Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] July 24, 2016 “Keep Raising Difficult Justice Over Easy Blame” Psalm 33: 10-12, 16-22 10 The Lord overrules what the nations plan; God frustrates what the peoples intend to do. 11 But the Lord’s plan stands forever; what God intends to do lasts from one generation to the next. 16 Kings aren’t saved by the strength of their armies; warriors aren’t rescued by how much power they have. 17 A warhorse is a bad bet for victory; it can’t save despite its great strength. 18 But look here: the Lord’s eyes watch all who honor God, all who wait for God’s faithful love, 19 to deliver their lives from death and keep them alive during a famine. 20 We put our hope in the Lord. God is our help and our shield. 21 Our heart rejoices in God because we trust God’s holy name. 22 Lord, let your faithful love surround us because we wait for you. The king stood on his balcony eating honey on rice cakes with his top advisor. As they ate, they gazed down on the bucolic street scene below. The king was in a good mood that day and as he laughed, a drop of honey fell from his rice cake onto the railing. “Sir, you’ve spilled a drop of honey. Here, let me wipe it up for you.” “Oh, pay it no mind,” said the king. “It’s not our concern. Let the servants will clean it up later. I don’t want to be disturbed right now.” They went on eating and talking. But as the drop of honey warmed in the sun it slowly began to drip down from the rail until it was finally on the street below. Attracted by the sweet smell, a fly landed on it and began to eat. “Your highness, that drop of honey has landed on the street and is attracting flies. Perhaps we should call someone to clean it up.” “Pay it no mind,” said the king. “It’s not our concern.” Suddenly a gecko sprang out from under its hiding place and ate the fly in one gulp which attracted a cat that pounced on the gecko. While the cat played with its fresh food in the street, a dog ran over and attacked it. “Sir, there’s a cat and dog fighting in the street. We should call someone to stop it.” “Oh, pay it no mind,” said the king. “Here come their owners. They’ll put a stop to it. We don’t need to get involved.” The two continued to eat their honey and rice cakes, watching the spectacle play out on the street below them. But the spectacle had turned into the cat’s owner beating the dog and the dog’s owner beating the cat. And soon beating each other. The king’s good mood turned to anger as he watched the scene below. “I’ll have no fighting on my streets,” he bellowed. “Call in the guards and put an end to this unrest at once.” The palace guards were summoned. But by this time the fight had grown into friends of cat owner and friends the dog owner taking sides. Soon it was an all-out brawl. The guards tried breaking it up but that only attracted more people. And the fight erupted into a civil war. Houses were burned and the palace itself was set afire and completely destroyed. The kingdom came to an end and was never rebuilt. But new wisdom was gained among the people. Small problems if unattended grow into larger ones. And a whole kingdom can be lost from a drop of honey. I love this story, but after such a good story as this, sometimes I have to wonder, what else should I say? Take care of little problems before they become big problems. Amen. Before the drip from the ceiling becomes a “whoosh” onto the dining room table below – take care of it. Amen. Before the socks and towels on the floor becomes a nasty name that you call your husband or wife and launches into a laundry list of previous indiscretions that haven’t been fully addressed… Take care of it. Amen. Let’s go home. After all, you get the point, right? We could all cite examples. I could go around the room and most of us could probably tell stories that unnecessarily end poorly. It’s a good story that makes total sense. So why do we so often ignore its wisdom? Why do we deflect? Why do we spend so much time and energy denying when simply telling the truth is much more efficient? I watched way too much coverage of the convention in Cleveland. But the first night proved my point. Melania Trump’s speech contained two virtually identical paragraphs from Michelle Obama’s speech as the wife of the candidate eight years ago. After it was discovered, Chris Matthews said “Just admit it and fire the speechwriter. It will all blow over in the morning.” Instead the campaign angrily denied it, defended it, and dug itself into a hole. To me it wasn’t really that big a deal. No need to make of it more than it was. A drop of honey. But not surprisingly, it unnecessarily turned into three days of distraction until the truth was revealed. Hillary’s use of her personal email server strikes me the same way. Just admit it was unwise and a reasonable cause for concern. Don’t deny it. It’s not surprising that such lack of candor unnecessarily escalated to chants of “Lock her up.” A drop of honey becoming a street brawl. Instead of denying there’s any racism among police officers, admit that there is and hold each other accountable. That will build the basis for trust. Police each other to stop acts of terrorism against the Black community or any community of color. At the same time, we must admit how hard it must be to be an officer today, the danger they face, and the truly disturbing language they encounter from those calling for cops to be killed. Like officers, isolate the few from the vast majority and hold each other accountable. Did you hear about the barbeque in Wichita this week? An event organized by the police chief and local organizers meant to get to know each other. The power of face to face discussion. I love the images of the event. And the pictures went viral because we all long for such expressions too often lacking today. But even the police chief said that’s not enough. He admitted we also need the “formation of a civilian review board, the use of an outside prosecutor to review officer-involved shootings and a commitment to increase the amount of cultural competency training for officers.”