"Complaints Allowed"

Exodus 17:1-7

Sunday, September 28, 2014

First Congregational United Church of Christ – Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

You know how sometimes people have funny signs in their offices or stores? I am thinking of one in particular that you may have seen before. It says something like, “Complaint Department” at the top and then “Take a number” with the number on a little tag…attached to a grenade.

We are not, by and large, a society that values complaining. We hate whining. We really don’t like it when people gripe. We spend a lot of time telling people to suck it up and simmer down.

One of the things that I am privileged to do as a pastor is sit with people during some difficult times. There is always a box of Kleenex in my office because tears often flow there. I have spent time with people who were dying and in pain and said to me, “I’m sorry to complain.” I have been with people who were being abused by their partner and said, “I don’t mean to whine about this.”

Friends, can we get real here for a minute? Can we be in agreement that sometimes it’s okay to complain? We are, all of us, broken and breaking on any given day. We struggle with self-loathing, mental and physical health, our addictions, our anger, our finances, unhealthy relationships, injustice. There are times when it is okay to complain a bit.

Now, I know that you know that the Israelites complained. Everyone knows that. They’ve gotten quite the reputation over the centuries for whining during their wanderings.

But do you know what’s weird? I’m not really sure how they got this reputation as bunch of whiners.

Well, I have a couple of hunches. One is that we, as Christians, typically like to feel really good about ourselves. One of the ways we’ve done this over the years is by comparing ourselves with other groups of people, including historical groups, and saying that we’re better than them. We’ve always enjoyed picking on folks in the Hebrew Scriptures because it makes us feel better about ourselves. I think our portrayal of the Israelites as a bunch of whiners may come from this.

It also stems from the fact that we have a couple of different accounts of the wandering Israelites in the Bible. In the book of Numbers, to be sure, the Israelites gripe a lot. And when they do, it really gets on God’s nerves. Every time they grumble, God’s “anger is kindled against them.” It ain’t pretty.

But in the book of Exodus, where we are today, we don’t see any of this. The word used in Exodus for complaining is “luwn” and it means to dwell, to begrudge, to tarry. So I think it’s complaining in the sense of being mindful of something. When you get that little nagging anxiety, that feeling of worry that just won’t go away, that’s luwn.  This word only comes up five times in Exodus. Five times they complained to Moses about their situation.

Let’s remember their situation for a moment: this is a group of people who had been enslaved under harsh conditions for generations. One day, some stranger shows up and convinces them that God wants to free them. After watching a series of bizarre events and fearing for their lives, they pack up hastily, under cover of darkness, and set out from the only home they’ve ever known, on foot. They don’t know where they’re going. They don’t know much about the guy that’s leading them. They get backed up against a big body of water and the army is breathing down their necks. They manage to escape, just barely, and emerge on the other side, still uncertain about where they’re headed. They are hungry. They are tired. They are thirsty. Seriously thirsty.

They begin to reconsider their decision to follow Moses. Sure, it was no picnic living in Egypt, but at least they had three squares a day and water to drink.

You tell me you wouldn’t complain if you were in their shoes.

They complained, yes. And they should have. They were dealt a raw deal. They were hungry. It’s okay to complain if you’re hungry. They were thirsty. It’s okay to complain if you’re thirsty.

I would argue that we have to be carefully taught not to complain. As infants, it comes to us naturally. When we are thirsty, when we are hungry, when we are tired – we complain. We do it the only way we know how: we cry and whimper and scream.

I remember the shock I felt, as I became a mother, about the range of emotions that I felt when I heard my child cry. As a new parent, I quickly discovered my child cried because he was trying to communicate something to me. A need. Sometimes I could figure it out quickly and remedy the situation. Other times I was baffled and frustrated. But I always understood, instinctively, that crying was simply something he needed to do.

I later discovered that toddlers are pretty good at complaining, too. No one taught them to do this. They did it naturally. Instinctively. They knew how to complain and were not yet embarrassed to do so.

Over time children learn to curb their complaints. They discover that if they complain all the time, about every little thing, people won’t listen to them. They learn that if they choose their battles wisely, complain respectfully and to the right people, their complaints may make positive changes in the world around them.

If my children are every truly hungry, I hope they will complain. If my children are ever truly is thirsty, I hope they will complain. If an injustice is done to them or to someone else, I hope they will complain. Loudly. Respectfully. Persuasively. And to the right people.

When the Israelites complain in the wilderness, they aren’t just being a bunch of whiners. They are doing what they were made to do – sound the alarm when something isn’t right. They are hungry so they complain to the person they believe can get something done. But when they go to their leader he reminds them he’s not the one in charge. He reminds them that it was God’s idea to lead them into the wilderness and God will be the one to lead them safely from it.

And here’s the best thing about God: God listens and responds.

God is not an impatient father who has spent too many hours alone with a toddler and just brushes the child off, saying, “I’m tired of your whining!” Nor is God an inexperienced first-time mother, unsure of how to respond to her infant’s cries.

God is the exact kind of parent I think we would all want. God listens. God does not chastise them for complaining. Did you notice that? Moses gets frustrated about their whining, but God doesn’t even mention it. Instead, God responds with loving words and deeds.

When the Israelites first cross over the sea, they come to a place where the water is bitter and undrinkable. And so they complain to Moses. Moses cries out to God and God tells Moses to throw some wood into the water. Suddenly, the water is sweet.

When they are wandering in the desert and hungry, they complain to Moses. This time, Moses doesn’t even have to ask. God just shows up and steps in. Quail and manna appear.

