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Last weekend, I attended the BEST wedding. EVER. No joke. I was dressed up and feeling pretty. My husband thought I was gorgeous. I had two drinks. My kids were at family friends, spoiled rotten, not missing us. The venue overlooked the Boston harbor. The bride and groom are power-house, brilliant, extroverts; they’re friends with fabulous people. The band was a ten. No one could stay off the dance floor. Did I mention I ate three pieces of cake? I helped myself to the uneaten slices at other tables. What a party! The above reasons made this wedding outstandingly fun. They are why I have not been able to stop thinking about the wedding all week, but they are not the reason this wedding was the best ever. This wedding was the BEST ever because it was a holy celebration. Joy could not be contained. The spirit was present, palpable, as the gathered friends and family of the bride and groom danced, ate, laughed, cried, talked, and even shouted happily over the music. We were bound together in some holy moment, made sacred by the unbridled love the couple declared as they committed their lives to one another. *** At one moment the bride and groom left the dance floor to enjoy a well-deserved drink. In the room’s back corner, tucked away, as they awaited their cocktails, they began to dance again, the music calling to them. They had their own dance party. They danced because their joy was too large, too overpowering, to be contained by the dance floor. The Bible refers to God’s people as dancing in worship. That might be hard to imagine for stiff New Englanders who bristle when there is clapping in church. Yet the Bible records again and again how the Hebrew people would dance around God’s altar. It makes no reference to planned, orderly, coordinated liturgical dance. No, their dancing is spontaneous and joyful, as they “Praise God with dancing and music” (Psalm 149). Apparently, the Hebrew people of old were so connected to God that they could not sit still in her presence. They danced before him because they could not contain their joy. They danced because their hearts’ overflowed. They danced because gratitude pulsed through them. They danced because . . . why not? Dance is just as appropriate a response to God as falling on our knees. *** I went to the BEST wedding ever this weekend because the couple shared their love abundantly, with each other and with their guests. Because their joy could not be contained, so it spread like wild fire on the dance floor. Because their gratitude for life, love, friends, and family was so palpable that everyone’s heart expanded. It was the BEST wedding ever because the couple, although reared as New Englanders, reject creaky formality and embrace exuberance. They embrace joy. They dance. Joy need not be limited to weddings. It can appear at any moment in our lives. Maybe right now? Can you hear joy knocking on your door? Invite her in, turn up the music and dance. Let loose your gratitude, your joy, your love as you move to the pulse of the universe. Dance like a newly married couple at a wedding, dance like the Hebrews around the altar of God, dance as if the universe was made for joy—because it is. Oh and by the way . . . Abby’s Top Ten Joyful Wedding Tips 1) It’s not about you. Yep, that’s right. It’s not about you. It’s not “your” wedding. If you disagree, please have some private part y for yourself. Your wedding is about love. It’s about the abiding and deep blessing love and life-long companionship bring to life. And if you believe, like I do, that God is love, then ultimately weddings are about the mystery of God’s love. If you still don’t believe me please read the above blog again or just stop reading this list. 2) Forget perfection. BORING! No one ever remembers the flowers or the cake or the gift bags or the anything! They remember the way the couple looked at each other. They remember the gathered community. They remember the laughter and tears. Don’t care too much about all the other stuff, especially your makeup. 3) Dance! Read above blog. Dance a lot. Dance without caring how you look. Dance until you’re breathless with laughter. 4) Invite people who love you. As for the rest of the guest list of must invites, do what is best for the least amount of conflict. But make sure on your wedding day you are surrounded by people who love you, who celebrate who you are, and are as committed to your marriage as you are. 5) Money has nothing to do with a fabulous wedding. (But do make sure, if you can, to hire a DJ. See #3) I’ve presided over numerous weddings; some have been lavish, others modest. The joy palpable at a wedding reception I attended in a park sitting on picnic benches was just as abiding as the scenic wedding at an estate I performed for a good friend. Money might make things easier, but it cannot buy love, and only love nurtures joy. 6) Pay just as much attention to your ceremony as your reception. It doesn’t need to be a traditional religious ceremony. Yet it should be an authentic celebration of the love you have discovered in one another. I am always shocked how “officiants” are the last thing on people’s minds. I have the power to make a wedding awful! I have never had any intention of doing such a thing, but it’s funny to me how engaged couples taste wedding cakes, visit venues, but rarely think about their officiant. And one more thing, hire the officiant right for you, not the religious leader your grandmother wants. Your wedding should be an authentic celebration of your decision to spend your life with another. 7) Ignore tradition. IGNORE! If you don’t want a veil, don’t wear one! If you think it’s downright awful that the groom’s parents play no role in the ceremony, have them play a part. Don’t wear a tux. Don’t wear something borrowed, new or blue. Don’t register for gifts. Embrace the traditions you value and create your own. This evidently applies to same gendered couples, who have blown the “traditional” wedding celebration out the water. May I pause and say, thank you! You are re-creating traditions for all of us. 8) If you have money to burn hire The Lisa Love Experience band. And pay your officiant well. I am serious about both, but you’ll still have a joyful wedding if you don’t do either. 