Matthew 6:5-15
Sayings from Abba Anthony and Amma Syncletica. For more sayings, read The Sayings of the Desert Fathers, trans. Benedicta Ward, SLG

So far in our travels through the first few hundred years of Christianity this summer, we have focused on individuals, and particularly on leaders of early Christian communities. These communities developed in mostly in cities as the gospel spread along trade routes. But as early as the third century of the common era, the followers of Jesus began a new experiment. They began to seek God away from the city, out in the deserts of Egypt, Palestine, and Syria.

According to tradition, this movement began with Anthony the Great. He was an Egyptian, and the son of Christian peasant farmers. Hearing the instructions of Jesus in the 19th chapter of the gospel of Matthew (19:21), Anthony decided to take the radical step of following them literally: he sold all his possessions, gave the proceeds to the poor, and sought to follow Christ. For him, this meant seeking solitude in the desert.

Over time, many followed Anthony’s example: women and men, alone and in small groups and later, in organized communities. (more…)

Romans 12:1-2
Diary of Perpetua

This summer we have been learning the stories of some of the earliest saints of the church. Most recently, I’ve shared the stores of Clement of Rome, one of the first popes, and Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch. But it was not only men who were leaders of the early church; and it was not only Bishops and Popes who left behind writings and stories for us to learn from. Today we heard an excerpt from the diary of Perpetua. Perpetua was a young noblewoman living in Carthage, in modern-day Tunisia. She and her companions were preparing for Christian baptism when they were arrested, imprisoned, and then executed because of their faith.

Perpetua’s account is engaging for many reasons. We can admire Perpetua’s conviction and courage as she faces death. We can sympathize with Perpetua’s father, who throughout the story begs her to save her own life and care for her infant child. We may get caught up in the two strange visions that illustrate Perpetua’s understanding of the life of faith and the nature of martyrdom. We may feel an uneasiness about the enthusiasm with which she and her companions seem to embrace their fate; she writes: “we were condemned to the beasts, and we returned to prison in high spirits.”

Perpetua’s story is only one of many notable stories of martyrdom from the early years of the church, and neither her courage and nor her enthusiasm were not unusual. (more…)

This summer at WCUC we have been learning the stories of some of the earliest saints of the church. These are people who many of us have barely heard of. But without them, we would not be here: these are the folks who spread the word about Jesus, and helped to form a movement, and institutions, to bring that good news to us in 2014. We’ve talked about Phoebe, a deacon, and Junia, an apostle; Lydia, the first European Christian convert and a founder the church of Phillipi; and Clement of Rome, one of the first popes, who helped define the leadership and organization of the church.

Today I want to spend a little time with Ignatius, a contemporary of Clement’s. This Ignatius is not the more famous one you may have heard of, Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuits, who lived in Spain in the 16th century. Our less famous Ignatius was instead a Bishop of Antioch (a city in modern Turkey) at the end of the first century of the common era.

Ignatius is known as one of the disciples of St. John. One tradition also names him as one of the children whom Jesus took into his arms and blessed. But we know almost nothing about his life or leadership in Antioch. His fame comes from the very end of his life. (more…)

During our service, we read a portion of the Epistle of Clement to the Corinthians.  This text is not part of our bible, but was read regularly at early church gatherings.

For the past two weeks we have been focusing on some of the earliest saints of the early church: Phoebe, and Junia, and Lydia. This week we move into a slightly later part of the Christian story, to the end of the first century, to a man called Clement of Rome, one of the first leaders of the Roman Christian community.

Not much is known about Clement, although plenty of traditions have grown up around his name. One story claims that Clement was banished from Rome during the persecutions under Emperor Trajan, and set to work in a stone quarry. Finding his fellow-prisoners suffering from thirst, he began to pray. Looking up, he saw a lamb on a hill, and when he came to that place and struck the ground with his pick axe, a gushing stream of water emerged for all to drink. As punishment for performing this miracle, Clement was tied to an anchor and thrown into the Black Sea. A monastery marks the supposed place of Clement’s burial in Crimea.

