Browsed by
Tag: joy

One People

One People

Sermon preached on Sunday, July 18, at Deer Isle Sunset Congregational Church …

Have we ever been more divided?  I mean, we don’t even agree on who won the last presidential election!  We don’t even agree whether or not it is a good thing to be vaccinated against a deadly disease.  We don’t even agree on what we should be teaching our children about who we are as a nation.

In the latest issue of The Atlantic, George Packer argues there are four Americas, four distinct and competing and incompatible visions of what it means to be American.  There is, as he names it, “Free America,” those who espouse a “Don’t Tread on Me” libertarianism, who want to do whatever they want to do unfettered by government regulation and unimpeded by folks “dependent on the system.” 

There is “Smart America,” those who believe in the value and profitability of education, who believe they deserve everything they have earned and both pity and disparage those who somehow lack the will or the skill to succeed.

There is “Real America,” those for whom the real Americans are “the hardworking folk of the white Christian heartland,” while the enemies of America are the “treacherous elites and contaminating others [that is: non-whites and immigrants] who want to destroy the country.”

And there is “Just America,” those who divide the country into oppressed and oppressors, privileged and unprivileged, for whom the only way forward is to turn everything upside down.

Packer writes: “I don’t much want to live in the republic of any of them.”

Dialogue among these groups is useless, because we don’t have the same facts (we can’t agree on what is real and what is fake) and we don’t speak the same language — freedom and justice and fairness and truth mean entirely different things in the different Americas to which we pledge our allegiance.

The last time I remember a real sense of a commonly shared American identity was in the immediate aftermath of the attack on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001.  We were all mourning together, lamenting together, both the loss of life and a never before experienced feeling of acute vulnerability.  We were not at first angry or bitter, not seeking revenge, but comforting each other and reaffirming our dedication to what we loved most about our country: its open-armed welcome, its commitment to equal opportunity for all people, its affirmation of right over might, of law over lawlessness.  And the world mourned with us with a generous outpouring of goodwill and affection.

But that good will quickly dissipated, both outside and inside our borders, as we mounted a dubious and ill-fated invasion of Iraq.  George W. Bush became a lightning rod for Democratic mistrust and anger and the nation was more divided than it had ever been.

Barack Obama reaped the fury of a Republican backlash as Congress’ sole agenda became thwarting his proposals whatever merits they might have and the nation became even more divided.

And the just past president came to power precisely by stoking the fires of division, making no pretense of governing a united country, but finding pleasure instead in pitting Americans against each other, those who, as he claimed, love America, against those who, as he claimed, hate America.

Have we ever been more divided?  And we are not merely divided into this camp and that camp, but fragmented, splintered into a myriad of tribes delineated not by shared values or principles or dreams, but by “identity.”  We define ourselves and align ourselves by our blackness or our whiteness, by being gay or straight or bisexual, male or female or transgender or non-binary, blue collar or white collar, heartland or coasts, Muslim or Christian or Buddhist or Jew or none.  Even being a None is a thing.

Have we ever been more divided?  We believe our identity wholly determines our destiny, rather the the other way around.  Think about it!  We believe our identity wholly determines our destiny, rather the the other way around.

But enough already!  I am not called to be a Cassandra, to bear bad news, but to be a minister of the gospel, to proclaim good news.  This is why we gather here in this sanctuary, week after week, not to bemoan a crumbling world, but to hear the gospel, so we might be believe and be made glad, and so we might live what we believe.

And this is the gospel: We are one people.

We are one people.  I had a seminary professor who liked to say that in the gospel, the indicative precedes the imperative, that is, what we must do only comes after what God has done.  It’s not that we must try to get along, try hard to bring people together, do our best to overcome the divisions among us.  We are one people.  God has made us one people.  Oneness is not something we achieve, but something God gives.

We are one people.  Who is?  Who is included in this one people?  All those who believe as we do, walk in the light as we do, share the same stories and values and religious commitments as we do?