9) Have someone take pictures. Really. This would seem like it has nothing to do with joy, but it does. In my mind, pictures, much more than videos, have some rare and mysterious way of capturing a moment for future generations. When I look at my grandmother’s familiar smile in her wedding photo, I know from where I came from. When I look at my father being kissed by his god-mother at his wedding, I know the boy my father was and the man he became. This continuity roots us in love, and as I have said again and again, there can be no joy without love. 10) Above all, remember, there are many more joyful celebrations to come. Your wedding day should not, and cannot be, the only great day of your life. There are more magnificent, joy-filled celebrations to come! More unexpected moments that will leave your heart overflowing with gratitude. More life events that will call you to dance! Enjoy your wedding, but remember, it is just a wedding. There is more life to come!
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Before you read the following blog here are three important facts about my perspective: 1) I love children and that is not lip service. I volunteer with children on a regular basis, I grew up babysitting a family of five, I enjoy changing diapers and baby talk and bedtime stories and snuggling. I truly love children. 2) I find the political language used to map out opposing sides of abortion insipid: pro-choice, anti-abortion, pro-life, etc. I think abortion is complicated and deeply personal, much more so than the political rhetoric allows discussion for. That said, I stake my flag on the pro-choice side, but hear me out, please. I deeply yearn for a world in which birth control is accessible to all women and abortions are safe, legal, and rare—everywhere. This does not mean I am anti-life or pro-abortion. This means that I want every woman everywhere to have control over her own body and her own future. 3) I did not make up the stories below. I will use the word “friend” to protect the privacy of these fabulous women. You can read now... *** I have a friend who is pregnant with her 8th child. Her eighth! I have the impression #8 was a surprise, but I know the following about my friend: 1) She doesn’t use modern birth control 2) She and her husband both wanted a large family 3) She freely speaks about her financial security; her husband has an excellent paying job. Her candor and recognition that she can afford eight children is refreshing. 4) She is a superb mother who delights in her children, but still desires a break every now and then. Although rearing eight children is something I would NEVER want to do, for my friend it is a calling for which she has the resources, gifts, and passion. Secretly, we are hoping she names #8 Octavia. I have another friend who never wanted children. She had good reasons. She couldn’t imagine sharing her life with someone whom she could trust enough to rear a child. She also had deep wounds from her childhood; she didn’t want those wounds re-opened by parenthood. Children weren’t for her. Nieces, nephews, my children, she adored and showered them all with love—but her own? No. Even though she was careful about using birth control she still got pregnant. She’s the 1% on the condom box. She went to her nearest Planned Parenthood clinic to make an appointment for an abortion. In the end, she canceled the appointment. Somewhere deep inside of her she found the courage to raise her child. She has surprised even herself—she is a gifted mother, exhausted but grateful. I have another friend who was wayward for a few years after high school. She fell in love and found herself pregnant. Her partner was all sweet talk. They would be parents together. But he left a few months later, just after he punched his father-in-law. She had an abortion. She cried for weeks after. Now it seems a distant memory. She is grateful she had the chance at a new beginning, which included school. She thinks that if she had kept the baby, who she grieved deeply at the time, she would be stuck in a life that would be limited by her lack of education and the baby’s violent father. Another friend was prosperous, married with two children, and pregnant with a third. Five months along they discovered that the fetus’s kidneys were outside its body and the brain was not developing properly. If carried to term, the child would be stillborn. Her compassionate doctors performed a dilation and extraction, which was legal in her state, thankfully. They were kind enough to never call it an abortion. It was just a tragic, medically necessary procedure. I always wanted four children, not three. That two of my dear friends didn’t want any children was beyond my understanding. It was also beyond my understanding that anyone would have unprotected sex before they were in a life-long-for-sure relationship (that 1% warning was not happening to me). No matter what I was going to finish school and I was going to get married before I got pregnant. And I followed my plan perfectly. I married a man who loved children as much as I did and wanted four as well. We were embarrassingly earnest and beyond cheesy cute. Even though I thought I was in control of my reproduction, I wasn’t. My first, third, and fifth pregnancies ended in miscarriage. My final and sixth pregnancy ended with a healthy baby girl and postpartum depression. The idea of facing another pregnancy just so we could meet our newlywed dream of four children was not emotionally possible. I was fragile and it was evident. My husband had a vasectomy when our youngest was three months old. We have never regretted the decision, although we still pine for babies. Five stories: five different women with five different dreams in five different situations with five different outcomes. How could these stories possibly fit into a black and white debate divided by either-or language? Especially when this debate includes more male voices then female voices? I have another story I would like to place beside the above stories. I do not