Introducing Lydia.

If you read this blog with any regularity, you know that I am running the NYC marathon on November 6th. What you may not know- because I haven't mentioned it yet- is that I am dedicating my NYC run to a cause very close to my heart.

I had the privilege of going to Yale Divinity School with many bright and talented people, full of passion and creativity. Two of those people, Emily Scott and Rachel Pollack, have spent the past three years building a church in Brooklyn called St. Lydia's. According to their website, "St. Lydia’s is a Dinner Church. We gather every Sunday evening to cook and share a sacred meal, just as the first followers of Jesus did. We eat, explore scripture, offer prayers, and sing together...St. Lydia’s is an experiment in what the Church might be when the meal we share is at the center of our life together."

I have never been to St. Lydia's, but I have diligently followed their website and blogs from the very beginning. What my friends are building helps me think more creatively about what church can and should be. I think they are bringing something exciting and vital to the table of Christianity, and I want to support their ministry in two important ways: First, I want to spread the word about St. Lydia's to those who might find a home there. Second, I want to help St. Lydia's raise the funds they need to survive and grow.

With those goals in mind, I'll be writing more about St. Lydia's from time to time in the weeks ahead. I encourage you to visit their website to learn more about who they are and what they do. Then, if you feel so moved, pay them a visit and/or offer a donation. I will also be running the marathon in a St. Lydia's t-shirt, designed by Rachel, and hoping that some fellow runners follow me to their table!

To begin, I want to offer some background on St. Lydia herself. Below is a sermon I preached at my church, St. Andrew's UMC in Edgewater, MD on Mother's Day 2010. The text is Acts 16:9-15, which tells the story of Lydia and her role in the early church. I do not mention St. Lydia's explictly, but they were definitely on my mind as I wrote about Christian hospitality. Within this sermon, I mention two great books: Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition by Christine Pohl, and The Boneshaker by my friend Kate Milford. Follow the links to learn more about those books.

Thanks for your support!

Acts 16:9-15

9During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” 10When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them. 11We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, 12and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. 13On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. 14A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. 15When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, “If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.” And she prevailed upon us.

Welcome Home:

Acts 16: 9-15

When I was a little girl, I loved nothing more than having friends over to my house. I loved to walk them through the house for the first time, showing them all my toys, books, and pictures, and telling the well-worn stories that went with each room: how my dad made my dresser in the basement but couldn’t get it up the stairs, how he built me a 2-story playhouse when all I wanted was a tent, how a friend once tried to call her mom from the mixer mounted on the kitchen wall. When I had taken my friend through the whole house, we would go for a walk around the neighborhood, where the show and tell would continue: here’s where I learned to ride a bike; here’s where my neighbor found baby ducks in her pool and I walked them to the beach. I wanted my friend to know all about me: my family, my things, my stories, my home.

I also loved going to other people’s houses. There was always something fascinating about meeting my friends’ families, seeing their rooms, eating at their kitchen tables. The most interesting parts were the differences: I couldn’t believe that one mom would let us walk to the drugstore all by ourselves or watch whatever we wanted on TV, while another mom never let us out of her sight and only allowed pre-screened, G-rated videos. Some houses had pools, some had trampolines, and some had hidden rooms left over from “the olden days.” Macaroni and cheese tasted a little bit different in every house.

Something about going over to someone’s house, or having them over to yours, cemented a friendship. You could talk to somebody at school every day, but it wasn’t the same. Once you saw each other’s rooms, met each other’s dogs, ate food cooked by each other’s moms, then you were really friends.

For me, its not so different now. I don’t have my own family yet, so I spend a lot of time with my friends. And I still find that nothing cements a friendship like having someone over your house. My best friends have spent so much time at my house that they can fix their own drinks and snacks and pull out the sofa-bed without any help. When I have parties, I’ll often find my oldest friends giving my newer friends tours, and telling their own stories about things that happened in this or that room. In many ways, they feel like my house is their house too, and I love that.

Given how much I like having friends over, its no surprise that I chose to go into ministry. As we see in this morning’s text from Acts, this is how many of the first churches got started: with people inviting other people over to their houses. In many ways, the story of Lydia inviting Paul and his companions into her home is typical of the early church.

Jesus grew up studying the Hebrew scriptures, which are filled with rules and instructions about welcoming the stranger. In Genesis, Abraham and Sarah provide hospitality for three mysterious travelers, only to learn that they are actually angels in disguise. In Exodus, the Israelites rely on God’s hospitality to provide food, water, and shelter as they wander in the desert. Once the Israelites reach the Promised Land, they are instructed by God to always remember the stranger, since they were once strangers in Egypt. For the Jewish people, providing hospitality is a way of honoring God and their history.

In his own ministry, Jesus honors his Jewish heritage by both offering and depending on hospitality. Over and over again, Jesus gives everything he has to anyone who asks: his attention, his healing touch, his food, and finally his own life. At the same time, Jesus and his disciples rely on the hospitality of strangers to meet their basic needs. They travel without food, extra clothes, or money. When they visit a new place, they depend on kind strangers to take them in and provide for them. In his teachings, Jesus emphasizes hospitality as the sign of a true believer. Perhaps the most famous example of this is Matthew 25, when Jesus says “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me…” At the Last Supper, Jesus teaches his disciples to remember him by practicing the most basic act of hospitality: sharing bread and wine.

So, really, Paul and Lydia are just continuing a long-standing tradition. Paul and his companions travel to Phillipi not knowing how they will get by. They meet Lydia, and share their Gospel message with her. Lydia, in gratitude for the word, offers Paul and his friends food and shelter. It seems like a simple, nice story with a simple, nice message, perfect for Mother’s Day. Welcome new people, listen to them, treat them with kindness, and share what you have.

When I first read this text, I was tempted to fill a sermon with simple, heartwarming stories of women being generous and hospitable and call it a day. But I don’t think that would do justice to this story, or to the idea of Christian hospitality. The more I study this story and read about hospitality in the early church, the more I realize that true Christian hospitality isn’t always nice, and its almost never simple. If we take a closer look at the story of Paul and Lydia, we learn a few things about Christian hospitality which make it a new and challenging idea, both in Paul’s time and in ours.

First, Christian hospitality brings people together in new and unexpected ways. During Paul and Lydia’s time, society was totally centered around the family. People lived, worked, traveled, and worshipped with their families. Women, like Lydia, had no identity apart from family. As children, they were the property of their fathers. When they got married, they became the property of their husbands. Living independently was not socially accepted, or even safe, for a woman.

Yet, Lydia defies these customs. Maybe she’s a widow, or maybe she’s never been married. Either way, at the time of this story, she is a woman living independently, supporting herself by selling cloth. Even more unusual, she is a Gentile woman worshipping with Jews. The Jewish community in the city of Phillipi is tiny- we can tell because they celebrate the Sabbath at a river instead of in a Temple. They are almost certainly outcasts. Yet, for whatever reason, Lydia is drawn to them. By the time she meets Paul, she is a social oddball in two ways: a Gentile woman living on her own, celebrating the Sabbath with Jews.

Paul is an oddball too. Before his conversion, Paul was a Pharisee, a devout keeper of the Jewish laws and customs. After his conversion, Paul rebelled against the other early church leaders. Many of them believed that only Jews should become Christians. If a non-Jew wanted to become a Christian, the church leaders required that person to adopt the Jewish laws and customs first. Paul made the radical move of deliberately preaching the Gospel to Gentiles, and making faith in Christ the only requirement for new Christians. This is why Paul goes to Phillipi in the first place: he is on a mission to spread Christianity beyond the Jewish communities, into the whole world.

Choosing to work together is a risky move for both Paul and Lydia. Without the protection of a father or husband, Lydia makes the brave choice to go from one persecuted religious minority to an even smaller and more persecuted minority. She opens herself up to gossip and scandal by housing strange men in her home. For Paul, Lydia’s home is not the ideal place to set up his base in Phillipi. He is also opening himself up to scandal by staying with an unmarried woman. Lydia doesn’t exactly give his movement credibility- a wealthy and prominent man would make a more appealing leader for his new church. Yet, Paul doesn’t worry about any of this. He offers the Gospel to anyone who will listen, and accepts the leader that God provides for him. Christ’s message takes these two people, who are strangers in every possible sense of the word, and turns them into a new family.

This story also teaches us that Christian hospitality doesn’t count the cost. Lydia doesn’t tell Paul and his friends to come and stay at her house for a couple of nights until they find a hotel. She just tells them to come and stay. She instantly drops whatever plans she had for herself, and invites this group of strangers to stay in her home, sleep in her beds, use her bathrooms, and eat her food, for as long as they want. I think that’s pretty generous.

In a book about the history of Christian hospitality, Methodist scholar Christine Pohl identifies this radical generosity as the single most important thing which set Christian hospitality apart from other traditions. During Paul’s time, the kind of hospitality practiced in Greek and Roman cities, like Phillipi, reinforced the social hierarchy. People were expected to offer hospitality to their families, members of their religious communities, and prominent citizens, with the idea that their hospitality would be reciprocated. In other words, people welcomed their friends and neighbors, with the expectation that they would be welcomed in return. Less prominent members of the community offered hospitality to more prominent members, in the hopes of improving their own social standing. No invitations were issued without the host asking “what’s in it for me?”

Early Christians, on the other hand, offered hospitality to anyone and everyone, with no expectation of receiving anything in return. In fact, they went out of their way to offer hospitality to people who could not possibly return the favor. The early Christians saw offering hospitality to the poor as one of the holiest things a believer could do, because it involved giving without the expectation of gain. Also, rather than using hospitality to reinforce social hierarchies, the early Christians used hospitality to make everyone equal. In early churches, everything was shared in common, so rich and poor community members sat around the same tables and ate the same simple food. Believers like Lydia, who were used to being the heads of households, took turns serving the community just like everybody else. Early Christians used hospitality to reinforce and demonstrate a very powerful, radical idea: that all believers are equal in God’s eyes.

