A Prayer to get through this Monday

 

By Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber, ELCA

 Dear God,

There’s so much to fear right now that I’m sort of losing track of what to worry about most.

 So I’m gonna need some help focusing.

 Show me what is MINE to do.

 Then grant me the strength to do it, and the humility to rest knowing it is enough.

 Help me remember that even if there is more to worry about in life right now, it does not mean that there is less to love in life right now.

 So protect every inch of our joy, Lord.

 And if you could help me stop reading shit on the internet, that might really help too.

 Amen.

 

25 Pentecost

November 10, 2024

1 Kings 17:8-16; Psalm 146; Mark 12.38-44

+There was a meme going around later last week that said:

GOD HELP THE PREACHERS WHO HAVE TO PREACH THIS SUNDAY.

That’s the truth!

God, help me today.

So, originally we planned Stewardship Sunday today.

But when I realized that it was the Sunday after the election, I didn’t feel right about doing it on this day.

I wasn’t certain how things would go.

And now I’m happy we’re not doing it today.

For many here at St. Stephen’s,  it been a difficult week, a week of devastating loss.

It has been a  week of fear and shock and anger and disillusionment.  

I have been listening and sitting with many of you who are who are feeling very helpless.

People feel as though there is nothing we can do.

People feel as though we are at the whim of whatever may happen.

It’s hard to face that fact that we can’t change the bigger things—the things beyond our reach or control.

But we have lots of control in our own orbits, in our own spaces—to some extent.

There are things we can do here and now.

And there are certain things we can do here.

We can do what we’ve always done here at St. Stephen’s.

It is moments like this I hope you’re as grateful as I am that we have a place like St. Stephen’s, a place where we are safe and sound and loved and included.

And inspired by that, we can choose certain things.

We can choose compassion.

 We can choose selflessness.

We can choose personal decency.

We are, after all, Children of God, and as children of God we are called to live life differently than the majority of the world.  

We can choose to do what we have always done, as Christians, as followers of Jesus, as members of St. Stephen’s.

And we will.

In the face of whatever life or governments may do, we can stand up, we can stand firm and we can not only profess our faith, we can live it out.

And we can speak out.

And we can stand up, as we always have, and do everything we can to fight injustice.

As we always have.

We can still work diligently to bring in the kingdom of God in our midst, in our own ways.

Bravely and surely.

Without fear.

I know fear is a potent force right now in our lives and in our country.

In the history of St. Stephen’s ministry, things have come and things have gone.

In just the time that I’ve been there, we have experienced so much.

Presidents and governments have come and gone.

There have been bleak times and there have been very good times.

I am not going to say to those who feel fear or anger over the presidential race to buck up, to get over it.

But this is one thing I do know: St. Stephen’s will continue to be a place of openness and acceptance, no matter what.

We will still be followers of Jesus in this world.

 We will still work to further God’s Kingdom of justice and equality in our own way, as best we can.

 The scriptures we hear today, speak very clearly to us today as well.

 We  find a pure and most poignant voice in the words from today’s Psalm:

 “The Lord raises up those who are bowed down.”

 “Bowed down”

 That is a beautifully poetic understanding of what many of us are feeling today.

 This is what it feels like when we have been knocked down or disillusioned.

 Certainly, in biblical times, no one was more bowed down than the widows we meet in our readings today.

 Marginalized women.

 Some things never change.

 In our reading from the Hebrew scriptures, we find a widow who visits the prophet and who, out of a desperate situation—she and her son will no doubt starve soon—she gives from what she has.

 She, bowed down and helpless, gives from what she has.

 In our Gospel, we find a widow who is giving two small coins—money that, no doubt, could have gone for food.

 Now, the stories seem basic.

 OK.

 So they’re poor women.

 But there’s more to it than that.

 Being a widow then and there was different than being a widow now. 

 We oftentimes miss the real meaning behind these stories of the poor widows.

 A widow in those times was very much a person “bowed down.”

 Women, for the most part, at that time were defined by their men.

 Men took care of women—whether it be the father, the husband, the brother or the son— and when there were no men to look after the woman, she was left to her own devices, which were—in that time and in that place—extremely limited.

 So, when we look at it from this perspective, for these widows, to give anything at all, is pretty amazing, since they probably had very, very  little to give in the first place.

 And yet they, in their poverty, gave abundantly.

 These widows, these bowed down people, these marginalized and ignored people, are the people we are called—no, that we are commanded—to not forget about or turn away from.

  Over and over again in both the Hebrew scriptures and in the New Testament, we are commanded to not neglect those who are lacking.