know this woman, but I know her story well. She was a young girl who found herself pregnant—a stone-able offense in her ancient Judean village. Her name was Mary. She had free will; she could have said no to the angel Gabriel’s message. I often wonder how many women before Mary said no to Gabriel. Is that why he ended up in the forgotten village of Nazareth speaking to an impoverished teenage girl? Did he ask, or did he beg? Mary was a powerful agent in her own story. She had choice; she chose to say yes to God’s daring plan. In November, three people were killed and nine people injured by a gunman at a Colorado Springs Planned Parenthood Clinic. The gunman claimed he was acting out of his Christian convictions. I wonder what part of the Bible he read and I didn’t? I’ve read the whole thing and I’ve learned from Jesus that every person’s story matters. That’s why I told the five very different stories above—stories of courage, of choice, of agency, of love. Important life choices demand courage. But should they include danger? Should each choice the six women above, including myself, made about our reproductive health and desires require not only emotional stamina and courage, but also danger and inspection? The choices that women make, day in and day out, about pregnancy, childrearing, and sex should not be for the general public’s scrutiny and they should not elicit violence. Mary knew that even though women’s reproductive rights were not their own in the ancient world, the choice was still hers and she bravely claimed her future. Learn more about what happened in Colorado: Every fall, I plant daffodil bulbs. It’s a bit irrational. At least half are eaten by the squirrels and bunnies that populate my gardens in the cold winter months, finding shelter beneath my bushes. They are grateful for the food I leave them. I plant anyway. As the sun sets earlier and earlier each night and the mornings are so cold I clutch the blankets around me in bed, my heart hopes for a spring filled with abundant yellow daffodils. I can’t help it; every fall I buy bags of bulbs in hope that a few will be spared and push upward as the first days of spring warm the earth. Hope is often irrational. It is not measured or calculated or planned. It springs from a deep desire in our hearts. Barack Obama declared in his famous stump speech, “There is nothing false about hope.” Nothing can be false that heartens us and gives us courage. Hope can’t be proven or measured, but hope is true. There is another irrational woman living in the Roseland neighborhood of Chicago. Her name is Diane Latiker. In a neighborhood where some would never dare venture and most would lock their car doors as they passed through, Diane opened her home. She has become an activist mother who simply invited the neighborhood youth into her life. In a neighborhood plagued by gun violence, she decided she needed to make it clear to the youth around her that they had lives worth living. In a run-down stretch of Chicago's South Michigan Avenue, Diane created a memorial out of foot-high paving stones. Each of the 574 stones has a name to honor the young people who have died from street violence. But Diane hoped for more. She imagined a basketball court free from drugs and crime. A donor came forward to build it. Now youth find her basketball court and then find her. One such youth commented, “When I'm around Miss Diane I feel safe." Diane Latiker admits she was a bit naive when she began, but she was not short on hope. Some would say such hope is futile. Gang violence stills plagues Chicago. Diane adds stones to her memorial on a regular basis. But young people show up to her basketball court daily and find her. Irrational? Perhaps. Futile? Never. There was another irrational woman in a small town of Nazareth. She was without any social standing in her community; she was young and poor and unmarried. Yet she said yes to God’s daring plan for the world. Some historians suggest she was the victim of sexual violence at the hands of a Roman solider. This seems plausible and, if anything, magnifies the beauty of Mary’s hope. Against all odds, Mary nurtured that hope growing inside of her. She hoped for a new social order in which the powerful would be brought down from their thrones and the hungry would be filled (Luke 1). Some would argue that such hope is futile: corrupt power and desperate hunger are a reality that must be accepted. Yet Mary hoped for more. She hoped for a world where Roman soldiers did not terrorize communities, landowners did not exploit workers, and all bellies were full. Irrational? Perhaps. Futile? Never. This 1st Sunday of Advent the candle of hope will be lit across the globe, even in Paris. Hope is a risky business. Although it is irrational to some, there is and never will be anything false about hope, hope that heartens us and gives us courage and helps us to imagine a more just and generous world. Hope springs from deep within us and changes everything—one flower, one Chicago youth, one small forgotten Roman territory at a time. Hope is true. Learn more about Diane Latiker Something very ordinary but significant happened at Grace’s Sunday night gathering. We sang John Lennon’s Imagine boldly and prayerfully, if a little out of tune. This might not seem like much. Someone suggested we sing Imagine in light of the global terrorist attacks. It seemed right. We had just finished packing toiletry bags for the homeless, and we had shared bread and cup. Then, we found the lyrics to Imagine on our smart phones and began to sing, soulfully. Without hesitation, we sang the second verse: Imagine there's no countries. It isn't hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for And no religion too. Imagine all the people Living life in peace... Something in my heart broke open as we sang the words, “no religion.” I wondered how many “religious” organizations have sung these words with hope and expectation. For us there was no dissonance, just boundless hope for a peaceful world no longer divided by religion. I don’t think of myself as a religious person (ironic, huh?). I also don’t think of myself as a spiritual person. I no longer fit