Finally, this story teaches us that Christian hospitality is about opening up to one another completely, without reservation. When Lydia tells Paul and his companions “come and stay at my home,” she doesn’t say “but give me an hour to clean up first.” Knowing that Paul is coming to her house, Lydia doesn’t run ahead of him and start hiding things in her closets. She invites him to see her home and her family just as they are. Similarly, the book of Acts and the letters of Paul invite readers to see the early Christians just as they are. Take some time to read these books, and you’ll see that they are chock full of arguments. Paul and the other church leaders engage in passionate and not always civil debates with one another about everything involved in the new church: who should be in charge, who should be allowed in, and what they should believe. Rather than giving readers a cleaned-up, flattering look at the early church, Paul and the other leaders open themselves up completely, inviting us to see the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Our founder, John Wesley, believed that this kind of openness was at the heart of Christian life. He organized all of the early Methodist societies into small groups, called “classes” and “bands.” These groups met for at least an hour each week so that members could share their faith journeys. It sounds like a nice, simple idea, but Wesley’s groups were not the kind of faith-sharing groups you see at churches today. These were not groups of church members who gathered over coffee to share joys and concerns. Wesley’s groups were more like public interrogations or confessionals.

At every weekly Methodist band meeting, members pledged “To speak each of us in order, freely and plainly, the true state of our souls, with the faults we have committed in thought, word, or deed, and the temptations we have felt since our last meeting.” Once each member had shared, a leader asked everyone in the group probing questions. Wesley required each person to be asked these five questions at every single meeting:

1) What known sins have you committed since our last meeting?

2) What temptations have you met with?

3) How were you delivered?

4) What have you thought, or said, or done, which you doubt whether it be sin or not?

5) Have you nothing you desire to keep secret?

Just in case group members were tempted not to answer these extremely personal questions honestly, other group members were encouraged to chime in and offer their comments. New members who wanted to join a group had to submit to a highly personal interview, designed to prepare them for the level of scrutiny they would face. Here are some actual questions from that interview:

Do you desire to be told of your faults?

Do you desire to be told of all your faults, and that plain and simple?

Do you desire that every one of us should tell you, from time to time, whatsoever is in his heart concerning you?

Consider! Do you desire that every one of us should tell you, from time to time, whatsoever we think, whatsoever we fear, whatsoever we hear concerning you?

Do you desire that, in doing this, we should come as close as possible; that we should cut to the quick, and search your heart to the bottom?

Wesley, like Paul, Lydia, and the other early church leaders, believed that being a Christian meant opening yourself up completely to other people: not just your home and your wallet, but also your mind and your heart.

Now, as I’ve gone over these important points of Christian hospitality, I imagine that some, if not all of you, have started thinking about our own church. How do we measure up? Have we created an environment in which anyone and everyone is truly welcome? Are we open to whomever God brings to us, no matter how strange or unlikely they seem? Do we consider everyone who walks through our doors an equal and give to one another without counting the cost? And finally, do we open ourselves up to one another completely, without reservation?

On the first points, I think we can all agree that we have some strengths and some weaknesses. These are things we talk about a lot. We’re proud of the way we welcome the stranger and give to the needy through programs like VIM and the food pantry. At the same time, we know we need to work harder to bring new people into our community and to encourage more generosity to support our missions. These are very important points, and there’s a lot more to say about them, but today I’m more interested in the final point: how well do we open ourselves up to one another?

When I compare the church of Paul and Lydia’s time, or the church of Wesley’s time, to the church of our time, this is where I see the most obvious difference. We know that we should be more welcoming and more generous, but do we even believe we should be more open? In our modern church and our modern culture, we’ve made a virtue out of not sharing too much. Teenagers- and some adults- make fun of each other for giving “TMI:” “too much information.” We judge our leaders if they show too much pain or weakness. In our church meetings and offices, we’re so concerned about being polite and agreeable that we often have trouble saying what we mean. I struggle with that all the time. In church council meetings, I have a hard time voicing concerns about the most innocuous budget items. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to go to one of Wesley’s meetings, where church members took turns looking each other in the eye and saying “You know what your problem is?”

From our modern viewpoint, it can be hard to understand why the early Christians thought this kind of openness was so important. Why is sharing our hearts and souls a central part of Christian hospitality, as important as sharing our time and resources? I’ve thought and read a lot about this question over the past few days, so here are a few ideas:

First, sharing invites more sharing. When we’re open about our own thoughts, feelings, dreams, and fears, we give other people permission to open up too. This is one of the reasons Pastor Dave is so effective. Many pastors give sermons that are like public service announcements- they talk about difficult things like family problems or mental illness as if they’ve only read about them in books. It takes a brave person like Pastor Dave to get behind the pulpit and share about his own family or his own depression. But who makes the bigger difference? Which pastor are you going to with your own problems? This is the reason I love having people over my house. Once I welcome someone into my space- let them see my things, look at my pictures, and hear my stories- they feel more comfortable sharing themselves with me. We go from being acquaintances to being friends. Opening ourselves up gives others permission to do the same, and that creates an environment of hospitality.

Also, opening up to one another makes it easier to work together. The early Christians often lived and worked in small, very close communities. In Phillipi, Lydia’s house became the central hub and gathering place of a new church. This community, like the other early churches, had no paid leadership. The early Christians built and sustained it themselves. They cooked and ate together, planned and conducted worship together, went out into the community to preach together, and tended to the poor together. I imagine that things felt a little close for comfort sometimes. I’m sure that Paul got on Lydia’s nerves, or that the two of them disagreed about how to carry out their mission. Airing their differences openly and regularly helped the early Christians vent their frustrations and move forward together, without devolving into gossip and cliques. The same could be said for the early Methodists. A member of a Methodist class might not have liked what the other class members had to say about her, but at least she could trust them to speak to her openly, and to give her the opportunity to air her own grievances. Sharing their thoughts and feelings with one another helped the early Christians stay unified, so they could go about the business of welcoming others.

In today’s church, I think we worry sometimes that the truth is dangerous- that it might be hurtful or divisive. But if we pay attention to the lessons of the early church, I think we see how the truth can bring us together and set us free. If you need further proof, I have a book to recommend:

Over the past few days, I had the great pleasure of reading The Boneshaker, written by Kate Milford. Many of you knew Kate back when she was called Katie Chell and she went to Sunday School here at St. Andrew’s. Kate has always dreamed of being a writer, and this week, her dream came true. After church today, you can all go to any bookstore and buy her first book, and I really hope you will, because it is brilliant. Kate has a lot to say about the truth, and the power it has to either bring people together or keep them apart.

The Boneshaker is about a family and a town with a lot of secrets. In the beginning, Kate’s heroine, a 13 year-old girl named Natalie, is scared to ask about those secrets. But then things start to happen which put Natalie’s family and town in danger. Gradually, Natalie realizes that she can only save the day by finding the courage to ask questions and uncover the truth. Over the course of the book, she finds the courage to question adults, stand up to the town bullies, and even confront the Devil himself. In the end, though, the hardest question for her to ask is directed at her own mother, Annie. Annie is very sick for most of the book, but she hasn’t told Natalie what’s wrong with her, and Natalie has been too afraid to ask. Finally, after all of her adventures, Natalie has the courage to look her mother in the eye and ask “Mama, can you tell me how sick you are, really?” Natalie’s brave question gives Annie the courage to answer truthfully: “Natalie we aren’t sure what it is… its very scary when you know something’s wrong but you don’t know what it is.” The truth doesn’t cure Annie’s body, but it repairs her relationship with Natalie. Sharing their deepest thoughts and worries brings mother and daughter closer than they’ve ever been before.

Paul and Lydia have many things to teach us, but I think the most important is that true hospitality begins with our own closest relationships, with our friends, our families, and our church communities. If we’re going to open ourselves to anyone and everyone, the way God calls us to, we much first be able to open ourselves to one another. Today is Mother’s Day, and I think that the greatest gift any of us can give our mothers or our children is to say something we’ve never been able to say before, or ask a question we’ve never had the courage to ask. Try it, and I bet it opens things up in ways they’ve never been open before. Then, over the next few days and weeks, try to share just a little more of yourself with your church family, and invite others to do the same. Risk voicing your opinion in a meeting, and try to have a more open and gracious heart when other people voice their opinions. If we all work on opening things up just a little more, we’ll have that much more space to welcome others into our home.

  

Amen.

Still Speaking.

I preached this sermon at St. Andrew's United Methodist Church in Edgewater, MD on August 14th, 2011.

For this sermon, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Dr. Daniel Deffenbaugh of Nebraska for his blog post "Gathering Others," which you can read here. I really had no idea where I was going with this text before reading his post.

I also mention fellow Bryn Mawr alum Beth Stroud in this post. You can read more about her here. As a postscript to her story, I should mention that she served in ministry in a lay capacity for some time after being defrocked by the UMC and is now working on a PhD at an institution almost as illustrious as Bryn Mawr.  


Matthew 15:10-28

10Then he called the crowd to him and said to them, “Listen and understand: 11it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.” 12Then the disciples approached and said to him, “Do you know that the Pharisees took offense when they heard what you said?” 13He answered, “Every plant that my heavenly Father has not planted will be uprooted. 14Let them alone; they are blind guides of the blind. And if one blind person guides another, both will fall into a pit.” 15But Peter said to him, “Explain this parable to us.” 16Then he said, “Are you also still without understanding? 17Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth enters the stomach, and goes out into the sewer? 18But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. 19For out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. 20These are what defile a person, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile.” 

21Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. 22Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” 23But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” 24He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” 25But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” 26He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 27She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” 28Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

Still Speaking:
Matthew 15:10-28        

I won’t be here with you next Sunday. Instead, I’ll be in Columbia competing in my first triathlon: a .6 mile open-water swim, followed by a 17.5 mile bike ride, and a 3.3 mile run. I registered for this event on November 1st, so, for almost 9 months now, August 21, 2011 has been burned into my brain as the day I face one of the biggest challenges of my life.