No!  We are one people.  We — look around you, look all around you, and see the “we!”  Whom do you see?  Whom can you name?  This is the gospel and this is what Paul boldly declares in his letter to the Ephesian church: God has made us one people.  God has made us one people in Christ Jesus.

Paul’s letter to the Ephesians is a wonderfully expansive and audacious and thrilling letter.  Eventually, he will turn to practical matters, counseling wives and husbands, parents and children, even slaves and masters about honoring and respecting each other, urging them all to live lives of purity and piety, truthfulness and kindness.

But here, at the beginning of his letter, he is occupied with the big picture, with a cosmic reality.  He writes about God’s plan, what he calls God’s “secret plan,” — a plan that is certainly no secret because he tells it! — God’s secret plan to “bring all creation together, everything in heaven and on earth” in Christ.

All creation!  Not just human beings, but all creation!  This is Christ’s mission: not to judge, not to divide, not to separate sheep from goats, not to start a new religion or discredit the old, not to carve out a faithful remnant from among rebellious humanity, but to reconcile, to bring people together, to bring people together back to God, to bring all creation together and back to God.

This is what God wants, this is God’s dream, this is God’s plan — to bring all of us and all of creation too into the arms of God’s loving embrace, to bring us and all of creation into shalom, into peacefulness, into wholeness, into fullness of life, into joy, our joy and God’s joy.

Paul is writing in particular to Gentile Christians, non-Jewish believers.  The early church struggled with the division between Jews and Gentiles, insiders and outsiders, people of the book and the heathens, people with entirely different histories and cultures and religious practices.  But Paul declares there is no division: “Christ himself has brought us peace by making Jews and Gentiles one people.”  Jews who have studiously kept themselves separate from non-Jews, and Gentiles who have habitually disparaged Jews, are one people!

How?  By Christ’s blood: “You, who used to be far away, have been brought near by the blood of Christ.”

The blood of Christ.  You look upon it every Sunday.  It is the focal point of our worship, at the center of the gospel we preach — the cross, the cross on which Jesus was executed, the cross on which he poured out his blood, poured out his life.

The cross is not the emblem of an unwarranted and untimely death.  The cross is not the remembrance of a failed martyr.  The cross is not even a model for us of ultimate sacrifice.  It is the emblem of victory, God’s victory, the victory of grace over sin, of God’s love over human rebellion, of life over death.  At the cross, God wins, which means we win.

“With his own body,” Paul writes, “with his own body [Christ] broke down the wall that separated them.”  The wall is down.  The wall is down!  We don’t need to tear down the wall,.  The wall is down!

The wall is down — between you and me, between Jew and Gentile, between black person and white person, between Muslim and Christian, between gay and not so gay.  Really!  We are one.  We have been made one by the death of Christ.  His death is the death of all division, and his life is the promise of life together, as one people.

This is who we are: one people, all of us children of God, created for joy, and God gave us Jesus so that we, so that none of us, would be denied that joy.

So what are we to do?  We are called to live as if we are one people,  because we are.  We are one people!  We are called to live in the peace, out of the peace, for the sake of the peace, making the peace that God has gifted us in Christ.  The walls are down, but for God’s sake, don’t try to rebuild them!

I speak especially to those of us who are Gentiles, non-Jewish believers, and that is most of us in this sanctuary.  How dare we, how dare we, build walls between anyone else and ourselves?  How dare we presume to judge any neighbor and draw a line between ourselves and them?  How dare we ever talk about “us” and “them?”

We Gentile Christians must never forget that are the outsiders!  We are the foreigners!  We are the ones who don’t belong, who had no part in God’s promises, who were not counted among God’s chosen.  We have been grafted into God’s family tree, adopted into God’s family, welcomed home by nothing other than sheer grace, utter gift.  So how can we be anything but gracious, anything but generous, anything but welcoming to other outsiders, other strangers, other lost ones?

We are called to live as one people, to embrace our identity, our true identity, which is ours in Christ.  I am European-American.  I am male, cis-gendered as they say.  I am heterosexual, married to my wife.  I am college-educated.  I am a retired professional.  All of these parts of who I am matter, and all the parts of who you are matter, but none of these matter more than my identity, your identity, our identity, as one people, children of God, children together in a family made by Christ.