into the church camp or the SBNR (spiritual but not religious) camp that sociologists have been tracking for years. If asked what I am, I might answer “a follower of Jesus.” But even that answer is too specific. I am mostly a follower of Jesus because I was born a white westerner. If I were to search for some other word I would chose faithful. Simply faithful. What’s the difference between being faithful and being religious? Faith is a way of life, not adherence to a prescribed set of beliefs. Faith is a way of being in the world, not a way of belonging to a tribe. Religion provides you with a particular view of the world, determined by the religion to which you ascribe. Faith acknowledges all religious practices, whereas religions often deny the legitimacy of other people’s faith. When John Lennon wrote the words “and no religion too,” he wasn’t thinking of those who have a deep sense of the sacred, or those who love every person as a child of God, or those who serve the less fortunate as they would serve Jesus. He was thinking of angry, divisive, exclusive religion. When I was in Seminary surrounded by Christians, I quickly realized I did not belong. Funny, considering I am a self-identified “lower c” christian who even believes in the resurrection (go figure!). Truth be told, I have much more in common with a progressive Muslim, Buddhist-Baptist (yes, I know one), and a volunteering agnostic, than I do with an orthodox Christian who is bent out of shape about points of doctrine or particular passages in the Bible. That sort of closed-mindedness builds walls, not bridges. Divisions, not faith, is what John Lennon critiqued in his beautiful song. I stand in solidarity with my inclusive Muslim brothers and sisters across the globe who are Muslim for the same reason I am christian: it is the faith they were born into. As adults, they have embraced the faith of their culture, but not in a way that separates them from others. Rather their Muslim faith offers meaning and purpose to their lives, as my christian faith offers meaning and purpose to my life. Our differing faiths do not separate us, they unite us. Terrorism, crusades, persecution, bigotry, violence and exclusion in the name of religion—these are not the result of faith. They are the narrow, hateful behavior of people who have more allegiance to tribe than God, of people who care more about being right than being kind. As an ordained minister and practicing christian, I yearn for the day when there’s no religion anywhere, but faith everywhere. Until then I will continue to sing, no religion, imagining with John Lennon a world where religion does not divide, but instead faith unites. I am deeply disappointed. Deeply. In fact, I want to be the Pope’s oldest sister (because that is the righteous sort of know-it-all voice I would like to use), corner him and say, “Dude! What were you thinking visiting Kim Davis!? I don’t care if you agree with her. I don’t care if she’s just another person you were ‘showing mercy’ to! I don’t care if you have a crush on her (do you have a crush on her, seriously?). I don’t care if you are the Pope and not a politician. It was a BAD MOVE!” Maybe disappointed isn’t the word. I am pissed, enraged, and once again left with little hope for the institutional church to live out the gospel in the world. If we want Jesus’ teachings to make a difference in our broken world, let’s make sure to reclaim it from the Vatican and every other christian institutionalized strong hold, including Fox News. But before I lose you in my rant against institutionalized christianity, let’s return to the Pope. I have been reading extensively about Francis since he became Pope, intrigued by his sharp mind, his particular brand of liberation theology, and his persistent care for the least. I actually cared this past week about his visit to the United States. I’ve never before cared about any Pope. Why should I? I am a feminist Protestant women. I don’t pay attention to Catholic patriarchy, but Francis seemed to transcend the limits of his religious institution, I thought. That’s why when I learned he visited Kim Davis it hurt, I mean really hurt. If John Paul or Ratzinger visited, I wouldn’t have been so enraged. I never expected much from them. But Francis? I had high hopes. Here are my list of grievances with the Pope’s brief visit with Ms. Davis: 1) Cheap Mercy: I have a dear Catholic feminist friend who is razor-sharp smart, deeply faithful, and committed to her tradition for life-giving reasons. Her thoughtful response to my emailed outrage focused on mercy (which Catholics use much like we Protestants use the word grace, even if not an exact translation). “Maybe he thought this pathetic woman needed mercy… Oh and just to be clear, I’m pissed that woman got in front of my Pope, but I don’t get to pick who the Pope shows mercy to.” I admire and respect my friend’s perspective, but the Pope’s mercy in this particular situation seems cheap, like cheap grace. What do I mean? If the Pope’s primary mission was to show this woman mercy, did he call her to transformation? Did he call her to reconciliation with her LGBTQ brothers and sisters on whom she has inflicted deep pain? Reports from Kim Davis about her visit with the Pope don’t seem to indicate such a conversation. Just like grace and forgiveness, God’s mercy comes with an invitation. It is not cheap. In fact its price is transformation. 2) The Pope may not be a politician, but he still needs to be savvy: Some are making it very clear that the Pope doesn’t need to concern himself, like politicians, with what underlying message he might be sending by meeting Kim Davis, because, in fact, he is not a politician. I am grateful he is not a politician and has come out so strongly on issues like climate change without concerning himself if it will lose votes. My smart Catholic friend also pointed this out to me, “Because the Pope isn’t a politician, no one is happy, no matter where they fall in the political spectrum.” Yet she continued her remarks with why the Pope still should still have been more assiduous about his visit, “The worst thing,” she wrote, “is that it’s overshadowing some of the key messages.” There lies my point! He’s not a politician, but what he does still sends a loud and clear message. “That Pope Francis met privately in Washington, D.C., with Kim Davis throws a wet blanket on the good will that the pontiff had garnered,” wrote Francis DeBernardo, who runs New Ways Ministry, a Catholic organization advocating for gay rights. “The time for vagueness, ambiguity, and secret meetings is over. Pope Francis needs to state clearly where he stands in regard to the inclusion of LGBTQ people in the church and society.” 