August 21st will be a big day for me. Yet, I may end up remembering August 14th as the day I faced an even bigger challenge: preaching on this morning’s Gospel text. In the United Methodist church, preachers aren’t required to preach on the Gospel text from the lectionary. In fact, we don’t have to preach on the lectionary at all. We can choose a different Scripture text, or just pick a topic. Yet, Pastor Dave has always chosen to preach on the lectionary, and so do I. We each have our own reasons, but I know we have at least one in common: When you choose to preach on the lectionary, sometimes you have to preach on difficult texts. Texts you don’t really understand or like. Texts you would just as soon avoid. As a lectionary preacher, you have to face those texts and see if you can find some truth in them. For me, today’s Gospel is one of those texts.

It starts out well enough: In the first part, Jesus talks to his disciples about some of the purity laws that they observe as Jews- rules about what to eat and how to stay ritually clean. Jesus doesn’t condemn these rules. In fact, He probably follows them himself. But he warns his disciples that simply following the rules doesn’t mean a person is leading a Godly life. What a person puts in his or her mouth doesn’t reveal what is in that person’s heart. Instead, Jesus says that people should be judged by the words that come out of their mouths.

It makes sense to me. Imagine two hypothetical people: Person A goes to church every Sunday, tithes 10% of their income, reads the Bible every day, and makes something delicious for every bake sale. Yet, Person A also gossips about friends and neighbors, is rude and abusive to co-workers, and never has a good word to say to anyone. Person B, on the other hand, has never even heard of Jesus. Person B has never been to a church or read the Bible. Yet, Person B is honest, kind, and charitable. Person B chooses words carefully, only saying what will help and encourage friends and neighbors. Person A may be ritually pure, but Person B has a pure heart.

Jesus spends much of the Gospels exposing the hypocrisy of the Person A’s in his community, and reaching out to the Person B’s. Yet, in the second half of today’s text, Jesus seems to do just the opposite. A woman approaches him on the road. Her daughter is tormented by a demon, and she is desperate for help. By this point in the Gospel, Jesus has performed many miraculous healings, so we know he can heal this woman’s daughter. Yet, he ignores her. Why? Because she is a Canaanite and he believes he’s been sent only to the Jews. Jesus tries to sends the woman away. Then, when she persists in her request, Jesus does the unthinkable: he calls this desperate woman and her child “dogs”! When I hear these hurtful and demeaning words come out of Jesus’ mouth, I have to wonder- what is in his heart? What causes him to treat this woman so badly? And then, what causes him to change his mind and grant her request?

As confused as I am by Jesus, I’m just as confused by the Canaanite woman. She approaches Jesus for help and gets rejected four separate times: First, Jesus ignores her. Then, the disciples try to send her away. Then, Jesus says that he can’t help her because she’s not from Israel. And finally, Jesus calls her a dog. Four rejections, but she doesn’t give up. She keeps asking for help. Would you do the same? Would you beg for help from someone who insults you and your child? Or would you say “Fine, we don’t need your help anyway!” Personally, I think I would walk away.

 Imagine if this story happened today. Imagine that a woman brought her troubled daughter to someone like me- a pastoral counselor. I would have no right to refuse her based on where she comes from. To turn her away like that would be immoral, unethical, and illegal. I would be violating the ethics of my profession- opening myself up to being fired, or sued, or both.

Imagine if a friend or relative told you a story like this one. What if a woman from here in Edgewater tried to take her child to a famous doctor in Washington, DC? And what if that doctor called them a couple of rednecks and told them to go back home? Would you tell that woman to keep going to that doctor? I know I wouldn’t. I’d tell her to take her business elsewhere, and maybe even to file a complaint.
Yet, the Canaanite woman doesn’t walk away. She doesn’t seek help elsewhere. She wants Jesus’ help, and she argues until he gives in. Why? I think the only possible answer is that she believes in Jesus and Jesus alone. She believes that Jesus can help her daughter, in a way that no other person can. She is willing to swallow her pride and do whatever it takes to get Jesus’ attention because she believes that he’s the real deal. She needs his help, and no one else will do.

As I worked on this sermon, I came across an essay by a religion professor named Daniel Deffenbaugh. Dr. Deffenbaugh points out the Canaanite woman’s persistence in the face of rejection, and compares it to the persistence of people who are marginalized by their own churches. We all know that there are religious communities who have to fight to practice their faiths: Christians in China who defy the state by meeting in secret house churches. The Christians in Pakistan that Usha tells us about, who face the possibility of violence every time they go to church. These communities are incredibly courageous and important, but they aren’t who Dr. Deffenbaugh is talking about. Dr. Deffenbaugh isn’t talking about people whose faith is attacked from outside their churches; he is talking about people whose faith is attacked from within their churches. People like the Canaanite woman, who stay and fight for what they believe in even when they have every reason to walk away. 

When I think about marginalized people in the church, many examples come to mind. I think about African-American Christians. During slavery, many African-Americans found strength and hope in the Christian faith. This is amazing to me, because Christianity was the religion of slave-owners. Christianity was used to defend the practice of slavery. After slavery, Christianity was used to defend the continued oppression of African-Americans. For centuries, African-Americans have witnessed the worst kinds of hypocrisy from fellow Christians. Yet, instead of turning their backs on Christianity, generations of African-Americans have seen a truth in Jesus more powerful than any hypocrisy. They believe in that truth, and they’ve used it to fight for their rightful places, in the church and in society. 

The Canaanite woman also reminds me of the Roman Catholic women I met in seminary. Many of these women would love to be ordained clergy. They have the education for it, the passion for it, and the skills for it, but their church doesn’t allow it. If they wanted to, my friends could leave the Roman Catholic church and join a church that ordains women. There are many churches that would welcome them as clergy. Yet, they consider the Catholic church their home, so they stay. They believe in their church, even in the face of what feels like rejection. 

I also think of my friend Beth Stroud, a fellow Bryn Mawr alum and a former United Methodist pastor. Several years into Beth’s ministry career, she made the decision to tell her congregation that she is in a committed lesbian relationship. Under the rules of our denomination, Beth’s relationship makes her unfit for ministry, and her credentials as an ordained pastor were revoked. Beth fought this decision all the way to the highest governing body in our church, the Judicial Council, which ultimately ruled against her. The case went on for several years. It drew a lot of attention, both within and outside our denomination. Much of that attention was positive, but much was negative and hateful. At any point in this difficult process, Beth could have walked away. Like my Roman Catholic friends, she could have found a denomination that would welcome her service. She could have left ministry altogether and been successful in a different career. But Beth didn’t leave. She was baptized United Methodist, raised United Methodist, and she believes in the United Methodist Church. Despite everything she has been through, she still considers our church home.   

Now, I realize that some of these examples are controversial. I realize that that people of good faith and conscience have different opinions about them. I bring them up not to advocate for one point of view over another, but to highlight what they have in common. In all of these cases, people love and believe in their churches. They believe in them enough to stick with them, even when they have good reasons to walk away. Whether we agree with these people or not, I think we have to acknowledge the faith and courage and love it takes for them to keep fighting. We should all love our churches that much. 

I think that Jesus recognizes this kind of faith in the Canaanite woman. In writing about this text, many scholars suggest that Jesus is merely testing the woman’s faith. They explain away Jesus’ rejections and harsh words by saying that it’s all part of a bigger plan. Personally, I don’t buy that. To me, the idea that Jesus is just testing this woman takes away the wonder of what really happens in this story: Jesus changes his mind.

When Jesus first sees this woman, he has one idea about his mission, and it doesn’t include her. His followers agree and want to send her away. But Jesus doesn’t send her away. He listens to what she has to say, and what she says changes his mind. It changes his mind about her, and it changes his mind about his mission. The Canaanite woman is not from Jesus’ community. She doesn’t share the same beliefs or follow the same rules as Jesus and his disciples. Yet, Jesus hears the words that come from her mouth, recognizes what’s in her heart, and decides that she deserves a place at his table. 

This story reminds me of an ad campaign from the United Church of Christ. The slogan is “God is still speaking.” I’ve always liked this slogan because I think it expresses a real truth: Our God is a living God. We don’t worship a God who said his piece and moved on. Our God is still engaged with us, still listening to us, and still communicating with us. To me, that’s what today’s text is all about. Jesus and the disciples live by a set of laws that tell them one thing. But, every once in awhile, God breaks in and tells them something else. At first, Jesus believes he is only called to the people of Israel. Then, God breaks in, in the form of the Canaanite woman, and changes his mind. 

Of course, this isn’t always easy. Take a look at the Book of Acts, which is the history of the early church. In that book, we learn that the first Christians spent much of their time debating who should and should not be allowed into the church. And these debates are still going on today. Across all denominations, Christians of good conscience still disagree about who does and does not belong. God is still speaking, but sometimes it seems like he’s telling different people different things.

Still, I think today’s text is an important reminder that we Christians should never get too comfortable with our structures and our rules. We might think that our mission is clear and straightforward. We might be comfortable with our churches the way they are. But God might have other ideas. God might send people into our churches who look, act, and think differently. God might call leaders with new ideas and new ways of doing things. We might see these people in our pews or hear them in our meetings and want to tune them out. But today’s text reminds us that Jesus didn’t tune people out. Even when Jesus was skeptical about people, he gave them a chance. He listened to them, and he was open to being changed. We need to do the same.

In just a few minutes, we’re going to celebrate Communion, like we do every Sunday. In some churches, people have to believe specific things or go through certain rituals to participate in Communion. But our church is different. Our Communion table is open to anyone who wants to come. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you’re from, or what you have done or believed in the past. If you want to come to our table today, you are welcome. And we don’t leave anyone to gather crumbs under our table. At our table, everyone gets to pull up a chair, settle in, and feast on the abundance that God has given us. This is truly good news, and it should set the tone for everything else we do and say as Christians. 

As we go about our mission and our lives, we should strive to be open to whomever God puts in front of us. We should listen to the words that come out of their mouths, and give them a chance to show what is in their hearts. And we should take care that what comes out of our mouths reflects the grace and love that we take in every week around this blessed table. 

Amen.

Just the Way You Are (Suitcase Adventures, pt. 2)

My final update from my final days of staycation (boo!) is coming soon, but first I thought I would post my sermon from this morning. I preached this at Baldwin Memorial UMC, the church where my mentor in the ordination process is pastor. This sermon also serves as the long-awaited sequel to my first Suitcase Adventures post: the story of my experience at this year's grief camp.