 We are not to neglect those among us who are being “bowed down”

 We are being commanded by God again and again to never turn away from the poor, from the marginalized, from those who are sick, from those who are being oppressed.

 Governments may do that.

 Political systems may do that.

 But we---we do not have that option.

 The reason behind this is that we—as believers in God, as children of God and followers of Jesus—are not to look at the world as those “of the world” do.

 How are we to see this world?

 We are to see this world with the “eyes of God.”

 We are to see—and to truly see— as God sees.

 And not just see as God sees.

 But to act as God acts.

 We are to show compassion on others as God shows compassion on us.

 When we do so—when we don’t turn away from those who are being unjustly treated in our midst—we are drawing close to the presence and the love of God.

 But more so than even that, oftentimes when we act as God acts in this world, we are actually being the embodiment of God to those who need God in their lives.

 And most importantly, when we refuse to turn away from the oppressed in our midst, we are being mirrors of that compassion and love of God to others.

 But I am going to take this even one more step further.

 Yes, we are not to turn away from those who are oppressed, but we are also called, in those moments when see, as God sees, oppression and injustice in our midst to stand up and speak out against oppression and injustice.

 And through all of this we need to remind ourselves that we too are lacking.

 We too are not fully content, not fully rich, not fully whole, not fully in control.

 Even those of us who “have,” know what it means, at times, to be out in the fringes.

 We too who dress in our “long robes,” sometimes know what it means to be “bowed down” by injustice.

 When we read these stories of the poor widows—we can, in all honesty, put ourselves in the place of the widow.

 No, we are not necessarily hungry, or poor, or dependent upon someone else for our financial well-being.

 But we may have known oppression in our lives.

 We may have known what it feels like to be marginalized, to be treated as someone less in this world just because of who we are.

 We too know what it is like to be ignored and seen as unimportant.

 I personally have known this profoundly in my own life many, many times.

 I have known it by the society in which I live.

 I have most certainly known it by the Church in which I serve, and by the leaders of that Church.

 And any of us who have been truly “bowed down” can tell you: being “bowed down” is awful.

 Truly and terribly awful!

 No one strives to be one of the bowed down in our society.

 No one wishes to be treated that way in this world.

 So, what do we do in these situations?

 Well, when it happens we recognize our dependence on that One who truly does feed us who are hungry, on the One who raises up us who are bowed down

 Because God is with those who are oppressed.

 And in this world—this world that is at times so ugly and unfriendly and so mean-spirited and so violent and so full of deceit—we too know what it means to be on the receiving end of those things.

 We too know what it means, at times, to be hurt and burdened.

 And it is very important for all of us who are bowed down to remember.

 Those who are lacking are not only to receive justice.

 We cannot just hoard justice or demand it only for ourselves. 

 We are to show justice as well in our own lives.

 And that it is why it is important to identify with the widows.

 We—fractured human beings that we are—must show the justice we expect for ourselves.

 Even in our lacking, even bowed down as we might be, even ostracized and marginalized from the world and the Church and society, we must live out our lives with integrity and meaning.

 We must emanate justice in all we do and say.

 And we must fight against injustice whenever we see it.

 And trust me, we will get through this.

 We will emerge from this.

 There will be better days.

 For now, despite what we may find around us, let each of us bear within ourselves the love and compassion of God to others.

 Let us reflect it with our very lives and actions.

 Let us live God’s justice out in our very lives and in all of our actions.

 Let us love others, even those we really do not right now want to love, as God loves us.

 Let us be compassionate to others, as God is compassionate to us.

 And when we do, only then will injustice finally begin to cease.

 Only then will we know that, yes, truly God does raise up those who are bowed down.

 

 

 

My Letter following the Election

 Dear St. Stephen’s Family---

 

In the wake of last night’s election results, I have already heard from several people who are devastated and numb with shock. Some of us feel helpless today. Some of us simply feel numb.

 

Once these initial emotions start to fade, please remember that now is not the time for hand wringing. It is a time to do what we always do when difficulties befall us: we square our shoulders. We recommit ourselves to doing what we feel is right. And we move forward.

 

Having said that, it is important to remember (this being a paraphrase of something I found this morning on social media):

We are awakening to the same country we fell asleep to. The very same country.

Let us pull ourselves together.

How do we get through the next four years?

Continue to do the good work.

Continue to build bridges not walls.

Continue to lead with compassion.

Continue the demanding work of liberation for all.

Continue to dismantle the broken systems, large and small.

Continue to set the best example for the children and others.

Continue to be a vessel of nourishing joy.

Continue to support your gay and lesbian sisters and brothers. 