3) What about Ms. Davis’ divorces? Truly, I don’t care how many times Ms. Davis has been divorced. In fact, if anything, it makes me slightly more sympathetic. I can only imagine she has lived through real heartache. Yet her divorces do matter in this particular instance. Ms. Davis has been divorced three times. If her county clerk had been a fundamentalist Catholic, s/he could have denied Ms. Davis her divorces on religious grounds, citing the Vatican's opposition, "freedom of religion," and the right to "conscientiously object." Instead Ms. Davis received the divorces she desired, yet refuses to grant homosexuals the marriages they desire. Her hypocrisy is flagrant. And so is the Pope’s! The Pope has strongly upheld the Catholic church’s teaching that a marriage is between a man and woman, but “he didn’t emphasize the issue during his trip because he wanted to offer a ‘positive’ message about families to America,” Father Federico Lombardi, SJ, the head of the Holy See Press Office told reporters. If this is the case, why did he visit Ms. Davis who has been through multiple divorces? It makes no sense. 4) Kim Davis was validated and LGBTQ folks were excluded, end of story. According to he Holy See Press Office, “Pope Francis met with several dozen persons who had been invited by the Nunciature to greet him as he prepared to leave Washington for New York City. Such brief greetings occur on all papal visits and are due to the Pope’s characteristic kindness and availability. …The Pope did not enter into the details of the situation of Ms. Davis and his meeting with her should not be considered a form of support of her position in all of its particular and complex aspects.” Really? That simple. The Pope just wanted a friendly chat with Ms. Davis and we shouldn’t read into it? Spare me! Francis might not have spoken about his meeting with Ms. Davis, but she did. “It was really very humbling to even think that he would want to meet me or know me,” Davis told ABC News. “Just knowing that the Pope is on track with what we’re doing and agreeing, you know, it kind of validates everything.” Yes, validates Ms. Davis’ mission to exclude LGBTQ from the very fundamental right to love and marry. Smart, theologically educated progressive Catholics will have much wiser and nuanced things to say about the Pope’s visit with Ms. Davis. I highly encourage you to read them over my fiery condemnation of the Pope’s decision to spend time with one woman. When they write that we should not let this one blip overshadow the exceptional life and work of Pope Francis, please listen. I believe in my head (not my heart yet) they are right. That said, I cannot ignore the life and ministry of another person—a lesbian woman, formerly Catholic, who misses the richness of her religious tradition. A woman who raised four children with her female life partner and could not do so in the church. She has paid her taxes, prayed daily, given to the poor, and shared love and grace where ever she has gone. For a moment, just a moment, she thought maybe there was room for her in the church of her childhood. After the Pope’s visit to Ms. Davis that earnest hope was shattered. Mercy, politics, divorces? I ultimately don’t care. Instead I care deeply about the many LGBTQ folks in this world who are choosing love, family, and life-long commitment daily. When will we stop excluding them and show them mercy, Pope Francis? On some days I want to stay in bed and not deal with the world in general. I certainly don’t want to pack the lunch boxes (my kids all like different foods), but more daunting is listening to the BBC. I just can’t bear to hear one more complicated detail about the refugee crisis or any other crisis. My internal movie screen projects an endless stream of twisted visions from last year’s news cycle: a child, face down, washed on shore, a Haitian child eating a mud pie to fill his belly, a mother carrying everything she owns on her back, three small children by her side, a young girl raped by Boko Haram. It never ends. Where do we start? How can we possibly make a difference in the world? And please don’t offer me some anemic platitude. I had a God moment yesterday. My God moments aren’t filled with heavenly choirs or glorious sun sets. My God-moments usually sound something like the Back to the Future line “Wake up, McFly!” I went to the Foodie Café, home of Daniel’s Table. In essence, The Foodie Café subsidizes the ministry of Daniel’s Table, a kitchen on wheels that distributes free food in Framingham. But here’s the best part: the owner and founder fully believes that he can and will end hunger in Framingham. In fact, he said to me, “We’ve got [hunger] figured out.” He then went on to talk at length about the complications surrounding the homeless population in downtown Framingham. But hunger, he’s got that solved. You may be thinking he’s an arrogant fool. Let me assure you, there is nothing arrogant or haughty about Dave. Nothing. He’s pretty ordinary. Yet the difference between Dave and the-stay-in-bed-all-day-and-become-overwhelmed-by-lunch-boxes-and-the-refugee-crisis-type is fairly simple. Dave doesn’t get stymied by complexity, but instead trusts that somehow a difference can be made. This does not mean Dave doesn’t perceive the complication that surrounds hunger; he just doesn’t stay stuck in that complication. His vision is clear: end hunger in Framingham. His plan is simple: start feeding people. Everything else just happened. “Wake up, McFly!” God called out to me, and then added, “It’s not rocket science!” I read an article over five years ago about the new gleaning movement. If you don’t know anything about it check out these articles: overview, modern movement, NPR podcast. As a member of a local CSA farm, I was thrilled by the possibility of gleaning leftover produce in the fields. But that’s all that happened; I was excited, figured out how to do it, and never did it.