We have never been more divided as Americans, as Christians, as human beings, and yet, we are not.  We are not divided.  We are one people.  And all the bitterness, all the contention, all the lying, all the hatred do not make it any less true.

This is the gospel … we were created in joy for the sake of joy, to live in peace for the sake of peace, to embrace each other as God has embraced us, to join ourselves to Christ in his death — putting to death our pride, our prejudices, our pretensions — so we might be joined to Christ in his life, living in love as he lived in love.  We are one people, so let’s live that way!

The joy of the Lord is your strength

The joy of the Lord is your strength

“This day is holy to our Lord … Do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”
(Nehemiah 8:10)

Where there is fear, where there is deep misgiving, where there is uncertainty, where there is worry, where there is grief, may we find strength and a place of rest in joy, in the joy of the Lord.

Little Splat

Little Splat

A poem I wrote today …

Little Splat

silent and still and slow,
    very slow
        is this what it is like to die?
silent and still and slow,
    very slow?

I am here for joy
    for the joy of emerald water
        pouring and twisting among grey boulders
        churning over drops and plunging into holes and piling up in frothy mounds
    for the joy of the dance
        pas de deux, me and the river
        lean, glissade, pirouette
    for the joy of comradeship
        eight days and eight of us, two thousand miles of road and sixty miles of stream
        paddling and paddling some more, talking paddling and dreaming paddling
    for the joy of the adventure
        Zoom Flume and First Island, Little Splat and Wonder Falls, Wonder Falls!
        launching boat and body over the lip of eighteen-foot Wonder Falls, exult!

and now,
silent and still and slow,
    very slow

not able to breathe, but able to see
    seeing only the subaqueous darkness
not able to move, but able to feel
    feeling canoe and me stuck, stuck between rocks, between foot pegs and saddle
able to think, but silent and still and slow,
    very slow
no panic, no terror, no dread, no self-pity, no despair, no regret
    only silence and stillness and slowness
and watching, watching myself, watching myself from outside myself
    and wondering, wondering, wondering
        is this what it is like to die?

I try again to move
    and I am out

there will be no dying today
    no second-guessing or rueing or wishing myself somewhere else
because I am here
    because I am here
because I am here for joy!

Timothy Ensworth

 

(In April 1991, I traveled to West Virginia with seven other members of the Maine Appalachian Mountain Club whitewater canoeing group. Along the way, we paddled the Indian and Hudson rivers in New York, and Stony Brook and Dark Shade and Shade Creeks in Pennsylvania. In West Virginia, we ran the Shavers Fork of the Cheat, the Middle Fork of the Tygart and Tygart Gorge, the Upper and Lower Big Sandy River, and the Cheat River. This poem comes from my descent of the Lower Big Sandy and a capsize at Little Splat.)

holding on to hope and compassion

holding on to hope and compassion

A New Year’s reflection from Rachel Held Evans: 2016 and the Risk of Birth

An excerpt …

For me, the dissonance of this strange year is compounded by the fact that motherhood turned my bleeding heart into a hemorrhage. It’s as though I’ve become porous, my skin absorbing the pain of others, particularly other mamas and babies. (Speaking of which, why did all the good shows this year involve children in peril? I’m looking at you, “Stranger Things”!) Every night, as I nurse my boy in that cozy armchair in his nursery, I think of the Syrian mama nursing her baby in a raft adrift in the Mediterranean Sea. I think of the shell-shocked boy from Aleppo. I think of how every Latino kid taunted by classmates, every soldier sent to war, every autistic kid who will lose his therapy when ACA is repealed, every black man shot by police is somebody else’s baby boy, somebody else’s most important person in the world. I still, almost every day, think of Sandy Hook.

“Compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else’s skin,” writes Frederick Buechner. “It’s the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too.”