Even more spectacularly, Clement is the hero of an early Christian novel. (more…)

Acts 16:6-15

Last week we began a series on the saints of the early church. We heard about Phoebe, a deacon, and Junia, an apostle. This week our attention turns to Lydia, another leader who Paul engages to serve the church. In fact, through the reading in Acts, we get to witness the scene of her conversion.

Paul, Silas, and Timothy are seeking a new mission field. After many frustrations, Paul has a vision that a man in Macedonia is pleading with him to come and proclaim the good news there. So the three believers sail to Philippi, a leading city in Macedonia and a Roman colony. It was a city of particular economic prominence, because it lay on the major trade route between Rome and Asia.

Normally, in a new town, Paul sought out the synagogue, and began teaching there. But he had never been so far west of Jerusalem before, and perhaps there was no dedicated building, or no organized group of Jewish men in prayer. Instead, on the Sabbath day, Paul and Silas and Timothy venture out of the city gates and discover women gathered by the river, praying. They begin to speak with them, and God opens Lydia’s heart to listen to everything Paul has to say. And that was enough: one morning of conversation. Lydia and her household are baptized, and she urges Paul and his companions to come and stay at her home.

Like so many early saints, we know very little about Lydia. (more…)

Romans 16:1-16

The passage from Romans that we listened to on Sunday is one you may never have heard in a church service before. It’s not listed in the lectionary that we follow; it’s not scheduled for any particular Sunday of the church year. Some would say that was a good decision!  After all,  it’s essentially a list – a set of greetings sent to people in Rome before the end of the letter. So why does it merit our attention?

This summer I plan to share stories of saints from the first few hundred years of the church: people who many of us have not heard of, and yet are the foundation on which we stand today. These are the ones who believed in the good news, and shared it, so that we and so many others might receive it. These are among the first to try to model their life after the life of Christ, to follow in the ways of Jesus, as we are still trying to do. I want to discover what we can learn from them.

And so I have chosen this text for us. It is a list of names, yes, but it is an extraordinary kind of list. (more…)

John 14:1-21

Several months ago, I went to hear Mavis Staples and her band perform at Cary Hall in Lexington. Some of you may be familiar with Mavis Staples, a singer, an actress, an activist, and, most famously, a member of the Staple Singers. Decades ago, this family group was known as “God’s Greatest Hitmakers” for the way they popularized uplifting music like the song “Respect yourself.” The leader of the band, Mavis’ Dad, Pop Staples, was a friend of Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Staple Singers played a part in the civil rights movement.

I was looking forward to an evening of great music, and, believe me, Mavis Staples did not disappoint. She has an amazing presence and spirit and a way with rhythm so powerful that it roused even a crowd of mostly white new Englanders. But the thing that struck me most about this woman was how much she sang about heaven. Alongside old popular hits and sultry soul numbers, she sang about heaven as if it was so close she could almost touch it; so glorious that she couldn’t wait to get there. In her music, heaven seems like a giant holy party.

Why should it surprise me that a woman of faith would sing so much, and so confidently, so joyfully, about heaven? I think it’s because heaven has developed a bad reputation. Some political thinkers believe that the promise of heaven is only a tool used by the powerful to pacify those who are oppressed – and I agree, it has been used that way. Many humanists feel that a promise of heavenly salvation gives Christians a poor motivation for moral behavior, so we probably won’t behave ourselves – and many of us do not, though I’m not sure this is the reason. Christians ourselves sometimes get self-conscious about our tradition’s version of heaven, partly because passages like the one we heard from John have been used to exclude and to judge others. I think heaven also makes us nervous because it’s just so hard to imagine and understand.

But beyond all these big ideas, I think Heaven has become a cartoon cliché. You’ve seen this cartoon: a bunch of folks in robes lounge around on clouds in front of a white bearded God on a throne, white St. Peter guards the gate, like a cruel Santa Claus, checking his list twice before admitting anyone. No wonder this seems unrealistic to us.  And more religious descriptions of heaven can go too far in the other direction, making it sound like an awfully dull or sappy or serious place to spend an eternity.