This year that changed. I stopped sweating the complications: how I would coordinate enough people, if we would be able to pick everything, where the produce would go. I simply sent out an email to our faith community. It was that simple. One evening for an hour a few folks gleaned and then a few more folks another evening chopped up enough tomatoes, peppers, and corn to feed 175 people chili. A week later four of us gleaned and delivered 75 pounds of vegetables to Daniel’s Table. We didn’t end global poverty. We didn’t even end hunger in Framingham, but we did rescue healthy, fresh produce from rot, and we helped Dave come closer to his vision for Daniel’s Table. Perhaps that’s what it’s all about. Not doing everything perfectly, or completely, but doing things boldly in community. It’s been two weeks since we returned from Maine. I want to go back. Fortunately, the exhausting, magnificent week has been freeze-framed in my memory so I can return at will. I remember the kind people and the rewarding work, and more: long drives in glorious countryside, deep sociological and theological conversations that struggled with poverty’s ambiguity, the sweet face of a child innocent of his circumstances, a motley work crew that graciously rolled with everything and anything, meals around a common table, and kids (we had more kids than ever and their hard work filled me with pride). This year, however, one story stands out powerfully. We primarily worked on two construction sites. We returned to our beloved Marie’s home (see blogs from July & August 2014) to stain the deck we built last year and finish the final stage of insulation. We also met a new family with five children. The family was living in a home with no electricity or plumbing. Inside, the house was stripped down to the studs. How did this happen? The family’s story is complicated, but speaks of how easily the financial rug can be pulled out from under us. Multiple Sclerosis, downsizing at the local mill, and lead paint hit this loving family at once. The children’s lead levels soared in the old home. The parents were left with no choice: lose your home or lose your children. They chose to have their home purged of lead paint. The result—the entire interior was stripped. Our job was simple. We installed dry wall in the family’s single heated room. We did our best, but felt like we made little difference, even though the family warmly thanked us. We struggled with what else to offer. Everyone chipped in and we purchased a card they could use at their local convenience store/gas station. Still our offerings seemed anemic. We would return to healthy checking accounts and insulated homes. I mentioned the family’s struggles to my beloved Marie. She sighed deeply—a sigh that revealed she had never gotten used to heartache in her 70+ years. Then she said without a second thought, “Tell them I have an extra room here and they are welcome to it.” Marie lives in a trailer that is standing out of habit. She subsists each month by carefully budgeting her small check from Social Security. Yet she offered her home to a family of seven she had never met. That afternoon she sent me with 18 eggs from her chickens for the family. Jesus tells the powerful story of The Widow’s Mite (Luke 21), in which a penniless widow gives all she has faithfully and humbly. During his Sermon on the Mount Jesus proclaims, “Blessed are you who are poor for yours is the kingdom of God (Luke 6).” This year in Maine I viscerally understood these passages as I chipped in $40 for a gift card while Marie offered her home and all the eggs in her fridge. I don’t feel guilty that I live in a well-insulated home, nor that I just purchased new soccer cleats for my quickly growing boys. I feel deeply grateful. Yet I wonder why, even when I push myself to generosity beyond what feels comfortable, my open-heartedness, my compassion, my welcome is never as prodigious as folks like Marie. Jesus did not think poverty was a blessing. He spent his ministry offering material and physical comfort to the poor. Yet he did believe that the poor were blessed. He understood poverty’s stark reality: poverty strips you down to the very studs, leaves you without, so that in return you must open your heart completely and vulnerably to the world. This wide open heart, I believe, opens the poor to heartache in a way I cannot fathom, yet I believe it also opens their hearts to all that is good in the world as well—generosity, gratitude, compassion, and love. From a lifetime of struggle Marie’s heart is open wide to the world in a way my heart will never be. Her wide open heart has been broken more times than Marie could ever count, but it is a blessed heart that gives eggs and offers her home to a family she has never met. I have been blessed by her generosity that has opened my heart to God’s love anew. When you marry at 23, enter the ministry at 25, and pay off graduate school loans through your thirties, you forgo the concert scene. Yet because I am the pastor to the coolest community, I received, along with my husband, our music director and his spouse, u2 tickets with our Christmas bonuses. Little did I know back in December that simply watching Bono walk on stage would be a profound spiritual experience. In fact, my first concert in years, on a perfect July evening, was a Pentecost. Instantly, as Bono’s voice broke over the crowd of nearly 20,000, the air changed. The gathered multitude was on fire with the Holy Spirit. We were speaking in a new language of song and dance that connected us, beyond our backgrounds, beyond our age, even beyond our religions. **** It might seem obvious I would connect spiritually to u2 live in concert since Bono is an outspoken progressive Christian. I have been following his global activism for years. Yet nothing Bono said about global poverty and AIDS surprised me, nor