[1] It’s at least a start. But in many ways, the police are only symptomatic of the racial prejudice and privilege they are hired to protect – enforcing the laws of those in power. They are often caught in-between. Like judges who are at the mercy of lawmakers. And lawmakers are at the mercy of people who whip the population into fear, anger, and blame. And the angriest wins. But it only gets worse when the rest of the country brushes it off, like the king in the story who kept saying “Pay it no mind” or “I don’t want to be disturbed” or “It’s not our concern” or “We don’t need to get involved” – all very common phrases in the vernacular of the American people. It only gets worse when we don’t admit that clearly some lives are expendable. Instead of saying “It’s not our concern” we must admit that our country not only has racists but is set up to benefit them – from the founding Constitution where African Americans were considered 3/5’s of a person to a prison system that incarcerates people of color at rates wildly disproportionate to the population. Instead of saying “We don’t need to get involved,” we must admit that this system of privilege sentences people of color to prison for minor offenses, even death at a traffic stop, but lets those who caused the economic collapse of our country to get off with no penalty. Instead of saying “I don’t want to be disturbed. It’s not our concern” we must recognize and address that this dysfunction which has left drips of honey unattended and threatens to spiral us out of control. Some would claim we are now nearly at a civil war – that was certainly the message of this past week. But the blame is misdirected. Intentionally. Jim Wallis of Sojourners described it like this: “The anger, fear, and visceral reactions of many Americans — overwhelmingly white Americans — come from deep feelings about how “their” country is changing. Anger and fear leads to blame and even hatred for those they are told to hold responsible: the first black president, immigrants, refugees, criminals, terrorists, people mistreated by police, a whole world religion of Islam, and all “the others.” Blaming others is less complicated than blaming the systems and decisions responsible for what are some legitimate grievances. But the strategy instead to fuel racial and religious bigotry works well for a constituency made angrier and angrier because they’ve been handed someone to blame.”[2] Blaming others is easier than taking personal accountability and the work of difficult justice. The story of a drop of honey speaks to our country at this moment in time. And it speaks to our personal struggles and stories – the things we avoid. I have a few things I could admit. You have a few things you could admit. We all have a something we could admit before it becomes a problem. To take responsibility now for an action before it becomes a list of actions that has taken on a life of its own. At home, how is this true for you? With a spouse, with a friend, with a neighbor. At work, how is this true? With a colleague, with a boss, with an entire team. Times when we can simply say, “I did this. I’m sorry.” “I hear you. I forgive you.” We’re all eligible because we’re all human. So what stops us? Is it pride? Fear? The fear of someone’s anger directed toward us? The fear of someone’s disappointment in us? The fear of being rejected? I’ll admit to you I’m absolutely terrible at confronting conflict. I am an avid avoider. And I’ve paid the price. And I haven’t always learned my lesson. How about you? But as I reminded someone this week, and therefore myself, in the context of our faith, with all those fears of disappointment and rejection in us, and all that anger around us, there is something else. There is grace. In the context of our faith, right after the prayer of confession, there is the assurance of grace. God even offers grace to the most egregious – after confession. And therefore, there is hope. So instead of thinking it only makes sense that I address a small problem like a drop of honey before it becomes a brawl, God fills in the space between my fear and the resolution we often avoid with grace. Grace calls us to act. That grace allows us the space to deal with our faults and failing as well as those who are fearful and angry. I can listen and not take it personally. We are all hurting. We need that grace toward each other. We need that grace for ourselves. And believe me: in the days to come we are going to need even more of that good grace because in this climate of fear it is our calling as people of faith to keep raising love over hate. It is our calling to keep raising inclusion over division. It is in the name of Christ and by the grace of God that we must keep raising difficult justice over easy blame. [1] http://www.kansascity.com/news/state/kansas/article91220257.html#storylink=cpy [2] https://sojo.net/articles/god-has-not-given-us-spirit-fear
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Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] July 17, 2016 “Worship Keeps Me Sane” Isaiah 40: 26-31 – Common English Bible 26 Look up at the sky and consider: Who created these? The one who brings out their attendants one by one, summoning each of them by name. Because of God’s great strength and mighty power, not one is missing. 27 Why do you say, Jacob, and declare, Israel, “My way is hidden from the Lord my God ignores my predicament”? 28 Don’t you know? Haven’t you heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the creator of the ends of the earth who doesn’t grow tired or weary, whose understanding is beyond human reach, 29 giving power to the tired and reviving the exhausted. 