If you read this and want to learn more about volunteering for the camp (and I hope you will!), you can find more information on the website of the Wendt Center for Loss and Healing.


Romans 8:26-39

26Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. 27And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. 28We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.

29For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn within a large family. 30And those whom he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those whom he justified he also glorified.

31What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us? 32He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? 33Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. 34Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us. 35Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? 36As it is written, “For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.” 37No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, 39nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Just the Way You Are:
Romans 8: 26-39

Before I ever set foot inside this church, I used it as a landmark. Before I knew this church as the home of my candidacy mentor, I knew it as the place where I turn to get to Arlington Echo. This “old stone church with a cemetery” is mentioned on the printed directions I use each summer to find my way to a very special camp.

For two years now, I’ve been a volunteer at Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC, a weekend camp for children and teenagers who have lost loved ones to death. The camp is a program of the Wendt Center for Loss and Healing, a grief counseling center where I once served as an intern. Every summer, Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC brings together 50 kids from all over Maryland, DC, and Virginia. The campers come from many different neighborhoods and backgrounds, but they all share the common experience of grief. This is also true of the 75 adult volunteers who work with the children. Adults of all ages, professions, and backgrounds choose to volunteer at camp, but we also share the experience of loss. In fact, you must have lost a loved one to death in order to be a camp volunteer. I volunteer at Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC in memory of my two grandmothers.

Camp only lasts for one weekend a year, but what happens during that short time makes a lasting difference. The children are divided into “grief groups” by age, and each child is paired with an adult buddy who accompanies them throughout the weekend. All weekend, the children and adults share memories of their loved ones, talk about difficult feelings, and offer one another support and encouragement. We also laugh and have fun together, enjoying traditional camp activities like swimming and canoeing. We eat together in the camp cafeteria and sleep on bunks in the same cabins. In a remarkably short time, our grief groups become little families and the camp becomes one big family. Year after year, this camp brings forth new life from loss.

My experiences at Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC have been so powerful that I can’t help but remember them every time I come to this church. I also remember them when I read today’s text from Romans. Paul’s powerful words at the end of this text are very familiar to me: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” This is my pastor’s favorite passage of scripture, and he often reads it at funerals. I remember hearing it at one of my grandmother’s funerals, and it was a great comfort to me.

I understand why my pastor chooses this text for funerals, and yet I also find it a bit odd. Both in my personal life and in my work, I’ve spent a lot of time with grieving people, and I’ve noticed that people often feel very separate from God after a loss. Of all our human experiences, grief seems to be the one that makes us the most lonely, sad, angry, and scared. I imagine that some people in the midst of grief are upset by Paul’s words. To some, these comforting words must sound hollow, or even like a slap in the face. Paul assures us that death can not separate us from the love of God, but it sure can make us feel separate. It can make us feel lonely, abandoned, and lost. Even if we believe with all our hearts that the one we lost is with God, its hard not to feel left behind and deserted.

Its natural to feel lost and lonely when we lose someone we love, but expressing those feelings can be hard. When we’re grieving, people often try to help by saying hopeful, comforting things. Our friends and family mean well when they say these things, but bright and positive words can actually make us feel more alone if our true feelings are dark and difficult. What’s more, our friends and family may not want to listen to our painful thoughts and feelings. Death and grief are such difficult experiences that people go to great lengths to avoid thinking and talking about them. This is perfectly understandable, but it can be very isolating for those who are grieving.

Many of the kids who come to Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC are feeling isolated and separated. Some campers have lost the person they trusted most and don’t know who to turn to in their grief. Some feel they have to be strong for surviving family members and keep their feelings to themselves. Many are cared for by relatives who are also grieving, and may not have any emotional energy to spare for them. Some campers have tried to voice their painful feelings, but found that nobody really listens to them. Seeing a child in pain is so difficult that we adults often rush to comfort them, without giving them a chance to really express themselves.

One of the main purposes of Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC is to give grieving children a place where they can express all of their feelings. Camp follows the same basic schedule every year, and the first night is always about getting to know each other and getting comfortable opening up. In one of the first camp activities, all of the kids and volunteers gather in a big circle. The grief group leaders go around the circle and hand everyone a can of seltzer to shake up. As everyone shakes their cans, a counselor stands in the middle of the circle talks about what happens when we bottle up our feelings. When we try to hold our feelings inside, the pressure of those feelings builds up and up until finally we just explode. When the counselor says the word “explode,” everyone pops open their cans. Within seconds, the circle becomes a free-for-all of laughing kids and adults, spraying seltzer all over each other. It’s a lot of fun, and it also gets across an important message: camp is a place where its okay to let everything out.

Church should be that kind of place too- a place where we can bring our whole selves, in good times and in bad. I visited Baldwin a few weeks ago, and one of the things that really impressed me was the amount of time you take with joys and concerns. In many churches, the prayers of the people are limited to a few seconds where people whisper the names of those they wish to pray for. Here at Baldwin, you really take the time to share and listen to each other. I think that’s exactly as it should be. Church isn’t meant to be a place where we come as individuals, have our own individual experiences, and then return to our individual lives. Church is meant to be an intimate community- a family, where we share our whole selves with God and one another. There should be no experience, thought, or feeling that we can’t share with our brothers and sisters in Christ. Sharing our joys and concerns breaks our isolation, and draws us closer to God and one another.

At Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC, the second day is all about sharing. In the grief groups, the children and adults share the stories of their loved ones: what they were like, how they died, what we miss most about them. In the middle of the day, everyone decorates a small boat in memory of their loved one. Then, right around sunset, we have a memorial where everyone releases their boats as the names of their loved ones are read out loud. For me, this is both the most painful and the most hopeful part of the weekend. I find it incredibly difficult to look at all those little children and hear the names of the people they lost: mothers, fathers, siblings, grandparents- all people who should have been in their lives for much, much longer. Yet, at the same time, I find it incredibly hopeful to look around at the 75 adults and know that we all chose to share our losses so that these children won’t feel alone.

During this year’s boat launch, I was standing next to a girl of about 7 while we watched a group of adult volunteers release their boats. Many of the volunteers were crying, including one of the men. The little girl was shocked. She said “Look- grown-ups are crying! A man is crying!” “Yes,” I told her, “That’s okay. Grown-ups cry too sometimes.” That one tiny moment, watching that little girl learn that its okay to cry, made the whole camp worthwhile for me.

Unfortunately, when I look at the church today, I sometimes think we’ve forgotten this simple lesson- that its okay to cry. Or to be angry. Or to feel lost and lonely. Take a look in the Christian section of Barnes and Noble, listen to Christian radio, or watch one of today’s TV preachers and you’ll hear an awful lot about being positive: having positive thinking, using positive language, supporting positive values. Today’s pastors are encouraged to grow their churches by having upbeat services, focused on praise and joy. I understand why people want to hear a positive message in a world that seems so negative. Still, I worry that all of this emphasis on the positive sends the message that our negative feelings don’t belong in church. In today’s churches, we hear plenty of hymns and prayers about love, joy, and gratitude. How often do we hear about sadness, loneliness, and anger? We need God and our church family the most when we’re struggling and in pain. Yet, some would have us believe that church is only a place for joy.

Paul knew differently. In today’s text, he quotes Psalm 44: “For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.” Psalm 44 is a lament from a community who lost a great battle. They believe that God abandoned them, even though they served him faithfully. In their psalm, they freely voice their anger with God. In another verse, they ask “Why do you hide your face? Why do your forget our affliction and oppression?” Psalm 44 is hardly unique. If you read through the psalms, you’ll find plenty about joy and praise, but you’ll also find many about anger and grief. And its not just the psalms- the Hebrew Bible is full of people who take their pain, anger, and loneliness to God. Look at Job, or Lamentations, or the prophets- all of these books are full of people crying out to God with their whole selves: the good, the bad, and everything in between. Jesus does the same. In the Gospels, we see him weep over the body of Lazarus, lash out in anger at the money-changers in the temple, and cry out to God from the cross.

Over and over again, our scriptures remind us that we can and should take all of our emotions to God. Even when we feel the most separate from God, God longs to hear from us. It doesn’t even matter if we don’t know what to say; Paul promises that the Holy Spirit will intercede “with sighs too deep for words.”

At Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC, we see many children who feel isolated in their feelings of sadness and anger. As adults, we try to break through that isolation by helping them express themselves and sharing our own experiences of loss. But there are other isolating feelings I haven’t talked about yet: guilt and shame. In my experiences with grieving people, both children and adults, I’ve noticed that many people feel guilty. Children, who are too young to understand how death works, often feel like they did something to cause the death. Adults wonder if they could have done something to save their loved one. Many grieving people feel damaged, like they must be bad people because bad things have happened to them.

When I interned at the Wendt Center, I noticed that many of my grief counseling clients needed to confess something. In our first few sessions, they would voice their sadness and anger. Talking about those feelings would help, but afterward I would start to see signs that something else was bothering them. I had many sessions with clients who were clearly holding something back. Eventually, if we built a close enough relationship, the confession would come. My clients would share feelings of responsibility for their losses. They would share remorse for things they said or didn’t say to their lost loved ones. Some would tell me about the worst things they had ever done in their lives, wondering aloud if they were being punished.

If I really listened to their confessions, allowed them to share the full burden of their guilt, and still accepted them, I would start to see real transformation. In order break their isolation and move forward, my clients needed to share their whole selves with someone who cared. I was always happy to receive these confessions, just as I know God would be happy to receive them. Like sadness and anger, guilt and shame can make us feel separate from God, but they can’t take away God’s love.

At Camp Forget-Me-Not/Camp Erin DC, the last day is all about celebrating our time together and looking forward with hope. One of the Sunday activities is a performance by an all-male acapella group called REVERB. REVERB has a beautiful, uplifting sound and they do a great job choosing songs for the camp. This year, toward the end of their performance, REVERB announced that they had a special song to sing for the campers. Within a few notes, most of us recognized the song. It was “Just the Way You Are” by Bruno Mars. That song has been all over the radio this year, so most of the kids knew the words. I’m guessing that many of you know them too. It’s love song in which Bruno Mars tells his girlfriend “When I see your face/ there’s not a thing that I would change/ because you’re amazing/ just the way you are./ And when you smile/ the whole world stops and stares for awhile/ because you’re amazing/ just the way you are.”