And in today’s passage, they are, once again, thirsty. They complain to Moses. And Moses, once again, raises his voice to God in exasperation, “What on earth am I supposed to do with these people?” God calmly, patiently, lovingly steps in. The people are given water to quench their thirst.

In each of these situations, God provided an opportunity for them to not only be fed, in a physical way, but to have their understanding of the Holy expanded. God is the one who not only responds to our complaints, but pushes us outside of our comfort zone and encourages us to seek solutions in new and strange ways. Throwing wood into some water? Odd. Gathering manna from the ground? Odd. Striking a rock with a stick? Odd. But that’s just how God works. In surprising ways.

Now, you may be sitting there thinking, “Well, this is all fine and dandy, but I have a feeling that I’m going to do more than just complain to God before seeing results.”

I wouldn’t argue with you. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, God is not a gumball machine. You don’t put in a quarter and out pops a piece of candy. If God worked that way, every child would have a pony and a warm bed to sleep in at night.

But here’s what I do think is true: the purpose of this story is not to prove to us that God can fix everything. The purpose of this story is to help us remember that God can handle all our complaints. When we are faced with incredibly difficult situations, you can complain to God because God wants to hear it.

And I’m going to go out on a limb and say this: we, as a church, want to hear it, too.

Don’t ever feel like you have to put on your prettiest face before you come into this place. Bring your truest self here. If you are hurting, angry, hopeless, hungry, tired, thirsty, aching….bring those burdens here. Tell them to God in this time.

And we, your church family, will do our best to listen, too. This doesn’t mean this will be a place where we strive to be a bunch of whiners…but it does mean that if you’re dealing with some hard stuff in your life right now, we want to know about it. We want to be with you, listen, and try to see what we can do to help.

It is not easy work to emulate God and listen to complaints, but it is holy work. Chances are good that we may not be able to fix everything that ails you. God may not be able to fix it, either.

But I am reminded of a few sleepless nights when our boys were small babies and going through some difficulty – perhaps they were sick, or getting teeth, or having a growth spurt. In those loud and chaotic moments of holding my child, I was frustrated that I couldn’t fix things for him. But I was also deeply moved to know that he felt my love and believed that he could complain loudly to me.

I was honored to just hold him and know that, at the very least, I could be present. Those are moments I will never forget.

If we don’t complain when we are truly going through some major difficulties – if we refuse to allow our true broken and beautiful selves to be seen – we rob God and our friends the opportunity of holding us. And that would be a shame.

Let this be a place where complaints are allowed. Let us bring our full selves to this place, trusting that God is still willing to listen to our complaints.

"Old and New"

Isaiah 43:16-21 and Matthew 13: 1-9

Friday, September 26, 2014

Kansas-Oklahoma Conference of the United Church of Christ

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

If your church happens to follow the lectionary, you may have been traveling with Moses and the Israelites this past month. Our congregation has been working its way through Exodus. We held our breath in anxiety as Moses’s mother placed that tiny basket in the water and prayed for her infant son’s well-being. We stared, stunned, with a grown-up Moses at the bush that was on fire, yet not consumed. We sat in grief and anguish with the Egyptian people as they suffered blow after blow at the hand of an angry God. We listened alongside the Israelites as God gave the odd instructions to slaughter a lamb and paint the doorway with its blood. We crouched in fear at the sea’s edge as the wind blew, and the waves crashed, and the water rose up like two walls – one on our right and one on our left – and we stepped out with trepidation onto the dry land to cross the sea.

Even if you haven’t been following these stories these past few months, you know them. These are the stories from the coloring book pages of our childhood. The moments of great drama from the silver screen. These are the stories that have inspired spirituals, art, prayer.

These are our stories. God instructed our faith ancestors to remember them and teach them to our children. And we have done so.

I have heard these stories time and again, but a few weeks ago a clergy colleague of mine opened my vision and helped me see something I had never seen before.[1] You may recall that after the Israelites cross over to the other side of the sea, they spontaneously break into song. It is a song of praise and wonder. A song of salvation. A song of deliverance. And Miriam – Moses’s sister – perhaps the one who ran alongside his tiny basket as he floated down the river in his infancy – Miriam is there. She takes out her tambourine and begins to play. And the other women – they also take out tambourines. And they dance, and they sing, and they lift their voices in praise for God’s great works.

None of this is strange. Of course they would celebrate. But one thing seems odd. What’s odd is that these women have tambourines.

They left Egypt in haste. They were told to take just the bare necessities. They packed so quickly that they didn’t even have time for their bread to rise. They packed for a trip into the unknown. I don’t know about you, but I would probably pack the essentials – toiletries, clothes for all seasons, emergency supplies to keep my family safe, maybe a few family heirlooms or photographs if there was room. But I probably wouldn’t think to take along a tambourine.

And yet, Miriam did. And so did the other women. They brought their tambourines because they had faith that a time for singing and dancing – a time for celebration – was to come. In the midst of leaving behind all that they had known – in the midst of this terrifying, unsettling time of transition – they packed their tambourines and hoped to sing and dance in the near future.

I love it. I love that they had faith in a Still-speaking, Still-moving, Still-creating, Still-blessing, Still-saving God. It’s sounds to me like the God I know. And it sounds to me like the God that Isaiah knows, too.

This evening’s passage from Isaiah begins with a recognition of God’s presence in the midst of times of great transition. The prophet introduces this God by calling to mind the mighty deeds of Yahweh in the Exodus:

“Thus says the LORD,

who makes a way in the sea,

a path in the mighty waters,”

Isaiah’s hearers – they knew these stories about God, just as we know these stories about God.  But then Isaiah says something surprising,

“Do not remember the former things,

or consider the things of old.