So it surprised me that this woman who is so alive and engaged and grounded and committed to justice sings so often about a “far celestial shore” where “Hallelujahs rise up from a whisper to a roar.” It surprised me, and it made me wonder if I’ve been missing out on something important. Heaven has never inspired this sort of excitement in me. How is it that you have imagined heaven, if at all?

If we read today’s passage from John more closely, this passage that has too often been reduced to a poster at a sports game, I think there are some lovely things in it for us. Remember that Jesus is talking with his disciples, shortly before his death. He’s broken the bad news that he’s about to die, and he’s offering them reassurance, and instructions, and a reminder of the promises of God. Here is what I hear him saying:

Do not let your hearts be troubled. There is room for you in God’s house. I’m preparing a place for you. And you don’t even have to travel there alone. I will go ahead of you, and come back to lead you there. Once you arrive, you’ll be comfortable right away, because in me, you have come to know God already; God will be like an old friend. While you are on earth, follow my commandments, and accept the guidance of the Holy Spirit. But don’t be afraid about what comes next. You are not alone: in life or in death or in life eternal. I’ll admit, this passage is short on details. But there’s a powerful message there, and one I’m not sure we talk about enough.

It seems like a good week to talk about heaven. It’s not only that this farewell discourse from Jesus is in the lectionary. This Thursday is Ascension day, the day when we remember Jesus rising into heaven, going before us. Monday is Memorial Day, when we remember all those who have died in service to this country. And just last week one of our own beloved saints died; and soon we will be gathering to give thanks for her life and commend her soul to God.

Our culture teaches us to deny death whenever possible. When aging and illness make an appearance, they cause great anxiety in us, and we fight them with every cosmetic and medical weapon we can find. When death comes anyway, we encourage one another to “let go” of the person who has died and “get over” our grief. We expect ourselves, and each other, to bury our sorrow, forget about those we have loved, and ignore that fact that we will eventually, inevitably, die as well.

But Death doesn’t go away when it’s ignored. We can’t conquer it, or bury it, at least not in the way we’re expected to. Thankfully, there’s another option. We can give thanks for each beautiful and temporary life, a gift of God. We can mourn those who die. We can learn to trust that when our loved ones die, they are accepted into the arms of God, still with us, just in a different way; we can develop a new kind of relationship with them. And we can learn to trust that when we die, we will also be accompanied towards a divine and loving embrace. We need not live in fear.

This is the good news of our God. Sure, it’s still a mystery. No, it’s not a reason to stop trying to realize God’s kingdom on earth or acting ethically. On the contrary, it’s a reason to live more fully and honestly and urgently and compassionately with the time we have, and yet also with peace of heart, free of fear. This is the good news of our God. So why not ponder, and imagine, what is waiting for us?

Holy God, relieve our anxiety and replace it with expectation. Help us to trust in your eternal love. Amen.

 Acts 7:55-60, 8:1
I Peter 2:4-10

When Supreme Court Associate Justice Sonia Sotomayor was a senior at Cardinal Spellman High School In 1970 she gave this speech to the Forensics Club: “On a cold night in early spring, a young woman drove home from the bar where she was working to her apartment in Queens. It was around 3 a.m. She parked her car in a nearby parking lot and was walking up the alley toward her building when a stranger appeared out of the shadows and approached her. Frightened, she ran, but he caught up with her. He stabbed her in the back. She screamed and cried for help. Several neighbors heard her cries and witnessed the struggle that ensued as Winston Moseley assaulted Kitty Genovese.”

For many of you, like me, that were around then, the name Kitty Genovese became a household term in the sixties. Sadly, not because such horrific crimes were rare at the time, but because of the surrounding circumstances. As Sotomayor went on to say, in what became a charge to her listeners: “38 neighbors heard Kitty’s cries and did nothing. In the moment of opportunity when a criminal grabs his chance and a victim is suffering, ? will you see the victim not as a stranger or as a statistic but as another human being? Will you be fully human in that moment and feel the obligation to care, to act, to get involved?” (My Beloved World, p. 112-113)

None of those 38 were responsible for Kitty’s death. Yet neither did they act to try to stop it. Would it have made a difference? Perhaps not. And perhaps yes.