The kids started singing along, and by the end of the first chorus, I had tears in my eyes. I looked around and saw many other adults crying, all over the room. I thought about why so many of us found that particular song so moving. Before that day, I thought of it as just another sappy, catchy love song. But when I heard those children sing it, it meant something totally different. The whole weekend, I had heard story after story of how much these kids had suffered. I knew that they were sad, confused, angry, and scared. I knew that many of them felt guilty, weird, and damaged. I had witnessed their pain, but I had also witnessed their resilience and their beautiful spirits. That song moved me so much because I want so badly for those kids to know that they are amazing, just the way they are. I think its what all of the camp volunteers want- to help these children know that they are good people who can have great lives, no matter what bad things have happened to them.

Bruno Mars is an unlikely prophet, but whenever I hear that song now, it makes me think about grace. I can’t think of a better definition of grace than the fact that God loves us just the way we are. Sometimes, painful experiences like grief make us feel like God is far away. Sometimes, feelings of anger, guilt, and shame make us think we can’t go to God. But Paul brings us the Good News that this simply isn’t true. We can and should take anything to God, because nothing can take away God’s love. God already knows us better than we know ourselves, and in God’s eyes, we’ll always be like those little children at camp- amazing, just the way we are. 

Amen.

Little Ones

Below is the text of the sermon I preached this past Sunday at St. Andrew's UMC in Edgewater, MD. In it, I talk about some interviews with the Freedom Riders that I saw on an episode of "The Oprah Winfrey Show." What I do not mention is that the Oprah episode was a tie-in with an episode of "American Experience" on PBS. I recommend watching both if you get the chance. You can find info about the Oprah episode here, and about the "American Experience" documentary here.

After I gave this sermon, I got an amazing surprise. For those who do not know, I have been attending St. Andrew's since I was born. I was actually part of an earlier congregation that evolved into the current St. Andrew's. So, I am lucky enough to go to church with many people I have known my whole life. One of those people- my childhood Sunday school teacher Mrs. Smith- approached me before church Sunday and asked for a few minutes after the sermon to speak about Sunday school. Naturally, I agreed.

After the sermon, I turned the pulpit over to Mrs. Smith and learned that the Sunday school thing had been a clever ruse. Instead, she was there to talk about me. The whole church had taken up a collection to buy me graduation presents, and asked her to present them. She told some stories about my time as a Sunday School student, including one of my mother's favorites: When I was a little over 2, my great-grandmother was dying in a nursing home. I had gone to see her, along with my mom and our former pastor. At the end of the visit, the pastor led us in the Lord's prayer. Apparently, I surprised everyone by knowing all of the words, and everyone fell silent to let me finish the prayer.

I've heard this story before. My mom can't tell it without crying. Yet, it struck me in a totally new way hearing it this time. My ordination process has been a struggle and I've spent a lot of time questioning my call. Hearing this story made me realize that I had a call long before I was aware of having one. If I was ministering when I was 2, then what else would I be doing at 32?

So, thank you so much to Mrs. Smith and everyone at St. Andrew's. Your support means more than I could ever put into words!

Matthew 10:40-42


40“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. 41Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; 42and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

Little Ones:
Matthew 10:40-42

This past year, like millions around the world, I watched Oprah Winfrey’s 25th and final season. I’m 32, so Oprah has been a TV star almost my entire life. I hadn’t actually watched her show for awhile, but as the end drew near, I got nostalgic and started recording every episode. I’m glad I did, because back in May, I saw something extraordinary.

On that day, Oprah welcomed a group of true American heroes: 178 men and women who participated in the Freedom Rides. These brave Americans, of different ages, races, and backgrounds, all boarded public busses in 1961 for a trip into the deep South. Their mission was to non-violently challenge segregation in public transportation. For those of you who are a little rusty on your history (I know I was), here is a little refresher about the United States in 1961:

At that time, bus travel was a humiliating experience for African-Americans. In many states, they were forced to ride in separate sections at the back of the bus. At stops, they were forced to sit in separate waiting rooms, use separate bathrooms, and use service entrances at restaurants. Often, these separate accommodations were inferior. Sometimes, they were non-existent. It was not unusual for an African-American on a long bus trip to be find him or her-self unable to buy a cup of coffee or simply use a restroom.

In addition to humiliation, African-Americans who traveled also faced danger. Several of the African-American Freedom Riders told Oprah that travel was terrifying in those days. They never knew when they might be harassed or attacked by a fellow passenger. Many avoided travel altogether, only traveled in groups, or arranged for friends and family members to meet them at stops. Even when they obeyed the humiliating Jim Crow laws, they could never be sure of their safety.

At the time of the Freedom Rides, segregation in interstate bus travel had already been ruled unconstitutional by the US Supreme Court. The Supreme Court has also struck down the idea of “separate but equal” with the Brown vs. Board of Education decision. Still, many states ignored these rulings and kept Jim Crow laws on the books. Leaders in the federal government, who didn’t want to lose southern votes, did nothing to challenge these illegal practices.

The Freedom Riders set out with the goal of forcing the state and federal governments to honor their legal responsibilities. Their plan was simple. In mixed-race groups, they would board public busses and travel through the South, from Washington, DC to New Orleans. Along the way, they would challenge segregation by sitting together on the busses and using “whites-only” accommodations at stops. If they were harassed, threatened, or challenged, they would never respond with violence. Instead, they would simply state their rights under federal law and expect officials to honor those rights.

The Freedom Riders knew what they were doing was dangerous. Before going on the rides, they participated in trainings where they practiced responding non-violently to verbal harassment, threats, and beatings. In the final hours before boarding the busses, all of the Riders signed last wills, and wrote letters to be delivered to their families if they were killed. They knew that they were risking their lives, but they had decided that the cause of racial equality was worth dying for.

As I watched the stories of the Freedom Riders, I was reminded of Jesus’ disciples. This reminder was timely, because today’s Gospel reading is taken from Matthew 10, which contains the instructions Jesus gave to his disciples. We know from the rest of the scriptures and church history that Jesus’s disciples went on to become great leaders of the Church. But at the time of today’s reading, they’re really just twelve ordinary guys. Jesus didn’t choose the people who did his most important work from among the upper echelons of society. They were not religious authorities or political leaders. They were fishermen, tax collectors, and other everyday, ordinary people.

At the time of today’s reading, only a few weeks have passed since the Disciples left everything they knew- their homes, their families, their professions- in order to follow Jesus. Within these few weeks, the disciples have seen Jesus perform miracles and inspire great crowds with his preaching. But they have also seen him questioned and criticized by religious authorities, hounded by crowds demanding his attention, and rejected by the people of his hometown. I can’t help but think that at least a few of the disciples were wondering what they had gotten themselves into.

You might think that Jesus would take it easy on these guys- after all, they’ve been through a lot in a short period of time. But instead, Jesus actually ups the ante. In Matthew 10, Jesus gives the disciples their commission. He takes these twelve ex-fisherman and ex- tax collectors, puts them into pairs, and sends them off to do the same things he has been doing. He tells them that they too will preach, they too will cure the sick, they too will drive out demons. He doesn’t even let them take anything- no food, no bag, no money- literally nothing but the shoes on their feet and the clothes on their backs. They must depend entirely on faith and the hospitality of strangers.

As if the Disciples’ mission weren’t daunting enough, Jesus also tells them to expect persecution. They can expect to be harassed, arrested, maybe even beaten or killed. When this happens, Jesus tells them not to fight back. They should simply trust God to provide for them, to punish those who persecute them, and to reward those who welcome them. Today’s reading is about those rewards. Jesus promises that anyone who welcomes one of his disciples- even with something as small as a cup of water- is welcoming him. And anyone who welcomes him is also welcoming the God who sent him.

A cup of water may not sound like much to offer one of God’s messengers. But think about the position the Disciples were in. They were ordinary, everyday people called out of their regular lives to go on a dangerous and difficult mission. I imagine that they approached every new town with fear and apprehension, tired and hungry, wondering if they would be greeted with welcome or violence. A kind stranger offering a drink of water must have seemed like an angel from Heaven.

Some of the Freedom Riders met just such an angel on their journey. Her name is Jaime Forsyth McKinney, and she was 12 years old at the time of the Freedom Rides. On Mother’s Day, 1961, one of the busses carrying the Freedom Riders arrived in Jaime’s hometown of Anniston, Alabama. Up to that point, they had not faced any violence on their trip, but they had been warned that Alabama would be dangerous. Jaime’s father was a well-known white businessman in the town, the owner of a grocery store. Speaking to Oprah Winfrey, Jaime recalled her father coming to her that day, telling her about the Freedom Riders, and bragging that he and some of his friends had a “special welcome” planned for the bus.

When the Freedom Rider’s bus pulled into Anniston, Jaime watched in horror as her father and an angry mob began attacking the bus, screaming racial slurs and death threats. People slashed at the tires and threw rocks at the windows. The driver tried to steer the bus away, but was blocked by the mob. Right in front of the Forsyth family grocery store, the driver stopped and got off the bus. When he saw that the tires were flat, he just walked away, leaving the passengers in the hands of the mob. As Jaime watched, mob members blocked the bus doors and threw a home-made bomb into an open window, setting the bus on fire. The mob intended to keep all of the passengers trapped inside, but they were forced to retreat when they thought the bus might explode.

As soon as the mob backed away from the bus, the passengers ran out, coughing and gasping for air. Many collapsed on the ground. With tears in her eyes, the adult Jaime remembered the scene as “like a scene from Hell, the worst suffering I’d ever heard.” Despite the fact that her own father was part of the mob, 12 year-old Jaime could not stand by and do nothing. She recalled setting her eyes on one woman in particular, who was lying on the ground. She ran over to that women and got down with her, washing her face, comforting her, and giving her water from her family store. As soon as she was sure the woman would be okay, she took water to another person, and then another, and another. For Jaime, bringing water to the Freedom Riders was an act of unimaginable mercy and courage. She had no idea what her family and neighbors might do to her afterward, or what trouble her actions might cause for the people she loved.