I am about to do a new thing;

now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?”

After introducing God by reminding us of the things God has already done, Isaiah tells us, “Forget about it. Don’t remember the old things. God is about to do something new.”

And then, like whiplash, Isaiah continues, “I will make a way in the wilderness

and rivers in the desert.” But, wait. Aren’t those the same things God did for the Israelites in their wanderings? A path through the wilderness? Water from a stone?

Which is it?

Are we supposed to remember the things of old or forget them? Are we to trust in who has God has been in the past or expect God to do something new?

Yes. The answer is yes.

We are called to sit in the tension of old and new, memories of the past and hope for the future, “they way we’ve always done it” and “they way it could be.” We, the people of Christ’s Church, are called to sit in the midst of those tensions and give honor to both.

What does this look like? Is it even possible? How can we honor who we have been in the past while making room for transformation?

These past few weeks I’ve been reading a book by Stephen Chapin Garner, who is a UCC pastor in Massachusetts at the United Church of Christ Norwell. The title of the book is Scattering Seeds: Cultivating Church Vitality and that title alone begins to hold together that tension of old and new.

The cover of the book is a picture of a beautiful stained glass window – a famer scattering seeds. It’s quite traditional, as you might expect since the stained glass depicts a story that is over 2,000 years old. This is the story, of course, of the farmer who went out to sow seeds in the Gospel of Matthew.

As Jesus tells it, this farmer was kind of a weird guy. He didn’t seem to know that much about farming and I’m pretty sure that if he went down to the co-op in any of our towns, some farmers in Kansas and Oklahoma would be happy to give him a few tips. This farmer’s technique is just to sow seeds all over the place. Haphazard. Willy-nilly. He doesn’t really plan. He doesn’t check the soil or the weather. He just scatters seed all over.

A lot of the seeds don’t take. They land in rocky soil, or in the weeds. Birds gobble them up. But some of the seeds find their home in good, rich, fertile soil. And those seeds grow and the yields are amazing.

It’s astounding, really. This farmer who scatters seeds has an unconventional method, but his fields do just fine. Better than fine.

Garner weaves this story – this ancient story of a farmer scattering seeds – throughout his book about 21^st century church life. This is a book about church vitality and all that you might expect in a book about vitality….change, growth, risk, transformation. But it is centered in a story that was told by Jesus over 2,000 years ago.

Old and new. Memories of the past and hope for the future. “The way we’ve always done it” and “the way it could be.”

These tensions are held together at UCC Norwell, just as I’m sure they are at many of our churches. We do our best to trust that the One who leads us into the wilderness, the One who tells us to pack our bags in haste, the One who says, “I am about to do a new thing” – we do our best to trust that this God can lead us through the wilderness.

It’s not easy, am I right?

When change comes a-knocking, when we realize we’ve got to let go of “the way we’ve always done it” – well, sometimes we’d rather just stay put. Or if we do get the courage to go, we might pack things like extra flashlights, waterproof matches, and first aid kits. We rarely think to bring along our tambourines. We don’t trust that a party – a time to sing songs of celebration – is just around the corner.

One of my favorite things that Garner shares in his book is how he and the people of UCC Norwell have continually been surprised by the Spirit’s movement in their lives and in their community of faith.

He writes, “As we attempted to follow the Spirit’s lead…our own carefully formulated plans often didn’t have the results we intended.” He speaks of “plans going wonderfully awry.” The leaders of UCC Norwell have begun to notice a predictable pattern: they pull folks together to work on a particular issue, they meet, they vision, they make plans, they meet some more, they implement new strategies…and then they notice that they’ve missed the mark and growth is happening in a different area altogether.

Garner tells the story of working with the church’s leadership to prepare them for a new era without an ordained pastor.

Garner had noticed national trends with the numbers of seminarians declining and church budgets shrinking. He had come to believe that his church, and many others, would need to prepare themselves for a future without ordained clergy.

And so the leaders began to work on preparing the laity to take on key tasks currently handled by clergy. And as they implemented these plans, a strange thing happened. They began to notice an astonishing number of their members were feeling called to ordained ministry. In a period of four years, they sent seven people to seminary.

This was not at all the plan! It was, instead, an unexpected, unintended outcome…and it was wonderful. It was the Spirit at work – doing a new thing.

It seems to me that sometimes we church-folk tend to dig in and choose sides. Sometimes we say, “God is like THIS!” or “I remember when it was THIS way and I don’t want it to change!” On the other side, some of us may say things like, “We have to change or DIE!” or “I’m tired of the same-old, same-old. Let’s change it ALL!”

For me, the beauty of this passage from Isaiah is in its ambiguity – the tensions. Isaiah reminds us of who God has been in the past. But in the same breath, Isaiah tells us to stop focusing so much on the past and look for a God who will do a new thing. And then, we discover that these new things that God is going to do? Turns out they look an awful lot like the things God has done before.

I come away from this passage uncertain – am I supposed to throw out the old and rejoice in the new? I don’t think it’s that simple. I think we are called to be a people who can sit comfortably in the tension, in the in-between. We are a people called to tell the stories of old and remember them faithfully. But we are also called to proclaim a Still-speaking, Still-saving, Still-creating God. We are a people called to look with hope to the future – to believe that God can do a new thing in our midst. But we are also called to honor the past and ask careful questions before throwing away our traditions.