30 Youths will become tired and weary, the young will certainly stumble; 31 but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength; they will fly up on wings like eagles; they will run and not be tired; they will walk and not be weary. [1]One day the chief of the Isolated Earth People was walking through the forest. He was looking for a symbol to give life to his people – some great and powerful animal that would show itself to him and teach him an important lesson. As he walked, he spotted the tracks of what must have been a huge deer. The chief became very excited. He took off following the tracks, saying, “Grandfather deer, show yourself to me. Surely you are going to teach me a lesson and become a symbol of my people.” As the chief followed the deer’s tracks, he ran faster and faster through the forest, his eyes were on nothing else. Suddenly the chief ran straight into a huge spider’s web that had been strung across the trees. It made him stumble. When he got to his feet he was angry. He went to strike at the spider but it dodged aside and quickly climbed out of reach. “Grandson,” the spider asked, “why are you racing through the forest looking at nothing but the ground? Why do you act as if you’re blind?” The chief answered, “I was following the tracks of a great deer. You see, I am seeking a symbol of strength for my people.” “I can be such a symbol,” said the spider. “How could you give strength to my people? You are small and weak and I didn’t even see you.” “Grandson,” said the spider, “look upon me. I am patient. I watch and I wait. Then all things come to me. If your people learn this, they will be strong indeed.” The chief saw that it was so, and so the spider became one of the symbols of the Osage people. The spider is a pretty unlikely symbol of strength, and a pretty unlikely hero. But you know what? At this point, I’d like any kind of hero. How are you doing? How are you doing with all this constant, non-stop news of outrage and tragedy? How is it with your soul? The soul crushing news increasingly leaving people numb with despair as a list of city names becomes synonymous with one kind of death after another. In just one month, Orlando, Baton Rouge, Falcon Heights, Baghdad, Dallas, Dhaka, Istanbul, and now Nice. Added to the infamous Newtown, Charleston, Aurora, San Bernadino, Fort Hood, Oklahoma City. And, of course, Ferguson. The list goes on and on. Just like the list of human names grows longer. On Thursday, 22-year-old Deeniquia Dodds was the latest African American transgender woman to be murdered.[2] A community targeted for murder at 10 times the rate of everyone else. And just because Philando Castile was the last black man to be killed while being filmed on an iPhone, and thus making the news, that does not mean he was the last black man killed. The media has said virtually nothing about the same issues in the Latino community. I’m not sure I can muster outrage anymore. I don’t think I can risk tears anymore. I mean, doesn’t that kind of vulnerability threaten to destroy our psyche? But what a privileged position I sit in to even ask those questions. First responders still have to go to work. Refugees still have to keep moving. Residents of every city besieged by war still have to venture outside to get water. People of Color, from President to parking lot attendant, farmworker to civil rights leaders, in the course of “normal” life, still have to face down angry bigots every day. White people can watch the news and debate whether all lives matter or some lives matter or no lives matter. We can watch the news and see graphic videos on a loop of death replayed and replayed and replayed with interest or disinterest while others have no choice but to see their sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, cousins, uncles… their own lives played like a video game, a loop of death reminding you, warning you – Your life is under that constant threat of violent confrontation. That could be you. And yet, still have to go to work, care for children, and listen to people like me who ask “Can I risk any more tears? Can I muster any more outrage?” And yet, 28 Don’t you know? Haven’t you heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the creator of the ends of the earth who doesn’t grow tired or weary, whose understanding is beyond human reach, 29 giving power to the tired and reviving the exhausted. 30 Youths will become tired and weary, the young will certainly stumble; 31 but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength; they will fly up on wings like eagles; they will run and not be tired; they will walk and not be weary. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I don’t know how I could handle all the grief and uncertainty in our world if I didn’t have a church to return to week after week to put my life and all our lives into perspective. It is this rhythm of worship that has sustained our ancestors through war and famine, through the deaths of mothers and fathers and children; through the deaths of those who died after long and courageous fights with cancer and Alzheimer’s as well as those who died in an instant – by accident or by violence. Worship keeps me sane. It asks, in the midst of confusion and competing questions, “What does the Lord require of you?” I can find peace on the top of a mountain or watching waves caress the shore, but worship is different. And I was reminded of this in the opening words of the funeral liturgy in our UCC Book of Worship. I want to read the opening paragraph. It reads: Friends, We gather here in the protective shelter of God’s healing love. [In this hour,] We are free to pour out our grief Release our anger, Face our emptiness, And know that God cares. We gather here as God’s people, Conscious of others who have died And of the frailty of our own existence on earth. [Therefore] We come to comfort and to support one another In our common loss. We gather to hear God’s word of hope That can drive away our despair And move us to offer God our praise. We gather to commend to God with thanksgiving the lives of ______ (fill in the blank) We celebrate the good news of Christ’s resurrection. For whether we live or whether we die We belong to Christ who is Lord Both of the dead and of the living. Don’t the words of ancient liturgies surprise us sometimes with their