Motherhood invited me into other people’s skin in a way I’ve never experienced before. So my joy is big and real and consuming, but also incomplete. I am overwhelmed by the conviction that every mother should be able to feed her baby like this, in safety and contentedness, and I am haunted by the reality that this is still far from the case.

In 2016, I became more aware than ever of the darkness around us, and more invested than ever in lighting the path.

a great man died tonight

a great man died tonight

Lynn Nielsen A great man died tonight …

Lynn Nielsen was great by the only measure that matters, that so many of us loved him.

We loved him for his courage, living and dying with multiple myeloma. Eventually it claimed his life, but it could never diminish his vitality or his humor or his eagerness for what tomorrow might bring.

We loved him for his faith, unconventional and genuine and exuberant, a faith that understood that God’s desire for us is life in all its fullness, here and now.

But, above all, we loved him for his joy. Teaching was joy to him, that unique setting where teachers and students come together to challenge each other and grow each other and put personal gifts and skills to use to nurture the skills and gifts in another person. A most unselfish profession! His students, from Iowa and from all points of the globe, brought joy to him, and he to them. And he found and made joy in his colleagues, my wife among them. He was the one who brought my wife into the College of Education and the University of Northern Iowa family, and for that she and I are most grateful.

And he found joy in making beauty, extraordinary beauty for all of us to relish! He made beauty with his music, playing organ for worship or jazz piano for the delight of the patrons of Elms Pub at New Aldaya Lifescapes and for concert-goers at other venues including our church. He made beauty at his home on Tremont Street — lovely backyard gardens, an interior decor warm and inviting and eclectic and elegant. He made beauty with his parties! Good food, good drink, extraordinary dishes and desserts, all carefully prepared and arranged by Lynn, the consummate host, the consummate friend. Parties for laughter and for music and for bringing people together, for making new friends and for treasuring every happy moment with friends old and dear.

He was a friend, old and dear, to so many. We loved him, for many good reasons, but we would have loved him regardless, just for how he loved us and for how he loved life. No one can replace him. No one could. No one should.

It is grief for us to lose him. But what joy it was to share some of our life with him!

mia or barry?

mia or barry?

Mia Hamm and the 1999 World Cup Trophy

On our way home to Iowa from our vacation in Maine, we stayed with a friend in Oneonta, New York, and visited the National Soccer Hall of Fame. On August 26, Mia Hamm and Julie Foudy will be honored there as 2007 inductees. Here’s hoping that Barry Bonds, the new “home run king” of baseball, will not merit such an honor in nearby Cooperstown …

Let’s see, Mia or Barry?

One an athlete of character, intensity, passion, compassion, humility, generosity, and unselfishness. The other almost certainly a cheater.

One a player of America’s game, discrediting the game, discounting his teammates, and casting a long shadow over a hallowed record. The other a player of the world’s game, doing more than any other single individual to inspire a new generation of girls (and boys) to a love for that game, for sport itself, and for joy of being team.

One taking the fun out of the game. The other reminding us that fun is what games are supposed to be about!

i’m back

i’m back

I’m back … after twenty-six days of vacation, 5300 miles on the road, passing through eighteen states and two provinces, time shared with many, many friends and dear family members, time in boats on Lake Superior, on Lake Huron, and on the Atlantic Ocean. It was glorious! I am filled up once more with deep wonder at the grandeur of what God has fashioned and the extraordinary blessing of being allowed to enjoy it.

And my question today is this: which is more “real” — home and work, or vacation?!

Of course, both are real. Human life is about being productive, about “making a living” and about “making a difference.” It is about providing and contributing and about doing something worthwhile with the heart and brain and limbs God has given you. We are in some sense measured by what we have done … for the sake of those who depend on us, for the sake of humanity, for the sake of the kingdom.

But I am convinced that much of what God intends for us is pure joy! … that we are given life and breath not merely to be productive, but to see and hear and taste and feel and smell some small part of all the wonders and delights and surprises to be found in the world God made and called good … that life is being as well as doing, being alive in the world and being alive to the world, breathing deeply of all that is around us and giving God thanks.

I have breathed deeply … and today I give God thanks!