This is no easy task. And so I find myself hanging on to that image of Miriam and her band of sisters there at the water’s edge. In the midst of great turmoil and transition, they brought their tambourines with them. They sang songs of remembrance – giving praise for God’s mighty acts. And they did so with an eye on the future, trusting that there was still more light and truth to break forth from this Still-surprising God. They played those tambourines for the old and the new, the memories of the past and the hope for the future, “the way it’s always been” and “the way it could be.”

It seems to me that we are called to follow their lead and strive to do the same.

---

[1] A thank you to my friend and colleague, the Rev. Liddy Gerchman Barlow for this teaching.

"God's Surprising Power"

Exodus 16:2-15

Sunday, September 21, 2014

First Congregational United Church of Christ – Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

Last week I kind of left you hanging. We spent time during worship doing a bit of deconstruction and I made you wait a whole week to get to the more constructive stuff. Sorry about that. It seemed like a better idea than preaching a 30 minute sermon and putting you all to sleep.

We spent last week tentatively stepping through the Red Sea on dry land with the Israelites. We looked back, somewhat fearfully, at the looming cloud following us through the wilderness. We tried to ignore the angry thunder and lightning emanating from the enormous cloud. We found ourselves backed up against the seashore, nowhere to run, with the threat of evil running us down. That cloud was behind us, protecting us, sure. But could the cloud hold forever?

Suddenly, a sharp wind began to blow. And it blew and it blew. All night long the wind blew and the cloud rumbled and the Egyptians gained ground. And we huddled against the seashore, fearing for our lives.  In the middle of the night, we rubbed our eyes and shielded them against the wind, because the strangest thing was happening. We could hardly believe our eyes. The sea was parted in front of us – two giant walls of water – one on our right and one on our left. We stepped onto dry land carefully, giving thanks for the God who works miracles and protects us from harm.

If the story had ended that way, it would have been so warm and fuzzy. But Exodus 14 doesn’t end that way. Instead, we discover that not only are the Israelites ushered to safety, but the Egyptians are lured into the sea. And as soon as they enter, their wheels are gummed up in the mud. The waters come crashing down. The Egyptians scramble to escape, but God tosses them into the sea. They die on the shore. Not one of them remains.

And so we grappled last week with evil. Whether it exists in the world. What to make of it. And we struggled with what it means to believe in God in the face of great evil and suffering. We explored theodicy, which is basically just how to hold together these three things: 1) Evil exist and suffering exist, 2) God is all good, 3) God is all powerful.

I shared with you that I have found myself needing to let go of #3 in that list. Evil and suffering do exist in the world, no doubt about it. And I experience God to be continually good. Which means God cannot also be all powerful.

Unless, that is, powerful means something different than what we initially thought.

Last week I mentioned this video that was taken on September 11, 2001. Dr. Mark Heath went to the site of the World Trade Center attacks that morning to see if he could help. The video is about three minutes long and consists of shaky camera footage with closed captioning. I can clearly remember sitting in our duplex watching the video back in 2001. When I found it online this week, it still brought me to tears.

At the beginning of the video, we hear Dr. Heath talking to an emergency responder. Dr. Heath asks, “You need anybody with emergency medical experience?” and the rescue worker says, “My estimate is, we probably lost 200 firefighters and God knows how many thousands of people.”

The rescue worker tells Dr. Heath to stay out of the way and away from high-rise buildings. Almost immediately, the camera looks up at the North Tower where a cloud of smoke is starting to form. The building turns in on itself and a sickening rumble is heard in the distance. For over 30 seconds there are no words, just the image of the building coming down. It feels like an eternity. Finally, Dr. Heath begins to move and his camera moves with him. As the cloud of debris rushes towards him he says, “I hope I live. I hope I live. It’s coming down on me. I’m getting behind a car.”

And then – we are plunged into complete darkness. For over 10 seconds there is nothing but blackness. No words from Dr. Heath. And then, he speaks, “I’m buried in soot. I’m sorry I came down. I just had to help people.” For over 40 seconds it seems as though we are buried alive with Dr. Heath and the entire island of Manhattan. Darkness covers the land.

And then, Dr. Heath says, “Wait. I can see a tiny bit. This is incredible.” And then, without missing a beat, “Okay. I have to go find people who need help. I don’t think I’m one of them.”

Buried alive. Unsure if he would live. The air begins to clear the tiniest bit and his immediate, gut-level, instinctual reaction is to come to the aid of others. He springs into action, walking amidst the rubble, offering help wherever he can. He borrows oxygen from a firefighter. He walks quickly, with purpose, shouting out, “Does anybody need a doctor? This guy needs oxygen. Thanks.” He keeps walking through the chaos and the video goes dark.

It’s one of the most powerful videos I’ve ever seen. I said last week that his simple words, “I hope I live,” had become twisted in my mind over the years. I remembered him saying “Please don’t let me die,” or “Please save me.” But it turns out Dr. Heath isn’t praying to an all-powerful God to swoop down from the heavens and save him. Instead, he voices a deep hope. He hopes to live. He seems to know that it is entirely possible that he will not. And he does not seem to blame God for this.

Evil happens. Humans make mistakes. Humans commit atrocities. We treat each other in ways that are sickening. We allow systems of oppression to continue.

Accidents also happen. Cells mutate in strange ways. Germs spread. Cars collide. Chaos exists. Supercells form. The waters rise. The earth shakes.

Suffering is real. Sometimes it is because of evil. And sometimes it’s….well….it’s just because.

And in the midst of suffering, where is God? Can God be described as powerful at all? Because, I’m not going to lie. I still want my God to be bigger than me. Bigger than you. Able to do something, you know?