contemporary application? Word I needed today. That’s why we keep coming together every week. Words that remind us that God knows our grief, anger, and the emptiness we may feel right now. That God cares. And guides us through it to hope and praise and thanksgiving. Who lifts our heads… Like that spider. Or the cross – another unlikely symbol of strength. If we keep our heads focused on the ground, we will run and blindly follow tracks that may or may not take us anywhere but fear and more despair. Or we might simply run around in circles of rage. But here in worship, God lifts our heads to see what is always right here in front of us. Not great and powerful. But a way, a path through, someone to follow who knows death. Not somewhere off in the distance, but right here. Waiting patiently for us to come, to see. We could keep running in circles or we could look up and see, for example, the strength of other unlikely heroes.
If you think about it, if we were to lift our heads, we would see heroes and symbols of strength like these and so many more in every one of us here. When we gather in community instead of isolating ourselves and listen to one another, we will realize that if you can survive your tragedies and broken hearts, then I can too. God can redeem it all to some higher purpose. But we have to lift our heads to see it. And come together to practice it. We have to look up at the sky and consider: Who created these? Summoning the stars and the sky and each one of us by name. Why do we say to God “My way is hidden?” Why do you ___, ___, ___, why do I say that “God ignores my predicament…?” Don’t you know, haven’t you heard that God gives power to the tired and revives the exhausted? Youths will become tired and weary, the young will certainly stumble; but those who hope in the Lord (– who gather in community to worship week after week) Will have their strength renewed; And the persecuted and the oppressed, the prisoner and the poor: they will fly up on wings like eagles; they will run and not be tired; they will walk and not be weary. It’s amazing how often scripture says exactly what we need to hear. This text was chosen and printed in the bulletin long before a sermon was written. The wisdom story each week this summer has been chosen not because it is timely but because it speaks to the person who chose it before the events of that week. And then I have to figure out what to say about it. I had my doubts about this one! But every week so far it has been exactly the right story for that week. So, OK God. I hear you. And you hear our anger and grief, our sense that the state of our world is hopeless, our worry that a narcissistic demagogue who incites violence will become our leader… You get it God. And I hear you. And I thank you for this moment to lift my head and get back to the question: What do you require of me? To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with you.
Worship keeps us sane so that, in moments like these, we can look up and remember the question: And so, what does the Lord require of you? [1] “How the Spider Became a Symbol of the Osage People” in Doorways to the Soul: 52 Wisdom Tales from Around the World, edited by Elisa Davy Pearmain, Pilgrim Press, 1998. [2] http://dcist.com/2016/07/transgender_woman_dies_from_gunshot.php [3] http://www.cnn.com/2016/06/21/us/mccool-funeral-son-break-down-orlando-trnd/ [4] http://www.haaretz.com/jewish/news/1.637361 Sermons from
Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] July 10, 2016 "What Do You Mean ‘We Can’t’?" Genesis 1:1-2:3 – Common English Bible See the end of this sermon for the full text The Bible begins with a litany of abundance – it was good, and, the second day, it was good, and the third day, it was good, and the fourth day, it was good, and the fifth day, it was good, and the sixth day – it was very good. So good, in fact, that God took a break. “I gotta get out of the office.” And why not? There was enough. Plants had enough. Wildlife had enough. Humanity had enough. Everything in all of creation had enough. It was very good! Litanies of abundance infuse creation from the beginning. And it continues into the story of Genesis. One example: Abraham and Sarah, who at 100 years old were far too old to have children; well, they were promised children who would become so numerous, they could no more be counted than all the stars in the sky or sands on the beach. Sarah laughed at that. She scoffed. Nine months later she gave birth. And it was very good! Cracks in creation’s litany of abundance, however, began to appear, and it all came to an end not too much further into Genesis. In chapter 47, Pharaoh dreamed there would be a famine, so he got organized. Now, preparing for a famine is a good idea. But he wasn’t primarily interested in organizing relief for his people. He decided to control and monopolize the food supply, affecting every other nation around him. “If there’s not enough, let’s get everything!” He effectively starved everyone out until he ultimately created a class of people who were slaves. With this insight from Walter Brueggemann, he points out that first he took people’s possessions as collateral to get food – to survive. The second year he took the people’s land as collateral to get more food – so they wouldn’t starve to death. The third year he took their lives – their freedom. They had nothing left to give. And so that’s how the Hebrew people became slaves. A greedy Pharaoh who thought “There’s not enough, so let’s get everything.”