In another city, at another time, another young person was killed. Stephen, a newly baptized member of the church, was stoned to death by an angry mob for preaching what members of the synagogue regarded as blasphemy. This story should also be headline news. Not because killing of “the other”, whether of a different faith or another culture, was so unusual then (as now) . Sadly, there were many more who died for their faith, and may have already been some before Stephen’s death. No, it is due to one short phrase tucked into the main event, almost as an aside.

When the witnesses dragged Stephen out of the city and began to stone him, “ They laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul.” It is here that we meet Saul, Saul whom we will come to know as Paul. Saul who stood by and, while he didn’t throw a stone, stood by and did nothing. Indeed, Saul approved of the killing.

How is it that the young man, who at the time of Stephen’s death was basically no more than a coat-check boy? Who stood by and did nothing but actually approved of the mob violence, and soon was himself dragging off disciples to prison?  How is it that this man became arguably the one person to whom we owe the institution of the church?

The circumstances of Saul’s conversion are familiar. On a journey towards Damascus to round up more believers in Christ, he saw a flash of blinding light, heard the voice of Jesus and fell to the ground. Pretty dramatic as conversions go. And from then on, Paul traveled all around the known Roman world, planting new Christian communities wherever he went, and the Word spread like wildfire and the church was born and everyone lived happily ev…. Well, not exactly.

Now and then there are conversions like that. Some folks do suddenly wake up to the error of their ways and from that day on, lead a completely new life. Some people do actually hear a voice, or see a vision and know at that moment that they are called, or, as some say, are born again.

But my guess is that most of the time it doesn’t happen that way. And that, in reality, it didn’t even happen precisely that way for Saul, despite what scripture says. After Saul picked himself up off the ground and discovered he couldn’t see, his companions led him to a house in Damascus. While there, a disciple called Ananias had a vision in which he heard God telling him to go to Saul. When Ananias laid healing hands on Saul, Saul’s sight was restored and he was baptized, following which he spent several days with the disciples in Damascus. Saul’s new way of life wasn’t instantaneous. It may have led him towards the path, but it was the acceptance by Ananias, who had previously known Saul only as persecutor, along with the teaching and companionship of the Christian community in Damascus, that set his feet firmly on the path. A communal effort. It took that village to raise him up in the faith.

And not only that. Saul was likely a student of the Pharisee Gamaliel, who was a member of the Jerusalem council. Gamaliel, who said this about the apostles: “Keep away from these men and let them alone; because if this plan or undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them-in that case you may even be found fighting against God.” (Acts 5: 38-39) Maybe Saul, at the moment he heard Jesus’ voice, remembered the wise words of his former teacher.

And not only that. At the moment of his death, Stephen, as had Jesus on the cross, prayed, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” Saul heard those words. Heard forgiveness in them. As St. Augustine wrote, “The church owes Paul to the prayer of Stephen…….

Conversion is rarely the result of one spectacular moment. It is often simply an evolution, step by step, learning from the wise teachings of elders, being accepted by a loving community; incorporating experiences or teachings or personal encounters that didn’t seem important at the time. And often, like Saul, after behaving in ways we wish we hadn’t. I don’t know about you, but I look back on my life and wish I could undo some things. I have hurt friends and family, I have stood by or passed by on the other side of the road, I have been one of those who did not speak out in a time of moral crisis. At the same time, I know that God has been able to use me in some ways. As God uses each of us.
I find it interesting, and perhaps not a coincidence, that in the letter of Peter which we heard today, the writer uses stone as a metaphor time and again. “I am laying in Zion a stone, a cornerstone”; “ the stone that the builders rejected has become the very head of the corner”; “like living stones, let yourself be built into a spiritual house”

If God can use a stone, an instrument of death, as a building block, even the cornerstone, chosen and precious, and, indeed! if God could and did roll away the massive stone which had imprisoned death, isn’t it even more likely that God can use God’s people, us, though hard-hearted or block-headed we may be, as instruments for life? God, who changed Saul’s heart, is always ready to do the same for us.