Those of you who were here last week will remember me telling you about my friend the Rev. Lynn James and the email she sent me. Lynn is a UCC pastor and licensed mental health professional. She does a lot of work with people who have been traumatized. She works with a lot of survivors of abuse.

Lynn has grappled with how evil can exist if God is good and all powerful and has come to believe that God cannot be all powerful….at least not in the way we traditionally think of power.

But this is not to say that God is helpless or unable to act in any way. Instead, in her reflections, Lynn turns to Process Theology, which offers that we need to reconsider the TYPE of power God possesses. Lynn says, “We are conditioned to imagine power as force, as domination, as combative.  For Process Theology, Divine power is love, compassion, connection, and collaboration.  G_d and humanity, actually all creation, are interdependent. For Process Theology, at every moment G_d is actively, passionately, powerfully at work to bring the best possible outcome and at every moment G_d is also but one power among many (human free will, natural laws) and is therefore necessarily limited.  G_d is at every moment working with us to bring about transformation, peace, and healing.”

God is with us and God is at work. But God isn’t throwing lightning bolts. God isn’t making us dance like puppets. God can’t stop a tornado from barreling down on my house. God couldn’t hold the Twin Towers up and God couldn’t stop the hijackers from committing their acts of evil.

Instead, God was at work through people like Dr. Mark Heath. God wandered the streets of New York that day in the bodies of average men and women who look just like you and me. You remember the stories. The guys who carried the woman down 68 flights of stairs in her wheelchair. The first responders going up into the towers as others were coming down.

I am reminded, of course, of the wise words of the Rev. Fred Rogers’ mother. You probably know him better as Mr. Rogers, of course. He said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”

My friend Lynn says, “Stories of helpers, of kindness of courage, were true in concentration camps, in the barbarity of slavery, in places of genocide and epidemics.  There are, everywhere, in all times and places, ordinary heroes and heroines acting with courageous compassion, self-sacrificial generosity, and quiet humility.”

And I believe this is where we see God’s power. God’s power is more subtle than a lightning bolt or a puppet show. God coaxes. God is persuasive. God lures. God encourages. God supports. God cheers us on. God is with us in each and every moment hoping for the best and whispering, “You can do it. And I will help.”

Which brings us back to today’s passage from Exodus. Manna in the desert. Having escaped Egypt in a scene of great trauma, we find the Israelites starving in the wilderness. Once again, they need God to save them. Once again, God does so. Only this time, no one is murdered or drowned in the sea. Instead, the God in today’s passage is a little tamer. This God uses her power to sustain and nurture. To feed. To nourish. She listens with compassion and sends food to the hungry ones.

And once again this God requires action from the people. God doesn’t do it all himself. The people have to meet him halfway. God sends the food but the people have to gather it in specific ways. They people have to do their part, too.

I find image of God and the people working together to step forward into a new day to be powerful.

I find the image of God in the shaky lens of a camera as a doctor roves the streets of Manhattan just after the towers collapsed to be powerful.

I find Mr. Rogers’ mother’s words to be powerful.

It seems to me that evil exists, but God is good. We suffer, but we are never alone. And God is not in control, no. But God still has power. The power to nourish, to soothe, to lure, to encourage, to accompany, to hope.

And that is no small thing. Thanks be to the One who sends manna in the desert. Thanks be to God, who nourishes us in the midst of great suffering. Thanks be to the Almighty who exercises power in surprising ways. Thanks be to the Friend who never leaves us alone.

"Dealing With Evil"

Exodus 14:19-31

Sunday, September 14, 2014

First Congregational United Church of Christ – Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

“There is hardly anything more obvious than the fact that evil is present in the universe.”[1]

These are the opening words of a sermon given by the 27 year old Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. at St. John the Divine in New York City. The title of the sermon was “The Death of Evil on the Seashore.”

Can we just pause for a moment to recognize that by the age of 25, King had a doctorate degree, was ordained, and was preaching powerful prophetic sermons? At the age of 26 he was leading the Montgomery Bus Boycott. To anyone who looks at people in the 20s and says, “This is the future of the church,” I would offer a gentle correction. When I look at children, youth, young adults, middle-aged adults, older adults I see the NOW of the church. Leaders, prophets, teachers, preachers, wisdom-sharers come in all ages.

Okay, but back to his sermon, because that opening line makes us sit up and take notice. “There is hardly anything more obvious than the fact the evil is present in the universe.”

Evil does seem to be glaringly obvious in our universe, and yet we seem reticent to name it as such. When was the last time you used the word evil in everyday conversation? We often say things like tragedy, horror, atrocity….but I don’t hear people throwing around the word evil very often.

But Dr. King wasn’t afraid to use the word. He says, “We may debate over the origin of evil, but only the person victimized with a superficial optimism will debate over its reality….The Bible affirms the reality of evil in glaring terms.”

There is certainly no doubt that we’ve been grappling with evil in the narrative we’ve been following from Exodus. Dr. King names it explicitly, saying, “You will remember that at a very early stage in her history the children of Israel were reduced to the bondage of physical slavery under the gripping yoke of Egyptian rule.”

Last week we struggled together with the difficulty of a vengeful, murderous God in the Exodus stories. If you weren’t here, you might want to check out last week’s sermon online to see how we dealt with the yuck factor of a God who ruthlessly murders children. This week we have a similar problem – an angry God who casts the Egyptians into the sea, leaving their bodies washed up on the shore in the early morning sun.