[1] But was that just about greed? Control? Power? Or was it also about fear? And what happens when your motivation is fear? I am afraid of people who are afraid. Or rather, people with power who are afraid. On Friday morning I had to start my sermon over a third time. I had been planning to preach today to celebrate the abundance with which you and I gave to make our church home safe, functional, energy efficient, and hospitable. Radically hospitable. But Wednesday I knew I had to at least add mention of Alton Sterling. Shot for selling CDs outside a convenience store. Terribly reminiscent of Eric Garner and his loose cigarettes. Then I had to make another adjustment on Thursday morning. Philando Castile, Mr. Phil, as the children affectionately called him at the school where he worked. Shot for having a broken taillight. Terribly reminiscent of Sandra Bland. Alton and Mr. Phil were shot by police officers who seemed terribly afraid. I was struck by the terror in the voice of the officer who stood over Mr. Castile, his gun shaking while pointed through the window. Shaking as four bullets pierced the flesh of a man sitting in the car with his girlfriend, as his 4 year old daughter watched. As I tried to process this for a sermon today, as the whole string of killings on video this past year, I left on Thursday having written, can we just stop and scream right now? When I came in Friday morning, a whole new twist. Eleven officers shot in Dallas; five dead.[2] 1) Patrick Zamarripa, 32, father of a 2 year old, an Iraq War vet 2) Brent Thompson, 43, married only two weeks earlier to a fellow officer 3) Michael Krol, 40, living his dream to be a police officer 4) Michael Smith, father of 2, former Army Ranger, at age 55 not interested in retirement 5) Lorne Ahrens, a former semi-pro football player with two children ages 8 and 10 Their murders were not accidental in the context of racial bigotry. This was a coordinated attack by someone/someones who knew what they were doing. On Wednesday and Thursday morning, the continuing outrage of African Americans and other People of Color feeling long under siege by cops. On Friday morning, officers feeling under siege by African Americans. Others fanning passions and peddling fear. Both communities feeling battered by the other until we are all black and blue.[3] I hesitate to say it, but you can quit your job. You can’t quit being a black man in America. Similarly, I respect those who have told me that I can keep being gay a secret. It’s not a choice I would want to make, but I have that privilege. In fact, I do use that privilege all the time. When we stop at a truck stop in the middle of Montana or Wyoming on the way to my mother’s, I don’t wave a rainbow flag. But when Art and Lance walk into the same store with me, I know it’s different. I stand and watch Lance at the candy counter to make sure that the employees who are watching Lance won’t label him a suspect and shoot him over a bag of skittles. Such caution is warranted in a world that sees him and is afraid. White people who see 12 year old black boys and think they are 18 year old men, and dangerous. Such fear. I don’t want anyone to be afraid. Not police officers, whom I respect for doing a dangerous job. In fact, thank goodness thousands of men and women are willing to do it. I don’t want Muslims or Mexicans to be afraid; or immigrants – standing in front of a Pharaoh begging for food to survive; nor queer people at a club… This morning I could also have preached about 44 dead at the airport in Istanbul. Or 200 killed in Baghdad. 23 killed at a café in Bangladesh. Or Medina – terror at the second holiest mosque during the holiest last week of the holiest month of Ramadan.[4] So, I think, can we just stop and scream right now? Or weep. We were not meant to live in fear. When we were created, we had enough. Everyone had enough. And it was good. It was so good. Instead, today people we love are black and blue from fear. Manufactured and manipulated. How can we get past living with fear? Author Jamila Diallo said, “Do not walk away. Fear is just the beginning, it is not the end. We were not meant to live in fear, so do not let it cripple you.”[5] Fear is just the beginning, not the end. Of course, that’s easy to say since I have a nearly zero chance of being shot during a traffic stop. And easy to say when in the performance of my job, I don’t have to worry that someone here will kill me in the line of duty. So, how can we get past living with fear of each other? One thing is to see that our struggles are one, not separate, not either or. Not fighting that either Black Lives Matter or Blue Lives Matter. There’s an old Aesop’s fable that says:[6] An old man lay on his deathbed worrying about the future of his family. He had three sons who could not stop fighting. They couldn’t see eye to eye on anything and quarreled all day and all night. The man worried, what will become of my family? Whenever he tried to speak to them, begging them to forgive each other and live in peace, they just ignored him. One day he had an idea. He called all three to his bedside. He asked the eldest to bring a bundle of sticks. He untied them and asked each son to break one in half. They assumed their dying father was cold and the sticks were to be put in the fire. Each son easily broke his stick in half. Then he asked his sons to tie the bundle back together. They did. The father told them, “Now break it in half.” The first son tried, but couldn’t. The other two laughed at him uproariously. So the second brother said, “I can do it.” But he couldn’t. So the third said, “Here. Watch a man do it.” Each one tried but couldn’t. The father said, “You are like these sticks, my sons. If you stick together, no one and no thing will be able to harm you. But if you continue to quarrel and divide yourselves, your enemies will easily break you in half and destroy you.” That’s a beautiful story, but I’m not sure how practical it is in our polarized and divided context. I can and do have hope. I refuse to let the fearful stop me from being hopeful because our God is bigger than that. But, then again, as Martin Luther King Jr. said in 1966: "[The] law cannot make a man love me, but it can restrain him from lynching me, and I think that's pretty important also." Our hopefulness must take its place in action. And there are actions, some even simple to implement if enough pressure by hopeful people is applied.