In the story of the Freedom Riders, we find example after example of amazing courage on the part of the Riders themselves, and on the part of the people, like Jaime, who welcomed them. The same was true in Jesus’ time. Everywhere he went, Jesus was regarded by the religious and political leaders as a radical and a heretic. He and his followers were seen as a dangerous threat to the hierarchies of the time. Welcoming one of Jesus’ disciples meant being associated with a fringe movement. It could mean getting expelled from the synagogue or rejected by one’s family. Opening the door to Jesus’ disciples meant closing the door on one’s former life.

As we’ve seen from both the Disciples and the Freedom Riders, welcome can be a risky business. But so far, we’ve only talked about obvious, dramatic risks: harassment, violence, alienation from friends and neighbors. But I think that showing welcome has a more subtle risk too. When I read today’s text, I’m struck by the way that Jesus calls his Disciples “little ones.” That term makes me think of a child, or of someone frail and small. In order to welcome a little one, we have to kneel down and put ourselves at their level. The experience is humbling, and it causes us to see the world from a different perspective. When we reach down to welcome one of the “little ones” of the world, we risk being changed ourselves.

Many people who encountered the Freedom Riders came away humbled, and with their perspectives forever changed. One such person was John Seigenthaler, who worked as a special assistant to Attorney General Robert Kennedy. Looking back on his life prior to the Freedom Rides, Sigenthaler recalled growing you in a privileged white family in Tennessee. He remembered being surrounded by decent, good-hearted people, who never challenged the racism all around them. He described himself and his childhood community as “blind to the reality of racism and afraid of change.”

After the mob attack in Anniston, the Kennedys sent Seigenthaler to Alabama. He was given two jobs to do: First, to convince the Riders to give up their mission and fly out of the state. Second, to convince Alabama’s governor to protect the Riders until they could leave. Seigenthaler achieved these original objectives, but then he got a surprise:

Just a few days after the first Freedom Riders left Alabama, a second group decided to continue the bus trips. This group was led by a young Fisk University student named Diane Nash. Siegenthaler remembered calling Nash on the phone and demanding that she call off the Freedom Rides. He chastised her, saying that she was just a child who didn’t know what she was getting into. He warned her that she was going to get someone killed. Calmly and quietly, Diane Nash told him that all of the Freedom Riders had signed their wills and knew exactly what they were facing. She also told him that she could not allow violence to triumph over non-violence. Siegenthaler had no answer to these statements, and remembers the conversation as the day he “got schooled by a little child.”

Talking to Diane Nash changed John Siegenthaler’s perspective. He was a privileged, high-ranking official in the most powerful nation in the world, but he opened his heart and mind to a group of young students from an oppressed minority group. From that day forward, he had a different perspective on the Freedom Riders. He saw the hatred and violence they faced with new eyes, and fought hard for their protection. He was even knocked unconscious trying to defend two Freedom Riders at a bus station in Alabama. Once he allowed himself to see the world from the Freedom Riders’ perspective, John Siegenthaler could never look at it the same way again.

Having our perspective changed is one of the risks of welcoming a disciple. Once we open our eyes to the “little ones” Jesus sends as his messengers, we can’t help but think and act differently. This kind of change can be difficult, but I think it is also one of the rewards that Jesus promises. Throughout the Gospels, people take tremendous risks and suffer terrible consequences for Jesus and the church, but their risks do not go unrewarded. Those who choose to follow Jesus often give up their homes, families, and livelihoods, but they find a calling and new relationships with God and other people. They get to be part of a movement they believe in, and they are remembered as forefathers and mothers of our church to this day.

When Oprah interviewed the Freedom Riders and their supporters, many shared about the consequences and rewards of participating in the Freedom Rides. Some suffered life-long damage to their physical and emotional health. Many were psychologically scarred by bearing witness to such intense prejudice and hatred. Some never repaired relationships with loved ones who did not support the movement. Still, not one person expressed regret about being part of the Freedom Rides. On the contrary, they expressed pride at their role in American history. They are proud that they helped make the United States a more welcoming and just place for future generations. White Riders and supporters talked about having their eyes opened to important issues of justice. African-American riders and supporters talked about learning that not all white people are racist. Nearly every person interviewed talked about lifelong friendships built on the Freedom Rides.

In Matthew 10, Jesus is talking specifically about the mission of his disciples, and the people who will greet them. Yet, I don’t believe that Jesus’ message is only for Jesus’ time. I believe that Jesus still sends “little ones” to do his work, and he still calls us to welcome them. A few weeks ago, Harold Camping and his prediction about the rapture got a lot of people talking about the end of the world and the second coming of Jesus. Personally, I don’t like the phrase “second coming” because I think it distracts from the reality that Jesus comes to us every single day. In texts like the one we heard this morning, Jesus tells us that we have countless opportunities to meet him in the “little ones” of our communities, our churches, and our world. If we want to meet Jesus, all we have to do is look for his messengers. When we welcome them, we welcome him.

I believe that, as Christians, one of the most important questions we should ask ourselves everyday is who are the little ones Jesus is sending, and how can we welcome them?

Who are the little ones of our churches, the ones on the margins who take great risks even coming to church? What can we do to see things from their perspective? How can we make them feel welcome? How can we humble ourselves to learn what they have to teach us?

Who are the little ones of our communities and our world? Who are the people on the margins of our society, and how can we extend welcome to them? Who are the people held down because they threaten those at the top? How can we extend our friendship and solidarity to them?

It takes courage to reach out to the “little ones” in our lives. Like Jaime Forsyth with her cup of water, we take a great risk when we turn away from what we know and reach out to strangers in need. Yet, when we reach down to lift a brother or sister up, we touch the hand of Jesus.

Amen.

My people.

As part of my graduation from Loyola, I attended a lovely banquet just for Pastoral Counseling students, faculty, and staff. One of my classmates was asked to represent all of the graduates and speak about his experience as a PC department student. The first thing he shared was a feeling he had during his first days in the program: "Finally, I've found my people!" I have thought the same thing a few times in my life, and last week I was reminded of two of those times.

From last Tuesday-Thursday, I participated in a conference on integrating social justice into young adult ministry. The conference was hosted by Romero Center Ministries in Camden, NJ, an amazing organization that brings people to one of the poorest communities in the nation in order to learn about and participate in social justice ministries. Unfortunately, I came down with food poisoning as soon as I arrived in Camden. I got there around 3pm Tuesday, almost immediately went to my room to lie down, and spent the next 24 hours having what I will describe as the classic "first night in Mexico" experience. Food poisoning is unpleasant all by itself, but as a bonus, I was staying in a dorm and sharing a bathroom with about 25 people. Good times.

I didn't fully join the conference until Wednesday afternoon, by which point things were winding down. Yet, despite my late arrival, the other people at the conference embraced me right away. Most of them were young adults (20's-30's) doing a variety of ministries all over the country. In the workshops and presentations, they were full of insights and ideas. In the downtime, they were full of energy and eager to get to know each other. Pretty much every night of the conference, people stayed up until 1 or 2am, singing songs, talking, and dancing. Even after the conference ended Thursday morning, people didn't want to leave. We were supposed to break at 11am, but most of us chose to stay in Camden and eat lunch together. I didn't get on the road until nearly 3pm.

Being at this conference reminded me of how I felt in seminary (at Yale Divinity School). Even after I made the decision go to seminary and completed all of my applications and interviews, I was unsure if I really belonged there, or in ministry at all. Those doubts all disappeared when I arrived and got to know my fellow students. Just as my PC classmate described, I had an overwhelming feeling of "these are my people!" Obviously, a wide variety of people go into ministry, but I found that most of us had some big things in common: passion, creativity, hospitality, a love of people, and an inability to accept things as they are as opposed to as they should be. It was great to be around people like that again, especially as I discern how I want my own ministry to unfold.

After the conference, I spent one blissful night in a hotel (a new mattress! a pool! a private bathroom!) before heading to another place where I once found "my people": my 10-year college reunion. I went to Bryn Mawr College, which is a small and academically rigorous women's college in PA. When I was 18, a women's college was not an obvious choice for me. Growing up, I had mostly male friends and often had a hard time relating to other girls/women. Yet, something drew me to Bryn Mawr, and it was absolutely the right place for me. Its hard to describe what it means to spend four years surrounded by other passionate, determined, smart, and talented women. The best word I can think of is "inspiring."

One change since the 5-year Reunion: lots more babies!

A popular Reunion activity is the "Step Sing," where we gather around an old building and sing songs about our college experience. This also happens 3 times during every college year. I don't think things like this would fly at co-ed schools.


This was my second reunion, and both times I was as happy to be in the presence of the older alumnae as I was to catch up with my own friends. Every BMC reunion ends with a parade of classes, where the classes line up from youngest to oldest. The youngest classes go first, and then turn around to cheer on the older classes. By the time you get to the end- the handful of women celebrating their 70th Reunion and beyond- you can't help but think of the trails all of these older women have blazed. When some of them were born, women didn't even have the right to vote! They went to college in an era where educating women was considered radical, and many of them became leaders in formerly male-dominated fields. I always leave Bryn Mawr feeling like I owe it to these past generations of women to follow their examples and become a leader in my own field. I really needed that reminder this year.

My new favorite class- 1961- in the parade. These women knew how to have a good time!

So, now I am back and planning my post-grad school future with new energy. I need to go where my people are!

Mothers, etc.

Mom and I.

First, the "etc.": As of yesterday at 9:30pm, I am FINISHED graduate school! I have been a grad student for seven years (three at YDS, followed by four at Loyola) and I barely remember what it was like not to be in school. So, I'm still wrapping my mind around this.