Continue to hold up your transgender companions.

Continue to support educators.

Continue, right where you are. 

Continue to stand up and speak out.

Right where you live into your days. 

Do so in the name of our God who expects nothing less form each of us. And if we are "continuing" ALL of the above, in community, partnership, collaboration? 

What is it we have been doing?

What is it we are waiting for? 

Please also be assured: St. Stephen’s will remain a place of inclusion and safety. It will be a place in which the love of God and of one another is upheld.

 

We must continue to strive to uphold this radical inclusiveness. We must strive to be living, breathing presences of God’s love and acceptance of all. We must strive to be the hands, feet, face and heart of Christ in a world that truly needs Christ’s all-accepting love.

 

Please pray for our nation.

 

Please pray for our leadership.

 

Please pray for our future.

 

And let us not let our fears and anxieties defeat us.

 

O God, you have bound us together in a common life. Help us, in the midst of our struggles for justice and truth, to confront one another without hatred or bitterness, and to work together with mutual forbearance and respect; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

 

--peace,

Jamie+ 

On the Eve of Election Day

 

Dear St. Stephen’s family--

I am hearing from so many people expressing their anxiety, their fear and their “nauseous optimism” as we approach Election Day. I too am feeling all of those emotions at any given moment.

        If you’re anything like me, when there is nothing more to do, I just try to do “something.” Let us channel our emotions into constructive endeavors.

Let us remain steadfast in our prayers and in serving others.

If you have not voted, PLEASE do so.

And please keep our nation and each other in your prayers as we head into the big day.

                                                -peace,

                                                Jamie+

 

Everlasting God, source of all liberty, before whom every earthly ruler must bow and bend the knee, we lay our nation before you as we prepare for an election. Breathe upon us your Spirit of wisdom and discernment. Grant all who seek public office the mind of Christ, who came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life for the freedom of the oppressed. Hold before us those who face uncertain futures, or who have no voice in our political process. Uphold and safeguard poll workers and election officials in their work. Spare us from the crushing weight of cynicism. Give us grace to speak courageously, but with love, without which our words are noise and we are nothing. Gather us together under the cross, where, in all of our difference, we can stand as one people, redeemed in Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.

 

All Saints Sunday

 

November 3, 2024

Revelation21.1-6a

+ You’ve heard me say it before and I will no doubt say it again.

I certainly don’t make any secret about it.

But, I LOVE the feast day of All Saints.

After all, from the very earliest days of the Church, this has been one of the highpoints of the Church year.

It’s an important feast.

And it’s important not just because we honor saints like St. Stephen, or Mary the mother of Jesus, or any of the other saints.

It’s an important days because it is a day in which we honor also those loved ones in our own lives who have gone before us.

This feast and the one we commemorate yesterday on November 2, All Souls, are very important feast days for me.

And because both of them came this past week, I am going to touch on both.

Actually, I’m kind of guilty of combing the two.

One is about the SAINTS.

One is about all the rest.

I’m just going to talk about everyone because, let’s face it: you know I’m an unapologetic Universalist. 

I do not believe in hell, or purgatory.

Though I would be more willing to believe in purgatory than hell any day.

So, this is a time for us to honor our departed loved ones, as well as those we might not know about.

Honoring and praying for those who have departed this life has always been an important part of the Church.

But, there are some branches of the Church that do not honor saints or our departed loved ones in this manner.

Being brought up Lutheran, we didn’t make a big deal about the saints.

If you come from a Methodist or a Presbyterian background, there have been some honoring of those who have gone before, but prayers are usually not prayed for them.

After all, the departed are where they are, and our prayers aren’t going to make much of a difference.

But, for us, as Anglicans and Episcopalians, honoring saints and praying for those who have died has always been a part of our tradition.

You will hear us as Episcopalians make a petition when someone dies that you won’t hear in the Lutheran Church, or the Methodist Church or the Presbyterian Church.

When someone from our parish dies, you will probably get a prayer request from me that begins, “I ask your prayers for the repose of the soul of…”

Praying in such a way for people who have passed has always been a part of our Anglican tradition, and will continue, I hope, to be a part of our tradition.

And I can tell you, I  like that idea of praying for those who have died.

But, and this is important: we don’t pray for people have died for the same reasons other branches of Christianity do, like Roman Catholicism.

In other words, we don’t pray to free them from “purgatory,” as though our prayers could somehow change God’s mind.

(Prayer does NOT change God’s mind)

So, why do we Episcopalians pray for the departed?

Well, let’s see what the Book of Common Prayer says.