[7] Creation began with a litany of abundance. Of course, the six day creation story, seven if you count resting, is a myth. But a myth doesn’t mean that something isn’t true, just that truth isn’t necessarily literal. The truth of creation is that God’s original intention was of goodness and abundance. The world began in Original Blessing, not Original Sin. To live as people of faith means to live into God’s intention for us. When fear rules society, some people’s lives matter less. When fear rules in churches, for many people, the church stops mattering at all. There is a lot of fear in churches today. The predominant narrative in churches is decline – fewer people, fewer resources. Litanies of “We can’t.” Survival has become the main mission of too many faith communities. And as one would expect, when survival is your mission, you won’t survive. Three years ago we chose a different narrative. We embraced God’s original intention for us. A litany of abundance. And so you and I made sacrificial pledges. Fear that “we can’t” had played a role long enough. We laid out a big, hairy, audacious goal. A capital campaign of $800,000, plus mission giving. Few people believed we could do that. Even our consultant said we could only do half. And sure enough, pledges came in at just over one half - $438,000. (Some doubted we could reach 200k) But that’s not the whole story. Those pledges plus additional gifts bumped our total receipts in three years closer to $500,000. But that’s still not the whole story. When we were presented with the opportunity to host 20 women 26 nights per year, a huge undertaking, we could easily have decided, “We can’t. We’re too small. That’s asking too much…” Instead, leaders stepped forward and we followed. And because of the Women’s Homelessness Initiative, Energy Outreach Colorado agreed to add to our already underway capital improvements. Now, had there been no capital campaign, there would have been no grant. They invested in us because we had invested in ourselves. And so, with their grant, the total spent on our home climbed to $600,000. But we decided there was another “we can’t” that we could. Let’s put solar energy panels on our roof! But with so many other things going on at the same time, how could we do that too? We figured it out. We trusted in God’s litany of abundance and now share in the absolute abundance of sun in the Colorado sky. And with a little hail coming out of that beautiful blue sky – well, it actually must have been some pretty big hail – the insurance company gave us a new $150,000 roof. In the middle of that, we said farewell to Temple Micah. Montessori expanded into their space and spent $40,000 on improvements. Somehow, in the end, when we add it all up, we find ourselves with a total investment in our home of over $800,000, plus mission giving. Plus the Women’s Homelessness Initiative, plus bloom!, plus a second paid Sunday School teacher, plus a renewed effort at faith formation with a Family Day @ La Foret, not to mention ongoing and increasing support for our monthly mission partners, senior support suppers, orphans in Ethiopia – we can’t possibly support 20 orphans on top of everything else… What do you mean “we can’t?” We just did. This is a litany of abundance from God, not the fear that there’s not enough. And if we could do all that, then we can also help change our world’s seemingly intractable climate of fear and systems of racial injustice. And gun violence. And neighborhood re-segregation. We can be people of faith, not relying only on our own sense of good will, and therefore subject to burn out or compassion fatigue, but opening ourselves to the power of the Living God. If we do that, there is enough. What do you mean “we can’t?” God can. And that’s enough. Genesis 1:1-2:3 - Common English Bible (CEB) 1 When God began to create the heavens and the earth—2 the earth was without shape or form, it was dark over the deep sea, and God’s wind swept over the waters— 3 God said, “Let there be light.” And so light appeared. 4 God saw how good the light was. God separated the light from the darkness. 5 God named the light Day and the darkness Night. There was evening and there was morning: the first day. 6 God said, “Let there be a dome in the middle of the waters to separate the waters from each other.” 7 God made the dome and separated the waters under the dome from the waters above the dome. And it happened in that way. 8 God named the dome Sky. There was evening and there was morning: the second day. 9 God said, “Let the waters under the sky come together into one place so that the dry land can appear.” And that’s what happened. 10 God named the dry land Earth, and named the gathered waters Seas. God saw how good it was. 11 God said, “Let the earth grow plant life: plants yielding seeds and fruit trees bearing fruit with seeds inside it, each according to its kind throughout the earth.” And that’s what happened.12 The earth produced plant life: plants yielding seeds, each according to its kind, and trees bearing fruit with seeds inside it, each according to its kind. God saw how good it was. 13 There was evening and there was morning: the third day. 14 God said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night. They will mark events, sacred seasons, days, and years. 15 They will be lights in the dome of the sky to shine on the earth.” And that’s what happened. 16 God made the stars and two great lights: the larger light to rule over the day and the smaller light to rule over the night. 17 God put them in the dome of the sky to shine on the earth, 18 to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. God saw how good it was. 19 There was evening and there was morning: the fourth day. 20 God said, “Let the waters swarm with living things, and let birds fly above the earth up in the dome of the sky.” 21 God created the great sea animals and all the tiny living things that swarm in the waters, each according to its kind, and all the winged birds, each according to its kind. God saw how good it was. 22 Then God blessed them: “Be fertile and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let the birds multiply on the earth.” 