Pretty soon, I'll need to figure out my next move. Before I do that, though, I'm going to Houston for the weekend to DJ my friend Mindy's wedding. So, in honor of Mindy and Mother's Day, here is a reflection I gave at my church on Mother's Day 2008. Mindy makes an appearance, along with several other seminary friends. A few things have changed since I wrote this- mainly, some of my friends have become mothers- but our friendship remains the same and we still get together ever summer.  I can't wait to see Mindy and several of our other friends tomorrow. Happy Mother's Day!

Mother's Day Reflection
St. Andrew's UMC, Edgwater, MD
2008

During my first semester at seminary, my friend Mindy asked me to participate in a Bible study she was organizing for some of the women in our class. I was reluctant at first, because of all my other commitments. But Mindy told me not to worry; she would keep it as simple and low-stress as possible. So, a group of about 10 of us started meeting. We got together every Sunday night and each of us took turns leading the group in discussions, guided meditations, art projects, and other activities. We finished every week by sharing joys and concerns and praying together. During that first semester, our little women’s group quickly went from something I was reluctant to join to one of the best parts of my week. And I wasn’t the only one who felt that way, because, despite 10 increasingly busy schedules, we wound up meeting for the entire three years we were at school together. All of us came from very different backgrounds, with different beliefs, different calls to ministry, and even different friends outside of the group. Yet, over time, we became the best kind of friends to each other. We truly love, support, and encourage each other even now.


Last spring, our group decided to go on a retreat to Vermont before we all graduated and went our separate ways. Somewhere in the middle of hiking, hymn-singing, and marshmallow-toasting, we made each other these little albums. They hold photos from the weekend and notes we wrote to encourage each other during any difficult times ahead. I’ve pulled mine off the shelf so many times over the past year that I finally just left it out on my coffee table. Whenever I look at these pictures and think about my wonderfully gifted friends, I feel hopeful for the future of the church and the world. I also draw strength from their notes, which remind me of my own gifts. My friend Tamara wrote about my “gift for welcoming others;” Julia said that she enjoys hearing my “good ideas about possibility in the world.” Jenny loves my “sense of humor and enthusiasm,” and Angela is “very eager to see where God leads” me.

A few weeks ago, I received an email from Mindy. She wrote to tell us that she’s organizing another Vermont trip this summer, to give us all a chance to reconnect and swap stories from our year apart. I was particularly touched by this, because I know that Mindy’s had an extremely difficult year. It amazed me that she would choose to spend her very limited time putting together something for her friends. After that first email, other women from the group stepped up and volunteered some of their own time to the organizing effort. Now, we’re all looking forward to a trip in late July. As this trip came together, I thought once again about how lucky I am to have such devoted and caring friends. This reminded me of one of our Sunday night conversations.

One fall night, in celebration of All Saint’s Day, I led a discussion about the “saints” in each of our lives. I asked each woman in the group to come prepared to talk about someone who had influenced her in her journey toward ministry. Remarkably, every single one of us talked about our mother or grandmother. Mindy told us how her mom always surprises her by sending special packages whenever she’s going through a rough time. Ericka talked about how her grandmother and great-aunts remain energetic and upbeat despite being well into their 90’s. Erinn told us about how generous her mother is with her time and how involved she is at her church. Emily described her grandmother as her best friend and strongest influence. I talked about how my own mother and grandmother taught me to put God and other people before everything else.

Just as Paul writes in today’s text from Corinthians, my friends and I each bring different gifts to our ministries, but all of us give credit for those gifts to the influence of mothers. Psychologists often describe women as inherently relational creatures, and many of us learn about making and maintaining relationships from our mothers. My friends and I all have mothers and grandmothers who taught us that other people are important, and they deserve our love and attention. Even when they are busy- and when are they not busy?- our mothers take the time to connect with other people, listen to them, and offer their encouragement. I’m always amazed at how my mom seems to know everybody’s birthday or anniversary, and never forgets to send a card or a present. Whenever we go out together, I’m struck by the fact that my mom knows everyone- from the teller at the bank, to the receptionists at the doctor’s office, to the cashiers at the grocery store. She always greets people by name and asks them how they’re doing. And I can see on these people’s faces how much they appreciate even this little bit of personal attention. In a world where its getting easier and easier to remain anonymous, my mom reminds me of the simple power of human connection.

Our mothers and grandmothers also taught us to prioritize our relationship with God. They brought us to church every Sunday, whether or not we wanted to go, whether or not we had other commitments, and whether or not anyone else came along. And they were never content to sit silently in the pews. They took the time to teach Sunday School, cook church luncheons, and serve on all kinds of committees. In the process, they built relationships with other people in the church. I’ll never forget my grandmother’s funeral, which happened at the church she attended for over 60 years. The sanctuary was packed with people, and everyone seemed to have a story about my grandmother teaching Sunday School, singing in the choir, or speaking her mind in some meeting or other. My grandmother never let anyone or anything stand in the way of her commitment to God and her church, and she built relationships that sustained both her and many other people over the years.

We can all benefit from these lessons and examples of mothers, even if we are not mothers ourselves. None of my seminary friends has a child of her own, but through our little group, we get a chance to mother each other. We remind each other that, no matter how busy we get, we need to take the time to relate to God and other people. Somehow, once we do that, everything else falls into place.

Living Water.

This is a sermon I preached at St. Andrew's UMC in Edgewater, MD on 3/27/11. I drew heavily on my previous life as an English major for this one. Back in college, I learned that a good way to write a paper is to take two or more texts and "put them in conversation." That's pretty much what I did here. The texts are John's story of the woman at the well (see below), the amazing book Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, and this piece on the Huffington Post by David Lose of Luther Seminary. I let these three great pieces of writing have a little conversation, and my sermon pretty much wrote itself. I also owe credit to the organization charity:water, whose website is the source of the water facts I cite.

John 4:5-42

So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon. A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.” Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” The woman said to him, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” Jesus said to her, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”

Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, “What do you want?” or, “Why are you speaking with her?” Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” They left the city and were on their way to him. Meanwhile the disciples were urging him, “Rabbi, eat something.” But he said to them, “I have food to eat that you do not know about.” So the disciples said to one another, “Surely no one has brought him something to eat?” Jesus said to them, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work. Do you not say, ‘Four months more, then comes the harvest’? But I tell you, look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting. The reaper is already receiving wages and is gathering fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. For here the saying holds true, ‘One sows and another reaps.’ I sent you to reap that for which you did not labor. Others have labored, and you have entered into their labor.” Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I have ever done.” So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there two days. And many more believed because of his word. They said to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.”

Living Water: John 4: 5-42

Just before Christmas, I read a truly extraordinary book: Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, the author of Seabiscuit. Clearly, I’m not the only person who finds this book amazing, because its been at or near the top of the New York Times bestseller list for months. I hope you will all run out and pick it up after church today. I promise that what I’m going to tell you is only a tiny piece of this amazing story.

Unbroken is the true story of Louie Zamperini, who grew up in Torrance, California in the 1920’s. As a kid, Louie was a notorious delinquent, on the fast-track to jail or worse. Then, when Louie was 15, his older brother Pete got him to start running. With Pete as his coach, Louie discovered an extraordinary talent. Starting in tenth grade, Louie broke records at his high school, then at regional track meets, then at national meets. He won his first 2-mile race by a quarter of a mile. In 1934, he set a national high school record for the mile-run that stood for 19 years. Newspapers called Louie the “Torrance Tornado.”

Louie in training, pictured in Unbroken.

In 1936, Louie qualified to run the 5,000 meters at the Berlin Olympics. He only came in 8th, but he still ran the distance faster than any other American that year. He returned to his hometown a hero, and immediately set his sights on the 1940 Olympics in Tokyo. Louie, his supporters, and his fellow athletes all believed that he would win gold in 1940. Unfortunately, World War II ended Louie’s Olympic dreams forever.

In April 1940, war erupted in the Pacific and the planned Tokyo Olympics were cancelled. In 1941, Louie was drafted and began training as a bombardier. By 1942, he was in Hawaii, serving as part of a tight-knit crew on a B-24 fighter plane. In his off hours, he ran laps around the base. On the morning of May 27, 1943, Louie got up at 5am and ran a mile in 4 minutes, 12 seconds. On his way home, he was stopped by a commanding officer and ordered to his plane for a rescue mission. Counting Louie, 11 men left on that mission. Just a few hours in, the B-24’s engines failed, and the plane went down. Only Louie and two other men survived the crash.

Louie and his fellow soldiers soon found themselves drifting on a small life raft, far out on the Pacific, with only a tiny supply of food and water. During their first night on the raft, one of the other men panicked and ate all of their food. Within only a few days, their situation was desperate. They were starving, baking in the hot sun during the day, and freezing at night. They were surrounded by sharks, which they had to physically beat off the raft. Worst of all, they were dying of thirst. A human being can survive for several weeks without food, but will die after only 3 to 5 days without water. Louie had never been a religious man, but once the men’s water ran out, he started praying. In one desperate moment, he led his fellow castaways in a prayer for water: “If God would quench their thirst, he vowed, he’d dedicate his life to him.” Shortly after Louie said his prayer, it started to rain.


Thirst is a powerful thing. Louie knew that, the people in this morning’s Gospel text knew it, and millions of people in our world today still know it. As part of my preparation for this sermon, I looked up some facts about water around the world, and they are shocking. Today, in 2011, about 1 in 8 people around the world don’t have access to clean and safe water. Around 42,000 people die every single week from drinking dirty water, and 90% of them are children. In Africa, people spend an estimated 40 billion hours a year walking back and forth to wells to get water. Most of the people who do this walking are women and children, who can be robbed and attacked on the road. In some countries, the water supply is controlled by private distributors, and people have to spend more than 10% of their income just to get water. In this country, where water is free and plentiful, we sometimes forget how vital it is. For those who don’t have it, water is literally the key to life and freedom.

We need to understand the power of water and the experience of thirst to understand today’s Gospel text. Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at a well outside her city. She probably goes to this well every single day to get water for her family. In fact, she has probably walked between home and this well nearly every day of her life, from the moment she was strong enough to carry a bucket. By the time she meets Jesus, she is probably bent over with back and neck pain from carrying heavy buckets every day. Perhaps she has been taunted, robbed, or attacked on her daily walks. The Samaritan woman is clearly intelligent and interested in the big questions of life. Still, when it comes down to it, her life is bound and defined by water. No matter what she might think, say, do, or want out of life, her first priority every day is going to that well.