I appreciate that Pastor King provides us with yet another way to work through the nastiness of a God who would do such a thing. King sees this story as an allegory – one that falls into a larger Biblical tradition of telling the stories of good vs. evil. He says that in the Exodus narrative, “Egypt was the symbol of evil in the form of humiliating oppression, ungodly exploitation and crushing domination. The Israelites symbolized goodness, in the form of devotion and dedication to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. These two forces were in a continual struggle against each other.”

Good vs. evil. This storyline was not invented by C.S. Lewis or J.R. Tolkein or George Lucas or J.K. Rowling. Human have been grapping with the problems of good vs. evil since the dawn of time and the Exodus narrative is just another powerful tale in a long line of stories that seek to make peace with the existence of both forces in our world.

King says that the story of the Red Sea crossing is a story that “symbolizes something basic about the universe. It symbolizes something much deeper than the drowning of a few men, for no one can rejoice at the death or the defeat of a human person. This story, at bottom, symbolizes the death of evil. It was the death of inhuman oppression and ungodly exploitation.

The death of the Egyptians upon the seashore is a glaring symbol of the ultimate doom of evil in its struggle with good. There is something in the very nature of the universe which is on the side of Israel in its struggle with every Egypt. There is something in the very nature of the universe which ultimately comes to the aid of goodness in its perennial struggle with evil.”

Sixty years after Dr. King first preached this sermon, we are still in need of stories that lift up the triumph of good over evil, are we not? Because evil is still a reality in our world.

My dear friend the Rev. Lynn James is an ordained UCC minister and a licensed mental health counselor in Indiana. Lynn works with trauma survivors and, in particular, works with a lot of survivors of horrible abuse. So Lynn has spent a lot of time pondering evil. I would venture to guess that she has held space for people to voice evils that are far too grotesque for most of us to even imagine.

When I checked my email on Tuesday I had an email from Lynn. She had been pondering theodicy and had collected some of her thoughts on the subject and sent them to me. Now, theodicy sounds like a really fancy high-falutin academic word, right? But, in reality, it’s something we all know intimately, even if we haven’t heard the word before. Theodicy is the struggle to understand how a good God can permit evil and suffering to take place. 

Lynn laid it out in very simple terms. She says, “Theodicy seeks to explain how these three assertions can coexist:”

1)    Evil and suffering exist

2)    God is all good

3)    God is all-powerful

It’s as simple as that. How can these three things all be true? If evil and suffering exist and God is all-powerful, then God is a sadist. If God is all-powerful and all good, then evil and suffering can’t exist. If evil and suffering exist and God is all good, then God surely doesn’t seem to be all-powerful, right?

Let’s cement these three things in our minds because we’re going to keep using them throughout the rest of the sermon. So…people over this way, you’re going to represent assertion #1: “Evil and suffering exist.” Say it with me, “Evil and suffering exist.” You folks over here, you’re going to be assertion #2: “God is all good.” Say it with me, “God is all good.” And dear ones back here in the choir, please represent #3, “God is all-powerful.” Here we go, “God is all-powerful.”

My friend Lynn says that when people try to harmonize these three things, what they most often seem to do is get rid of #1 (“Evil and suffering exist”).

Lynn notices people saying things like, “Everything happens for a reason.” So, you know, it may SEEM to be evil, but it’s actually GOOD masquerading as evil. Or, “Suffering teaches us what we need to learn,” so, again, not actually evil but let’s turn it around and make it into a positive. Sometimes we hear people say, “Your thoughts manifest your reality. If bad stuff happens to you, it’s because your negative thinking attracted those things,” a la The Secret. So horrible atrocities aren’t really evil, they’re more like negative things we bring upon ourselves. I can’t help but notice that when we shame those who stay in abusive relationships and blame them for the atrocities of their abuser, we’re doing some version of this, yes? “You brought this on yourself,” instead of, “This is evil. Let’s name it and stop it.”

All of these things are ways of denying that evil and suffering exist. Because if we can get rid of #1 (“Evil and suffering exist”) we are freed up to happily believe #2 (“God is all good.”) and #3 (“God is all-powerful.”)

But it’s awfully hard to look at the world around us and deny the existence of evil and suffering, is it not?

So now, of course, we have a problem. Because if #1 (“Evil and suffering exist”) is true then what are we supposed to do with #3 (“God is all-powerful.”)? If God is all-powerful, then God is causing or allowing evil and suffering to exist. And we are stuck with a sadistic God. This is where the Exodus story leaves us. All those dead Egyptians washed up on the shore. All of those plagues. All of those dead children, struck down because their parents didn’t know enough to paint the doorway with lamb’s blood. This is a powerful God. But this is not a kind God. If evil and suffering exist and God is all-powerful, it’s awfully hard to also say #2 (“God is all good.”)

Which brings us to #3 (“God is all-powerful.”) Can we talk about that one for a minute?

Because that’s where my friend Lynn has seen the most movement in her ponderings and I have to say it has been the same for me.  Lynn writes, “The notion of an ‘all-powerful’ God is what I have had to let go, to redefine.  I miss it.  I often find myself inadvertently believing it again, seeking comfort from it again and I smile because that too is human.”

Boy, am I right there with her. The notion of an all-powerful God is so firmly rooted in me that I often find myself coming back to it again and again. Because I grew up with stories like this one from Exodus. Because when I’m sheltering in a basement with the tornado sirens going off overhead, I find myself reflexively praying, “God keep me safe.” Because when a loved one gets the diagnosis, I want to scream out, “FIX THIS, GOD!”