did the live music stir in me some new religious conviction. Instead, it was the electrifying Spirit that reverberated between Bono and the crowd. That Spirit unleashed a new and surprising experience. Bono’s mere physical presence—not his words, not his powerful song—charged the crowd. Never before in my life had the Spirit felt so palpable, so alive, so on fire. The Spirit’s electricity was multiplied by the gathered thousands. In that moment I wondered: What it was like when Jesus entered Jerusalem? Was the air charged with this same electric Spirit? *** I am grateful that in my early Sunday school days I was exposed to the meek and mild Jesus. I have needed him throughout my life—a non-judgmental presence, always ready to listen and comfort me through hard days. But when I left childhood, I craved more than just the placid Sunday school Jesus who always held a well cuddly, smiling child on his lap. I rejoiced in my teens when I learned that Jesus upended tables, and I celebrated in college when I learned that Jesus excelled in theological sparring with the Pharisees. Jesus was much more dynamic than Sunday school images suggest. In fact, Jesus must have possessed an electric charisma. I imagine that Jesus’ presence was so powerful, so magnetic, that those gathered to hear him preach were charged by his physical presence, just as the crowd of concertgoers were charged by U2. How else can you explain that Jesus’ ministry lasted perhaps no more than 3 months, yet he changed the course of history? How else can you explain that a man who overthrew no power structure, conquered no lands, published no books, and whose followers were a motley crew of ill-connected commoners turned the world upside down? Jesus possessed none of the worldly power we still value in our culture today, but Jesus did possess something much more powerful: charisma. *** Charisma derives from the ancient Greek word, khárisma, that describes a divinely given power or gift. In Hebrew texts, charismatic leadership is generally signaled by the use of the noun “favor” (hen). These differing roots have merged through the multiple translations of the Bible to describe something divinely different and special about religious leaders who have received God’s favor. This favor, this gift, this charisma, is power rooted in the Spirit. Bono is not Jesus. He is an imperfect, broken human like the rest of us. He knows it and admits it, thank God. Yet, like Jesus, God has given him a powerful spiritual gift. For this reason, as I felt the air electrify around me, watched people moved beyond their differences by song, saw them swaying to the music, I felt that I had some sense for what it must have been like to be in the presence of Jesus. Jesus was a rock star. His charisma moved people to understand God anew. He electrified the air as he moved through the countryside and into Jerusalem. His vision broke open people’s hearts and changed the way they viewed the world, and in the end it was his God given Spirit-Gift that changed the world. If you have read my blogs before, you can guess how I feel about the recent SCOTUS ruling on marriage. Elated! I am one of millions of Americans this week celebrating by changing my Facebook profile picture to a rainbow. I even bought a t-shirt that reads, “Love Wins,” plastered over a map of America, as if my home team just won the Super Bowl. Some of this giddy delight is enraging citizens with different views. Social media has become a forum for people to spew their hate and fear. This seems especially prevalent, not surprisingly, but shamefully so, in christian circles. I’ve had a startling response: I don’t care! Rage against progress! Rage against inclusion! I don’t care what you think. I don’t care if your feelings are hurt. I am unapologetically relishing this moment in history. Homophobic christians, you are on the wrong side of history. Love has won. The arc of God’s kingdom is long, but it always bends toward justice. It took me a few days (well, years) to get to this willful I-don’t-care space. Christian America has been deeply divided for the past thirty years about gender identity and sexual preference. I quit hoping for christian “unity within our diversity” when I entered seminary 17 years ago and heard the most hateful things said in the name of Jesus. At first I joined the fray, fighting for my LGBTQ friends. I would stand up on the floor of presbytery, in class, whenever and wherever, to defend their right to be ordained and married. After seminary I quit. I did not stop caring about the importance of LGBTQ issues: I married lesbian couples (no gay men yet, but please if you are interested let me know!), taught an inclusive sexuality curriculum to my youth, and even led continuing education classes on what the Bible does say (pretty much nothing) about homosexuality. Still, I left the scarred “christian” battlefield. I would not participate in the debate. It gave me migraines, stomachaches, and worst of all left me feeling hollow. I wanted to do productive work for the gospel. I wanted results, not endless arguments. Then this week happened. All of a sudden I was back in the epicenter of the battle as I read shameful homophobic postings on my community’s Facebook page, encountered friends’ pleas for advice on how to deal with other fb friends’ hateful comments, and heard the most ridiculous christian-political rhetoric on national news. (Why, may I ask, has the media not interviewed the thousands of progressive christians who have been fighting for equal marriage for years? NPR, you can call me up. I would be happy to offer you my opinion!) Once again I was in the midst of the battle, but once again I was reluctant to participate. I simply deleted nasty posts, banned the people from Grace’s fb page, and tried to support my LGBTQ friends’ through their continued experiences of intolerance and hate. Then the universe shifted when I remembered what a facebook friend posted after the tragic events in Charleston: I'm done arguing with knuckle-dragging racists. If you espouse or defend racism, I will unfriend you and/or block you. Life is too short to put up with stupidity and hatred disguised