Its only when we think about water, and what it means to the Samaritan woman, that we truly understand the power in what Jesus says to her: “those who drink of the water that I will give to them will never be thirsty.” To never be thirsty- imagine what that would mean to this woman. Have you ever wished for a few more hours in your day? She would get those hours if she didn’t have to go to the well. She would be freed from fear about what might happen to her on her walks, or what might happen if she can’t get to the well, or what might happen if the water from the well is dirty. She would be safer and freer than she has ever been before. That’s what Jesus is promising when he talks about living water.

Of course, we know that Jesus is speaking metaphorically. He’s not offering this woman actual water, but he must be offering something equally valuable. Something that will make her safe and free. So what is it? Jesus offers the Samaritan woman something as simple and as powerful, as beautiful and as terrible as water. He offers her the truth: the truth about who she is and the truth about who he is.

First, Jesus confronts the Samaritan woman with a truth about herself. When she asks him for living water, he asks her to go get her husband. She admits that she has no husband, and Jesus fills in the details: she has had five husbands and lives with a man who is not her husband. Traditionally, Christians have interpreted this to mean the woman is guilty of some sexual sin: lust, adultery, or even prostitution. In this interpretation, Jesus’ statement is seen as condemnation- he won’t allow her to hide her sinfulness from him. Maybe this is true, but some people see other possibilities in this story.

Women in Jesus’s time were treated as little more than property, and could only achieve security and safety through marriage. The Samaritan woman might have been widowed several times and had to re-marry again and again for her own protection. Or, she may have been forced into repeated marriages. In Jesus’ time, a woman who lost her husband might be married to her brother-in-law or another relative, whether she wanted the marriage or not. Or maybe the truth is a little of both. Maybe this woman went through so many bad things that she started to think of herself as a bad person, and started to do bad things.


Louie Zamperini would understand that. Miraculously, he and one his fellow castaways survived on their raft for 47 days. During those 47 days, they wrestled sharks, pulled birds out of the sky for food, got shot at by Japanese planes, and watched their fellow castaway die. Each man lost more than half his body weight. Unfortunately, this was only the beginning of Louie’s ordeal, because he and his companion weren’t actually rescued. They were captured by the Japanese.

After being pulled out of the ocean, Louie spent two horrific years as a prisoner of war. He and his fellow survivor were moved from camp to camp, where they were starved, beaten, interrogated, and forced to do hard labor. Over and over again, their captors promised to kill them, and they watched enough other POWs die to believe it. Louie’s captors did everything they could to take away his hope. Even worse, they took away his dignity. One of Louie’s guards took a particular, sadistic interest in him. For two years, he subjected Louie to unrelenting humiliation and cruelty. To cite just one example, Louie’s guard once lined up all of his fellow POWs and made each of them hit Louie as hard as they could. Louie was punched 220 times and nearly died.

Amazingly, Louie survived to the end of the war. His POW camp was liberated, and he returned to the US a national hero. His family welcomed him home, he received countless honors and awards, and he even fell in love and got married. Yet, underneath this celebration, Louie was suffering. Louie had physically survived, but his mind was tormented by fear and shame. He had flashbacks of the war by day and terrible nightmares whenever he tried to sleep. Within a few months, he was drinking heavily. He became consumed with the idea of returning to Japan and killing his captors. He grew hostile to his wife and family, picked fights with strangers, and became convinced that God hated him.

Louie was not alone in his struggles. Hillenbrand writes that over 80% of the Pacific POW’s who survived World War II suffered some kind of psychological illness. Their suicide rate was 30% higher than average, and more than 25% developed alcoholism. As Hillenbrand writes, Louie and his fellow POW’s were “torn-down men… Many felt lonely and isolated, having endured abuses that ordinary people couldn’t understand. Their dignity had been obliterated, replaced with a pervasive sense of shame and worthlessness… Coming home was an experience of profound, perilous aloneness.”


I think Jesus sees this same sense of shame, worthlessness, and aloneness in the Samaritan woman. That’s what makes his conversation with her so powerful. When Jesus says “you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband,” he might be naming her sin, or he might be recognizing her suffering. Either way, its what comes next that really matters: he keeps talking to her. In fact, he tells her the most important truth about himself: that he is the Messiah. Jesus’ words to the woman are important, but there is something even more important going on in their conversation. Jesus is saying to this woman “I see the truth about you. I see everything you have ever gone through, and everything you have ever done… and I still want you. I value you, and I need you to help me spread my message.”

I don’t think this is a story about condemnation. I think it’s a story about grace. Jesus sees the Samaritan woman for who she truly is. He sees all of her hurts and all of her faults, all of the things that she is most ashamed of. Yet, he also sees her worth: her intelligence, her purity of heart, her thirst for knowledge. In fact, he chooses her for a very important job. The woman at the well is the first person in John’s Gospel to go and tell others about Jesus.

And what does she tell them? “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!” To me, that doesn’t sound like the words of a woman who has been put to shame. If Jesus had been condemning her morals, I don’t think she would have run to tell her neighbors about him, or urged them to go and experience the same thing. The Samaritan woman has experienced grace and she wants her neighbors to experience it too.


For Louie, grace came in the form of a young, unknown, traveling preacher named Billy Graham. By 1949, Louie had hit rock-bottom. He had squandered his money through bad investments, his alcoholism was out of control, and his wife had filed for divorce after finding him shaking their newborn daughter. That fall, a 31 year-old Billy Graham came to California for one of his very first tent revivals. In the beginning, he had no press and almost no audience. Within a few weeks, Graham’s preaching was drawing huge crowds. Louie’s wife begged him to go to the revival with her, but he refused. She went alone and came home saying she no longer wanted a divorce. Louie was happy, but his heart was still hardened toward God, and he still refused to go hear Billy Graham for himself. Louie’s wife badgered him relentlessly until he gave in.

The night that Louie first heard Billy Graham, Graham preached about God’s love and God’s judgment. He told the audience that God knew everything they had ever done, that God could read their very thoughts, and would hold them accountable. Louie got angry. He thought “I am a good man.” But he also got uncomfortable, because he knew the kind of man he had become. Even more, he felt what Hillenbrand describes as “a lurking uneasiness,” an awareness of “a memory he must not see.” When it became too overwhelming, Louie grabbed his wife and ran from the tent.

The next night, Louie’s wife convinced him to go back to the revival. That night, Graham preached about God’s miracles, and God’s promise of grace in the midst of suffering. Louie thought about all of the terrible things he had survived. He got upset and tried to run away again, but suddenly a memory exploded into his mind. He remembered his prayer on the raft: “If you will quench our thirst, I will serve you forever.” Suddenly, it started raining. When Louie felt that rain, he turned around and walked to the alter to surrender his life to God.

Like the Samaritan woman, Louie’s experience of grace led to a feeling of safety and freedom. As soon as he got home from the revival, he poured all of his alcohol down the drain. That night, Louie had his first sleep free from nightmares about the war. The next day, he sat at a park and read a Bible that had been issued to him during the war. Hillenbrand writes that Louie realized “He was not the worthless, broken, forsaken man that [his captors] had striven to make of him… That morning, he believed, he was a new creation.”


In addition to safety and freedom, the Samaritan woman and Louie also found purpose in their experiences of grace. This is very important. Grace isn’t just about Jesus knowing our pain and our faults and loving us anyway. Grace is about Jesus knowing our pain and our faults, and still calling us to do his work. Its through that work- through sharing our experiences of grace and becoming instruments of grace for others- that we let go our shame and pain and discover our worth. Just as he explained grace to the Samaritan woman by talking about water, Jesus explains purpose to his disciples by talking about food. When they urge him to eat, he tells them “I have food to eat that you do not know about… My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work.” Like water for the thirsty or food for the hungry, Jesus tells us that the experiences of receiving grace and doing God’s work can satisfy our deepest needs.


After his conversion, Louie began a new career as a Christian speaker. He also bought a campground and turned it into a nonprofit camp for delinquent boys. Through his experiences of grace and meaningful work, Louie overcame his feelings of shame and anger about the war. In 1950, he returned to Japan, where he met with many of his former captors and offered them forgiveness. In 1998, at 80 years old, he ran the Olympic torch through the site of one his former POW camps, on its way to Nagano, Japan. Today, Louie Zamperini is 94 years old, still running, still living independently, and still sharing the grace he received. When he learned that Laura Hillenbrand wrote Seabiscuit and Unbroken while suffering from a debilitating illness, Louie gave her his Purple Heart.

Louie at 93, with the torches he carried for 5 Olympics,
pictured in the January 2011 Runners World.

After her encounter with Jesus, the Samaritan woman brings her neighbors to meet him. After two days with Jesus, they tell her “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.” John doesn’t tell us what Jesus said to these people, but I imagine that he treated them just like he treated the woman at the well. He saw them, listened to them, acknowledged their deepest and darkest truths, and told them he had work for them. If Jesus were here today, I imagine he might say the same things to us:

“You, who are in pain and ashamed- I see your truth, I still love you, and I have work for you.”

“You, who grew up with an alcoholic or abusive parent- I see what you went through, I love you, and I have work for you.”

“You, who are struggling with addiction and ashamed of your own behavior- I know everything about you, I still love you, and I have work for you.”

“You, who lost yourself in a bad relationship- I see your pain, I value you, and I want you to build up my kingdom.”

“You, who are sick and in pain- You, who are grieving and feel all alone- I’m here for you, and I have very important jobs for you.”

“You, who have suffered prejudice and discrimination because of who you are- I see your true worth, and I have work for you.”

“You, who are young and feel like nobody listens to you- You, who are old and feel like your good days are behind you- I honor you and I need you to do my work.”

“You, whoever you are, whatever you have been through, and whatever you have done- I know everything about you, and nothing can take away my love for you. Come, and do my work.”


Amen.