I spent some time this past week on the 13^th anniversary of September 11 Googling for a video that I remembered from that day. I had a memory firmly planted in my head of a doctor who had gone down to the twin towers to help. While there, one of the towers collapsed and he sheltered behind a car, the camera still running. In my memory, he said, “Please don’t let me die. Please don’t let me die.” Or maybe it was, “Please let me live. Please let me live.” I was certain, though, that he was begging God for his life. I searched and searched with these phrases and couldn’t find it.

Finally, I just searched for “9/11 doctor behind car” and I found the video.[2] Dr. Mark Heath was his name. The video was mostly how I remembered it, with one key difference. As the building collapses and the debris comes rushing towards him, the video camera shakes and he says, “I hope I live. I hope I live.”

He was not begging God. He simply proclaimed his deepest hope. He hoped he would live.

He wasn’t asking an all-powerful God to control his destiny.

As I grapple with theodicy – the harmonizing these three assertions: #1 (“Evil and suffering exist.”), #2 (“God is all good.”) and #3 (“God is all-powerful.”) I really find myself convinced that God is not up there like some sweet old grandmother or angry, vengeful man in the sky, deciding who gets to live and who has to die. God is not up there punishing people. God is not allowing evil and suffering to occur. God can be good AND evil and suffering can exist….and all of these things can be mixed up in the midst of our wonderful, broken, joyous, brutal, beautiful world.

I think that’s a lot of what Jesus showed up through his living and dying, actually. This child who was brought into the world in a dusty, dirty stable. Young and inexperienced parents who were the talk of the town because they didn’t look like a Norman Rockwell painting. And yet this baby – like all babies – was so beautiful. So perfect. People came from miles away to gaze upon his face and worship.

And years later this same baby – all grown up now – died a gruesome death at the hands of some who were behaving in truly evil ways. But even in the midst of that suffering and pain, as his friends and family grew quiet and the world was hushed, the rocks cried out and the thunder rolled and the stars themselves sang….because even in the mist of that suffering, a newness was being born.

Because our God is always walking with us into Resurrection….even when it is very hard to see that reality through our tears.

Our God may not be all-powerful….at least in the ways we traditionally think of all-powerful. …big muscles, lightning bolts and all that. But our God is still awfully busy. Next week we are going to do some pondering about what it means to live in community with a God is active in the world. Stay tuned….

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[1] http://mlk-kpp01.stanford.edu/primarydocuments/Vol3/17-May-1956_DeathOfEvil.pdf

[2] You can watch the video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8mz09VQQ2M

"Ready to Move"

Exodus 12:1-14

Sunday, September 7, 2014

First Congregational United Church of Christ – Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

Preacher confession: despite agreeing with myself to follow the Exodus narrative through until it ends mid-October, I was very temped this week to give up and just go in a different direction because today’s passage is decidedly not fun. I think the Exodus narrative is a lot of things…gripping, full of drama, beautifully written, powerful, puzzling, complex, distasteful, horrendous….but rarely “fun.”

But I’m going to hang with it because these stories are our stories and we have to know them, share them, grapple with them together. So much of who we profess to be as people who follow Christ comes out of these stories. Those who encountered Jesus experienced him as a new Moses – a liberator, come to set the captives free. It’s no accident that when we gather around the table later today we commemorate the Passover meal – Jesus was a Jew, coming together with other Jews to do just what was instructed in today’s passage from Exodus – remember this event, the Passover, keep it as a festival for all generations, a perpetual ordinance.

So, first things first, I’ve just got to get some stuff out there in regards to the problems in this passage, as I see them. Because it feels like a giant elephant in the room. I don’t have solutions to these problems, but they need to at least be named.

Most obviously, this passage describes a God who is vengeful, blood-thirsty, a cold-blooded killer. True, true, God doesn’t kill the “good guys” so I guess we should take some comfort in that. But, truly, I have a very difficult time reconciling my experience of God with the murderous God described in this passage. I don’t believe God kills people. I don’t believe God has the power to do so and even if God did, I don’t think a loving God would exercise that power.

Last week we read the story of Moses’s calling – the burning bush and all that. In between that passage and this one, we have long, long chapters of plagues. Time and time again, Moses returns to Pharaoh and asserts that the people must be freed. Time and time again, Pharaoh says no. Time and time again, God sends a pestilence, presumably to try and scare Pharaoh into changing his mind. Towards the end, as the plagues get progressively worse, though, a new idea comes into play: God is the one hardening Pharaoh’s heart. God wants to show his almighty power and God is determined to punish the Egyptians.

It’s ugly. I don’t like it. I’m not sure what to do with it. Is that just me or are you feeling it, too?

The best I can come up with this is: I believe that the Bible is a collection of books written over a long period of time by people who were struggling to name the reality of God that they experienced in their lives. They heard stories from others. They added to them. They changed things. They kept the parts that rang true. Eventually, stories like this one were written down and canonized because they felt like a true description of God to many people.

Part of the problem with this story, and part of why the God described in it seems “off” to me and maybe to many of you is that it was written for a group of people who had an incredibly different lived experience than me, and probably most of you. Though I have certainly been through challenges in my life, though I have certainly had difficult times, nothing I have experienced thus far can even begin to compare to what it is like for people who are enslaved. To be completely stripped of your freedom, told that you are nobody, forced to work – hard, back-breaking labor – day after day….and for what? Not much. You don’t belong to yourself. You are no one. Nothing.

I’ve never experienced anything like that. In reality, my life certainly resembles the Egyptians much more closely than the Israelites.