23 There was evening and there was morning: the fifth day. 24 God said, “Let the earth produce every kind of living thing: livestock, crawling things, and wildlife.” And that’s what happened. 25 God made every kind of wildlife, every kind of livestock, and every kind of creature that crawls on the ground. God saw how good it was. 26 Then God said, “Let us make humanity in our image to resemble us so that they may take charge of the fish of the sea, the birds in the sky, the livestock, all the earth, and all the crawling things on earth.” 27 God created humanity in God’s own image, in the divine image God created them, male and female God created them. 28 God blessed them and said to them, “Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and master it. Take charge of the fish of the sea, the birds in the sky, and everything crawling on the ground.” 29 Then God said, “I now give to you all the plants on the earth that yield seeds and all the trees whose fruit produces its seeds within it. These will be your food.30 To all wildlife, to all the birds in the sky, and to everything crawling on the ground—to everything that breathes—I give all the green grasses for food.” And that’s what happened.31 God saw everything he had made: it was supremely good. There was evening and there was morning: the sixth day. 2 The heavens and the earth and all who live in them were completed. 2 On the sixth day God completed all the work to be done, and on the seventh day God rested from all the work which God had done. 3 God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it God rested from all the work of creation. [1] Walter Brueggeman, “The Liturgy of Abundance, The Myth of Scarcity,” The Christian Century, March 24-31, 1999 [2] http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2016/07/08/slain-dallas-police-officer-brent-thompson-had-recently-married/86846454/ [3] Credit Rev. Jane Fisler Hoffman [4] http://www.cnn.com/2016/07/05/asia/ramadan-violence/ [5] You Don’t Learn That in School [6] “The Bundle of Sticks,” Doorways to the Soul: 52 Wisdom Tales from Around the World, edited by Elisa Davy Pearmain, Pilgrim Press, 1998. [7] https://mic.com/articles/121572/15-things-your-city-can-do-right-now-to-end-police-brutality#.8jj14cLLv Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] July 3, 2016 “Delores the Messiah” Psalm 82: 3-4 – Common English Bible 3 Give justice to the lowly and the orphan; maintain the right of the poor and the destitute! 4 Rescue the lowly and the needy. Deliver them from the power of the wicked! [1] Once there was a monastery so beautiful and peaceful that people drove way out of their way just to wander around and sit on its lush green lawn under the big cottonwood trees. The monastery had gained a reputation among people who were always feeling frenetically hurried and perpetually stressed. Go there and you will find relief. Grieving people came to sit under the gently swaying weeping willows to experience hopeful quietness, not just the quiet of loneliness. But the monastery fell upon hard times. Many of the monks left in dissatisfaction. Soon, only a handful of them and their leader, the abbot, remained. They were constantly fighting among themselves, each blaming the hard times on the faults and failings of the other. Such an atmosphere overtook the grounds. There was something different in the air and, slowly, people stopped visiting. One day a travelling rabbi stopped at the monastery to rest for the night. He ate and prayed alongside the monks. The next day, as the rabbi prepared to continue on his journey, the abbot drew him aside. He told him of the problems of his monastery and asked for his help. Tell me your observations and please give me some advice to share with the other monks. The rabbi was quiet. The abbot begged. “Can’t you give me any advice to help my monastery thrive again?” “Well, I did discover that the Messiah lives here at the monastery.” The abbot was astonished. “Where? There’s nobody here but us.” “Well, I’m not sure who,” said the rabbi. “But tell your monks to be on the lookout. One day you’ll know.” The abbot was frustrated that the rabbi had no real advice but thanked him and wished him well on his way. He then gathered the monks together to tell them. As they looked at each other, they were genuinely skeptical. There’s no one else here but us. No one said it, but each thought, and there’s certainly no Messiah among this bunch of SOBs…sad ornery brothers. Certainly not Brother Henry. He could find the downside of the sun rising in the morning. He was such a pessimist about everything. Certainly not Brother Thomas. He never shut up. Always going on about one thing or another, getting into people’s private business. Or Brother Michael either. He’s too quiet. We never even know what he thinks. But, maybe… And certainly not Brother Robert. He’s so gruff and disagreeable. He never, ever has a smile on his face. Or maybe that’s just a disguise. Maybe it’s the abbot. Eventually each of them got to the thought – uh oh. Maybe it’s me. As Brother Clarence thought, my attitude often makes me the least likely of any of us. But, what if I’m the Messiah? After a few months, Brother Michael asked the others: “Doesn’t it seem like every day there are a few more people wandering around, sitting under the cottonwood trees?” Brother Adam agreed, adding, “It seems like every week there are more cars here than the week before.” The atmosphere had, in fact, become palpably different as each of the monks began to see the potential that one of them might be the Messiah – even themselves. In time, some of those wandering the grounds asked about joining. In time, every room in the monastery housed a new monk. And once again it was a thriving community. The Messiah lived across the street from the church until a week ago Thursday, or at least, she might have been the Messiah. Delores was difficult, as one of her granddaughters told me a few days ago. She was one of those people whose Messiah-potential