I am going to have you pick up your trusty old Prayer Books and look in the back, to the Catechism.

There, on page 862 you get the very important question:

Why do we pray for the dead?

The answer (and it’s very good answer): We pray for them, because we still hold them in our love, and because we trust that in God's presence those who have chosen to serve [God] will grow in [God’s] love, until they see [God] as [God] is.

Now, that is a great answer.

We pray that those who have chosen God will to grow in God’s love.
So, essentially, just because we die, it does not seem to mean that we stop growing in God’s love and presence.

But, if you’re still not convinced, here’s an answer from no greater person than one of the treasures of the Anglican Church—none other than C.S. Lewis.

Lewis wrote,

"Of course I pray for the dead. The action is so spontaneous, so all but inevitable, that only the most compulsive theological case against it would deter me. And I hardly know how the rest of my prayers would survive if those for the dead were forbidden. At our age, the majority of those we love best are dead. What sort of intercourse with God could I have if what I love best were unmentionable to [God]?”

I think that is wonderful and beautiful.

And certainly worthy of our prayers.

But even more so than this definition, I think that, because we are uncertain of exactly what happens to us when we die, there is nothing wrong with praying for those who have crossed into that mystery we call “the nearer Presence of God.”

After all, they are still our family and friends.

They are still part of who we are.

This morning we are commemorating and remembering those people in our lives who have helped us, in various way, to know God.

What this feast shows me is what you have heard me preach in many funeral sermons again and again.

I truly, without a doubt, believe that what separates those of us who are alive here on earth, from those who are now in the “nearer presence of God” is truly a very thin one.

And to commemorate them and to remember them is a good thing for all us.

I do want us to think today long and hard about the saints we have known in our lives.

And we have all known saints in our lives.

We have known those people who have shown us, by their example, by their good, that God really does work through us.

And I want us to at least realize that God still works through us even after we have departed from this mortal coil.

Ministry in one form or the other, can continue, even following our deaths.

That quote from Lewis is a prime example.

Even now, 61 years after his death, Lewis can still preach to us.

His words still reveal God’s truths to us.

He is still doing ministry, even now through his words.

Hopefully, we can still, even after our deaths, do good and work toward furthering the Reign of God by the example we have left behind.

For me, the saints—those people who have gone before us—aren’t gone.

They haven’t just disappeared.

They haven’t just floated away and dissipated like clouds out of our midst.

No, rather they are here with us, still.

They join with us, just as the angels do, when we celebrate the Eucharist.

For, especially in the Eucharist, we find that “veil” lifted for a moment.

That belief comes to us from the Eastern Orthodox Church.

In this Eucharist that we celebrate together at this altar, we find the divisions that separate us are gone.

We see how thin that veil truly is.

We see that death truly does not have ultimate power over us.

That is the way Holy Communion should be.

It’s not just us, gathered here at the altar.

It’s the Communion of all the saints.

In fact, before we sing that glorious hymn, “Holy, Holy Holy” during the Eucharistic rite, you hear me say, “with angels and saints and all the company of heaven we sing this hymn of praise.”

That isn’t just sweet, poetic language.

It’s what we believe and hope in.

In these last few years, after losing so many people in my family and among my close friends, I think I have felt their presence most keenly, at times, here at this altar when we are gathered together for the Eucharist than at any other time.

I have felt them here with us.

And in those moments when I have, I know in ways I never have before, how thin that veil is between us and “them.”

You can see why I love this feast.

It not only gives us consolation in this moment, separated as we are from our loved ones, but it also gives us hope.

And let me tell you, hope, especially now, is vitally important.

We know, in moments like this, where we are headed.

We know what awaits us.

No, we don’t know it in detail.

We’re not saying there are streets actually paved in gold or puffy white clouds with chubby little baby angels floating around.

We don’t have a clear vision of that place.

But we do sense it.

We do feel it.

We know it’s there, just beyond our vision, just out of reach and out of focus.

And “they” are all there, waiting for us.

They—all the angels, all the saints, all our departed loved ones.

So, this morning—and always—we should rejoice in this fellowship we have with them.

In our collect this morning, we prayed that “we may come to those ineffably joys that you have prepared for those who truly love you.”

Those ineffably joys await us.

They are there, just on the other side of that thin veil.

They are there, in that place we heard about in our reading today from Revelation.

That place in which God “will dwell with them as their God;”
Where we will be God’s peoples

They are there were God wipes “every tear from their eyes.”
Where “Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away."

This is our hope.

 

This is our future.

Let us, with all those who dwell there now, rejoice in thanksgiving for that glorious place.

Amen.