So, the thing is, when people are enslaved – when people are oppressed to the point of being dehumanized – they become desperate. They long for freedom at any cost. And I can see why they would be driven to violence. I can see why they would long for a powerful God who was murderous, blood-thirsty, a God who avenges. I get it. And I’m not prepared to pass judgment on them for wanting their God to kill their enemies.

I just don’t identify with it much. And I think it’s problematic. After all, if we believe God is on our side and is willing to enact great violence on our enemies, what might that lead us to do? It’s a slippery slope, to say the least.

Since I can’t figure out how to fix the problem of an incredibly violent God and I don’t want to totally throw this foundational text out, what are our other options here? I have a tendency to want to go back to the passage and see what other things the story names as true about our God. Is there Good News yet to be found in this passage? One of our faith ancestors, the Rev. John Robinson, who came to this continent from England and helped found the Congregational Church said, “I am verily persuaded that the Lord hath more light and truth to break forth from His holy word.”[1]

Is there light and truth to be found yet in this passage?

The God of the Hebrews is present – immanent. This God is close by, never more than a breath away. The God described in the Exodus story is active. You’ve heard of helicopter parents? Well, this God could certainly win awards as helicopter parent of the year.

Their God is intimately involved in every aspect of their lives. I mean, these are some pretty detailed instructions about how exactly to enact the Passover miracle. This God has a plan for their salvation and is steadily working towards it, day after day. This God is tenacious – a force to be reckoned with. The Israelites lived in a time and place where Pharaoh was revered as a god….but this God is out to prove that Pharaoh was inconsequential compared to the one simply called “I am what I am.”

And this God chooses sides. This God is unafraid to name death-dealing systems of injustice for what they are: sin. This God is working tirelessly to move the people towards life in the face of great systems of death. This God – the one who created the sun, and the moon, and the stars, and the creepy crawly things, and the big roaming animals, and the fish and the birds and the tiny buggies and the great, glorious, beautiful, flawed humans – THIS God is still creating. THIS God is still moving towards life. THIS God is saying no, no, NO to the paths that lead to slavery, injustice. THIS God believe that humanity is created in the image of the divine and holds out hope that all of humanity can learn to walk in the ways of truth and justice and life. THIS is the God of second chances, resurrection, freedom, healing, wholeness.

And I can get on board with that. THAT feels like some light and truth breaking through in this violent and difficult passage.

The other thing I see happening in this passage is that God is asking, pleading, commanding the people to BE READY. Change is coming. This is a defining moment in the history of Israel. God is telling the people, “Pay attention. This is happening. You need to be ready to move.”

Anathea Portier-Young, Old Testament professor at Duke Divinity School, outlines the way the “repetitive, ritualistic” language of this passage situates firmly in time.[2] She says that in this passage, God is telling the people, “This time is for YOU.” God is telling people to pay attention to the time – for the time of freedom is finally at hand. The dawn is coming and the people must be ready to move quickly, with confidence, into the new day ahead.

God knows the systems of oppression that lie in the past. And God is calling the people to do something very hard – step out in faith and be willing to let go of their shared past together. Everyone is expected to participate – even the smallest families must gather with other families to share the task of letting go. No one can be left behind.

Portier-Young notices that the time of the slaughter of the lambs is as twilight – the time between, the transition between day and night. And, for Jews, twilight is also the beginning of a new day since the Jewish day begins at sundown. This is a time of ending and beginning. Will they be ready to go? Are they ready to pack up the unleavened bread that has not yet risen? Can they do the difficult work of eating the bitter herbs – remembering the painful life that they leave behind?

God asks – no TELLS – the people, “Get ready to move. Behold! I am about to do a new thing!”

And the people? They do it. They are ready to go. They are willing to follow this terrifying God into the wilderness.

Earlier this week, I read a hopeful, heartbreaking, brutally honest piece about the Black Lives Matter ride to Ferguson that happened last weekend.[3] Rutgers professor Britney Cooper wrote of her trip to Ferguson and how, while preparing for the trip, she talked with other organizers as they wondered aloud….is Ferguson a moment….or a movement? Social movements don’t happen overnight. They are a long time coming. Dr. King could not have stood in Washington D.C. and shared his dream with us if A. Phillip Randolph had not organized the first March on Washington 22 years earlier. The students who gathered at lunch counters in Greensboro in 1960 would not have done so if other activists hadn’t begun using the same tactics back in the 1940s. Rosa Parks never would have stayed seated on that bus in 1955 if Irene Morgan hadn’t done the same thing back in 1946. 

Professor Cooper believes we are in the midst of a movement here. Not just a moment. Rodney King. Amadou Diallo. The Jena 6. Trayvon Martin. Renisha McBride. Michael Brown.

Which makes me wonder about those Egyptians. I can’t help but wonder did they notice they were in the midst of a movement, not just a moment? What might have happened if some of the Egyptians had realized that they were a part of an unjust system that led only towards death, not life? What might have come to be if the Egyptians had been ready to move? What if some of them had also stepped out in faith, turned their back on the horrific practices of their homeland, and journeyed into the wilderness?

Because, friends, I mentioned earlier that I feel a lot more like an Egyptian than an Israelite most days. And I also know that when given the choice between Pharaoh and the God of the Israelites, I want to choose the God of the Israelites every single time.

May God grant us the strength, the wisdom, the bravery to be ready to move.

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[1] http://www.ucc.org/vitality/what-matters/we-listen-for-a.html

[2] http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2178

[3] http://www.salon.com/2014/09/03/“i_am_not_afraid_to_die”_why_america_will_never_be_the_same_post_ferguson/