might have been hard to see under a proud, independent and gruff exterior. But for whatever or no reason at all, her children came to see her less and less. And so, for whatever or no reason at all, none of them saw the notices in the mail that she hadn’t paid her property taxes for three years. Defiantly independent, stubborn, hard-headed, she wouldn’t tell anyone she needed help. So eventually, people stopped offering to help. Tammy and I watched helplessly as four squad cars of Sherriff’s deputies moved in. Soon a fire truck arrived and then an ambulance. Delores was removed on a stretcher, yelling “Call the media, call the media.” Once she was out of the house, a half dozen men waiting on the back of a pickup truck moved in and carried her three or four decades-worth of belongings out onto the front lawn, upon which a few hours later, came a heavy afternoon downpour. The social dynamics of the situation were striking and clear. White officers enforcing the law, removing an 80 year old black woman, while a group of Hispanic men came and did the work of emptying the house of her belongings. One of those men felt sorry for her so he went and bought black tarps to cover everything. What a kind gesture, I told him. I kept hoping to see one her children come and, if nothing else, gather up family treasures, like the daughter who was here when she was taken away. But I can’t blame them. I don’t know the situation. When no one came, one of the women on the Black Lives Matter leadership team, which fortunately was meeting here that night, had the idea to rummage around all those piles and rescue photo albums and maybe find some contact information. On Thursday, while I was talking to the man filling the dumpsters, one of her granddaughters drove up and looked horrified. She had no idea. No one told her what had happened. She only had an inkling that she should check on Delores. It had been more months than she could count since she had last spoken with her, but something told her to go visit. She was pained to see the piles of her grandmother’s belongings, now having been on the lawn for a full week. “Nobody much talked to her anymore,” she said. “She was kind of difficult.” My own contact with Delores had already given me that clue. She sent me a letter threatening to call the cops if our members kept parking in front of her sidewalk. It’s not against the law to park in front of a sidewalk. I went over to speak with her about it. A handwritten cardboard sign taped to her front door said “No crackheads, pimps, and hos.” And a list that included a few more. The list ended, “only those who love Jesus can enter this house.” A little alarmed, I hoped I would be judged worthy. I took a chance and rang the bell. No answer. I knocked on the door but to no avail. And so I left. Had I known she might be the Messiah, I might have kept trying. Her neighbors might have kept trying. Her family might have kept trying. About a month ago I met with two women who run a consulting business that works with churches wishing to engage racial justice issues more deeply. Some of you remember one of them, Rev. Dawn Riley Duval, who preached a powerful sermon for us in February. I told them about our passionate history of work in the 1960s to make this a racially integrated neighborhood. And I told them the opposite is now happening, quickly. With every house sale, Park Hill is becoming less racially diverse. Surely our church’s history should inform our concern with this development. What could we do? Then Delores, an elderly black woman living directly across the street from our front door, was evicted over a few thousand dollars in back taxes, her house sold to a flipper for 25% of its value. I can’t tell you how sickened this makes me feel. If only there could have been an intervention. I shared this regret at last Tuesday’s Governance Team meeting. Is there something we can do? That we could have done? We discussed some possibilities, including something as simple as starting with a block party so we can help our neighbors know each other. There might be other things too, if anyone is so inclined to gather and try. After all, one of our core values is: Love of Neighbor, Diversity, and Social Justice. That one statement – a Trinity – is what Delores is all about. I called the executive director of Greater Park Hill Community. GPHC was a group of church and other activists formed in the 60s to facilitate racial integration. I asked whether this was on their radar – do you know we are going backward? She understood but lamented that “We can’t stop the relatives of those elderly black homeowners from selling in this good market.” But she expressed concern too. We need some people on our board who feel passionate about this. She knew a couple of people who had been asking the same thing. I’ve been reaching out to the clergy of the original six churches that formed Greater Park Hill. Is there something we can do together about the re-segregation of our neighborhood? It seems to me that perhaps Delores really was the Messiah. Is. She’s still alive. Under her rough exterior, she is someone who could actually unite us to work together. I mean, how many times have we said that great things can grow out of a tragedy? Haven’t these kinds of things been sparked from your own life of regrets that return as opportunities? Delores the Messiah. The Messiah walks in your own midst too. Here. And at your school. And at your job. And passes by your front door. The one you may least expect. Maybe even yourself. The Psalmist said about Delores the Messiah: 3 Give justice to the lowly and the orphan; maintain the right of the poor and the destitute! 4 Rescue the lowly and the needy. Deliver them from the power of the wicked! [1] Unknown origin, “The Messiah is Among You,” in Doorways to the Soul: 52 Wisdom Tales from Around the World, edited by Elisa Davy Pearmain, Pilgrim Press, 1998. |
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March 2024
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