I have often wondered, since that day 50 years ago; what happened to those 38 people from Queens who heard Kitty Genovese’s screams? Were they full of regret? Were they still talking about it years later? Did anyone turn to crime? Or did some, maybe one or two or three, use that experience as a turning point in their own lives. I like to imagine the latter: that one became a police officer. Another started a neighborhood watch; a third became a community organizer or an inner city priest. That the moment of dreadful violence was, not redeemed exactly, ,but converted by a few into a passion for justice.

Will you see the victim not as a stranger or as a statistic but as another human being? Will I be fully human in that moment and feel the obligation to care, to act, to get involved? Can we fully accept God’s forgiveness for whatever it is we have done, left undone or think we have done that may still be weighing on us? and really, really believe that we are loved and accepted just as we are: then called to act as Christ’s hands and feet and heart in the time that we are given.

I’m going to try. And I pray that you will too. Amen.

~Polly

What psalm is more beloved than Psalm 23? It has been translated and re-translated, put into cross stitch patterns, and inspired paintings. It has been set to music countless times, we’ll hear a few today. It has been read at almost all of the funerals and memorials I have ever attended or officiated. It is a psalm that even those who rarely attend church have often heard of. It’s only six verses long, which means it’s easy to memorize.

We love this psalm, most of us, and who can blame us? Consider the beauty of the King James version: The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

We love this psalm. But there is something strange about that.  The Lord may be our shepherd, but we still want many things. We want love. We want forgiveness. We want new and improved versions of most of our friends and family members. We want larger bank accounts and smaller waist lines. We want a good election year for our party and a good season for our sports teams. We want pleasure and excitement and also wisdom and security. We want the power to protect those we love.

The Lord may be our shepherd, but we still want many things. And our lives do not always resemble green pastures, nor do we always follow in the paths of righteousness. In fact, we lie down and then get up each day in a world where green pastures are disappearing right and left and it is exhaustingly difficult to discern the path of righteousness. And even if we want to discern that path, even if we can, let’s be honest, sometimes we just get tired and need to take a break by the side of it.

The Lord may be our shepherd, but we still fear evil. We do not, in fact, always trust that God is with us, or that God’s rod and staff can protect us. And this is not surprising, because we witness our neighbors going hungry for food and justice every day. We witness our neighbors being tragically hurt and sometimes killed by their enemies, whether that enemy is a person, or an organization, or an addiction, or a disease.

The Lord may be our shepherd, but too many among us can see the bottom of our desperately dry cups. Goodness and mercy often feel very far from us. And we worry that we might never be able to find our way home into the arms of God.

We love this psalm. Why is that? I wonder if we love it because it shows us what we yearn for the most: who we want to be, and how we want to believe. We want to be people for whom God is enough. A people who are saved by God. A people whose faith and gratitude is so deep and profound, that it changes what we perceive, and how we live.

Though it was written long before Jesus lived, and died, and rose again, this is to me a resurrection psalm. There aren’t just rainbows and butterflies in this beautiful psalm, there is evil, and enemies, and the shadow of death: the hard stuff is all here. But right alongside it is abundance and mercy and hope. In this psalm, Easter shines through Good Friday triumphantly.

Here it is again, in this psalm, the Easter message we’ve been listening to this season, the promise of our God: that the power love is greater than all that is dangerous and terrifying and death itself. We come to church to hear to this message. We stick around to learn to trust this message. And even those of us who have been here a long time, we still yearn to live in this message more fully. We try over and over again to walk the paths of righteousness and accept God’s gifts of grace.

It is with this yearning that this congregation made an Open and Affirming covenant 15 years ago. If you don’t know what Open and Affirming means, you are not alone. It is the label that our denomination uses to let people know that a community offers a full and public welcome to people of all sexual orientations. And we decided to do that, which was saying a lot, I think, in 1999. But if you read the statement, you’ll realize that it’s far more audacious than that. We covenanted to explicitly embrace many other forms of diversity (though today we might want to expand this list even further). And not only that – we affirmed our intention to end all discrimination and oppression. And not only that – we promised to strive to become more Christ-like in our love for one another, to follow God’s call to love one another as God loves us, freely and unconditionally.