as "heritage" and "patriotism”. Get your flag, get your pointy white hat, and get the hell out of my life. Thank you. He later reported that he lost a handful of friends, but gained more. I was amazed by his courage and his unapologetic stand against racism. Why should he be apologetic? I wouldn’t stand for my children saying hateful things; why should I tolerate adults’ homophobic or racist comments dressed up as religious belief? Real christian community is not easily forged. Grace is not cheap, nor is forgiveness. If you want to continue to say hateful things about our LGBTQ brothers and sisters, do not expect me to listen. Do not be surprised if I unfriended you on Facebook. Expect to be banned from Grace’s Facebook page. And do not, I repeat, do not think you have the Jesus monopoly. You may claim the title “Christian,” but you do not own Christ. The Jesus of Nazareth who laid claim to my heart called me to love courageously and radically. He did not call me to be “nice and polite” while people are excluded and hated. In fact, to hell with nice and polite. Homophobia is neither of those things, so it doesn’t deserve those things. Homophobia hurts people. It promotes bullying. It causes self-hatred. For Jesus’ sake it has to stop, and now. Jesus preached the Kingdom of God, a kingdom of justice and peace and radical inclusion. This week America took one step toward that kingdom by allowing gays to marry. It will take another step as those Confederate flags come down. God willing, we will keep on marching until everyone on the outside is invited in, until the hungry are fed, the homeless are housed, and the wounded are healed. Love is winning. Will you march with us? "Our culture has shifted; we are now granted more religious freedom to discover our own spiritual path instead of simply identifying with our heritage. As a result, those who do engage in a spiritual practice do so out of commitment rather than obligation." “Oh No! The religious sky is falling!” the news commentators declared after a Pew Research Center survey recently revealed that over the past seven years the number of Americans who identify themselves as Christians has dropped nearly 8 points to about 70%. Meanwhile the number of Americans who claim no religious affiliation has hit an all-time high of 23%. This supposed collapse is apparent across all age groups and ethnicities. One commentator wrote, “We are staring in the face a European-style collapse in religious observance within a couple of generations.” Is this news? Is the sky really falling? Maybe for some people this is startling and perhaps for others it is even bad news, but from where I’m seated this sounds like the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Why? First, realistically assessing if you are affiliated with a faith tradition is important self-awareness. Just because your grandmother went to Catholic mass every day doesn’t mean you are automatically Catholic. My parents raised me on a horse farm. My three older sibling loved to ride. I couldn’t stand it. I would never claim to be a “horse woman” just because as a kid I shoveled stalls. In the same way, for generations Americans have been identifying with religious traditions that represented their family’s heritage, not their faith experience. Our culture has shifted; we are now granted more religious freedom to discover our own spiritual path instead of simply identifying with our heritage. As a result, those who do engage in a spiritual practice do so out of commitment rather than obligation. Second, institutional loyalty has diluted Jesus’ radical Gospel for centuries. I’ll never forget when an elementary classmate adamantly denied they were Christian and instead explained they were Roman Catholic. Years later in graduate school I met many soon to be ministers who had stronger ties to their denomination than they did to Jesus’ teachings. There were times at Princeton Theological Seminary I felt like we were collectively worshiping Calvin and spirit-less creeds and doctrines, instead of the man from Nazareth. Shifting institutional loyalty will give rise to more authentic and meaningful faith practice. This is perhaps the best news of all. We are already seeing the fruits of this shift as new ways of following Jesus arise from emergent churches to new monastic communities. Finally, the question what does it mean to be Christian is a deeply important one. I would argue that 70% of America can’t truly be Christian otherwise we would be doing a much better job of caring for the poor, the imprisoned, the blind, the burdened, and the battered (Luke 4:18). Yet on the other hand, some would argue I am a terrible Christian because of my feminist views. I welcome a national conversation about what it means to identify yourself as a Christian. Does it mean you vote a certain way? That you go to church every Sunday? Pray regularly? Protest at abortion clinics and gay marriages? Or maybe feed the homeless regardless of your city’s ordinance against such subversive acts? Serious debate about what it means to be Christian welcomes serious faith exploration and in my experience faith exploration is always rewarding. Are you part of the 70%? Were you raised Christian and now identify as something else? Were you raised with Christian heritage, but little faith experiences? Or are you one who joyfully and consciously identifies with a religious tradition because you have the freedom to? I’m the later. I’m a progressive Christian because I was given the freedom to discover my own faith journey and ask important faith questions. |
Abby HenrichRev. Abigail A Henrich (ehm!) is an ordained minister who earned her stripes at Princeton Theological Seminary and Colgate University. That said, Abby is really a mother-pastor-spouse who lives in a kinetic state of chaos as she moves from her many vocations: folding laundry, preaching, returning phone calls, sorting lunch boxes, answering e-mails, and occasionally thinking deep thoughts in the shower. Unabashedly she is a progressive Christian who believes some shaking up has got to happen in the church. Categories
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