but it occurs to me that Chip West was the perfect person to read from the prophet who “sustains the weary with a word.” (Isaiah 50:4)  Just over a year ago, Chip’s brother Jean Claude suffered a spinal cord injury in a cycling accident.  You may recall his name from our prayer concerns throughout the past year.  The doctors gave him slim chances of ever walking again.  Today he walks, largely unaided, and he continues to set goals for his continued recovery.  Jean Claude is clearly an extraordinary man but he is also blessed by an extraordinary family.  Isaiah said, “come, let is stand up together.”  The vision sustains us when we share it.

As Jesus and his disciples wandered along the Mediterranean coast by Caesarea, Jesus asked them what they heard people say about him.  They said he was being compared with John the Baptist and Elijah.  He asked them who they thought he was and Peter blurted out what the others were probably thinking as well, but not yet not ready to say:  that he is the anointed one of God, the messiah.  Jesus did not deny it, neither did he get caught up in the accolades of his followers or the talk on the street.  In fact, he told them not to tell anyone.  

I don’t know if Peter was fantasizing about being part of the messiah’s entourage or what, but he clearly did not want to hear that Jesus would have to suffer and be brought low by the powers if his day.  Peter did not want to hear about the cost of discipleship.  Jesus wanted Peter to understand that, to do away with the troubles of the world, he must take them on directly himself, as Jesus knew that he must.  But there is still good news in this.  Even when Jesus said that to be a disciple you have to take up the cross and follow, he promised resurrection.

Certainly the cross was a harsh reality that Jesus, Peter and others took up.  Maya Angelou has said quite rightly, that sometimes facts obscure the truth.  We must remember the literal reality of the cross, but not allow that to obscure the eternal truth behind it which is transformation.  We are called to become our best, our eternal selves.  We are called to change the world.  That’s all.  Jesus was talking about making a serious commitment to what really matters in life.  Jesus was trying to teach Peter that only when you find what you are willing to give your life to, can you really understand what it is to live.  It is by giving our lives and living our gifts that we can behold the sustaining vision of eternal life in real time.

By teaching that we must lose our lives to save them, Jesus was not talking about a suicide pact.  He was teaching us that when we live for others we discover our deepest joy and our best selves.  That is what being a church is.  It is about waking up from the nightmare and living the dream.  Think about one of the best times we had as a church in the last year.  We came together for dinner and a talent show to help our youth group raise money for a mission trip to West Virginia.  We had a great time doing it, too.  The youth group gave a week of their summer vacation to drive two days each way and help a family improve their living conditions.  They were told by Claudia Farmer whose home they worked on, in no uncertain terms, that they were the answer to a prayer.

“What are human beings that you are mindful of them,
                    mortals that you care for them?
                   Yet you have made them a little lower than God…”  (Psalm 8:4-5a)

Yes, we live in a world of troubles, and we dare not look away.  At the same time, we need not and must not surrender to the nightmare.  We are creatures blessed with vision.  We can dream.  We have words that can sustain us, and when we are weary God gives us to each other.  We, the Church, are the Body of Christ in the world.  Palagius wrote, “The presence of God's spirit in all living things is what makes them beautiful; and if we look with God's eyes, nothing on the earth is ugly.”  It is a gift and a blessing to share this work and this ministry with you.  What we do is important, and it is important that we have fun doing it.  God has blessed us, so let us be a blessing to all we meet, in a world without end.  Amen.

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