Now you could say that those folks who were here in 1999 were a little bit crazy. But if they were crazy, I say: this is the foolishness of the gospel. It is only a resurrection kind of faith that could make anyone believe that living up to this kind of covenant is remotely possible. Like the 23rd psalm, this statement shows us who this community was yearning to be, and how we were yearning to believe.

It’s a beautiful covenant. But I don’t think we’re quite there yet. So I wonder if we could make these promises again. Whether we could affirm this holy audaciousness again . Whether we can claim it as our own, those who are still here, those like me who are here now, so that it may guide us towards paths of righteousness, and right into the arms of God. Who knows what the Spirit may yet do in us. Is there anything impossible with God?

We, the members of the West Concord Union Church, are called to love one another as God loves us, freely and unconditionally. We further believe that diversity enriches our faith community.

Therefore, we welcome persons of any age, gender, race, sexual orientation, socio-economic status, ethnicity and physical or mental ability into full membership and participation in the body of Christ. We celebrate family in all its diverse forms and honor, support, and bless all loving and committed relationships.

As we are one in Christ, we are called to accept and respect one another in the face of our differences. We agree that continued dialogue is necessary as we each grow in learning and understanding.

We commit ourselves to work diligently to end all oppression and discrimination which afflicts God’s people in our society. We seek to explore new ways of affirming our faith in community according to the wisdom of the Gospel. We strive, as individuals, to become more Christ-like in our love for one another.

Let the people say: Amen.

As the season of Easter continues, we hear more and more stories about the followers of Jesus and how they came to trust in the good news of his resurrection. Over the past two Sundays we have heard about Mary Magdalene, who recognizes Jesus when he calls out her name; and about Thomas, who believes when he finally gets a chance to touch Jesus’ hands, and his side.

Nobody seems to get it right, right away, this news of Jesus’ rising. They need a lot of convincing. These folks are still dealing with grief and disappointment. And let’s be honest, resurrection is a hard thing to believe in. The unfamiliar disciples we meet in today’s story are no exception to this pattern. Cleopas and his companion have heard the report of the women at the tomb, but they don’t trust it. They’re still deeply hurt by all that has happened, utterly unconvinced that this story with Jesus might have a happy ending. They begin to walk from Jerusalem to the town of Emmaus, a journey of seven miles, puzzling it all over.

Somewhere along the way these two disciples encounter Jesus himself, the risen Christ; but they don’t recognize him. Still, they travel with this stranger for quite a while. They tell him their story, and he interprets the scriptures for them. Finally, as evening draws near, Cleopas and his companion urge this wise stranger to stay and eat with them. And Jesus takes the bread, blesses and breaks it, and gives it to them; and suddenly their eyes are opened. They recognize him. Jesus is made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

I am fond of this story, maybe because it seems more possible for all of us than many of the others we hear in this season. None of us were there to visit the tomb on that first Easter Day to see that it was empty. We can’t hear Jesus call us, like Mary did, or touch his side, as Thomas did – at least not in any earthly way. It would be a great mystical feat for us, by and large, very average Christians; something not to hold your breath for.

These others stories are compelling, but here, in the Emmaus story, I see something I can more easily recognize from our everyday life together. We, like Cleopas and his companion, have taken a great deal of time to puzzle together over the tragedy and hope of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. And we have something else in common with them, too. We do, at least occasionally, suspend our very wise conversations to seek God in less wordy ways. We, too, have come to know Jesus in the breaking of the bread. We have received from each other’s hands food for both body and spirit.

What do you think happens in this second part of the story, after all the discourse is done; these few verses where somehow, everything important is revealed in the meal?  What gifts have you received by breaking bread with family, or friends, or strangers; or here, in this congregation, in fellowship or in the practice of communion?  What can we learn in the breaking of the bread?

God, whether we are mystics or skeptics, wise beyond words or just beginning to learn about you, we are grateful that you come to meet us in the breaking of the bread. Thank you for seeking us out in the company of friends and strangers, in crunchy crusts and soft crumbs, in salty and sweet tastes, in loaves blessed and broken and shared together in your name. Keep feeding us, God; for we are still hungry. Amen.

~Hannah