On being neighbors

I learned earlier this afternoon of the vandalism to the property of our neighbors at Anshe Emet Synagogue.  Horrible, awful things were spray painted on their walls and I won't re-post them here.  

We are moving quickly towards Jerusalem, to Holy Week, that most sacred and holy time of the Christian Year. The sad truth is that historically this time of year is a time when Christians have persecuted our Jewish brothers and sisters, using our Sacred Story as support of that persecution. In particular, the Gospel of John, has been used to support or as rational for lashing out against Jews. I've often included in Holy Week bulletins reminders about the context of such verbiage. This is one from an older bulletin:

“The Jews” in the gospel text are to be understood as Judean leaders hostile to the Johannine community. They are not to be interpreted as members of the Jewish faith or race throughout history. Many, including church officials, have promoted and justified anti-Semitism using a literal interpretation of these texts. They have erred profoundly. As Christians, we share a common faith heritage with the Jews.  Indeed, Jesus was a Jew.

A simple text, I know, but I think an especially important reminder as we move into Holy Week. Now more than ever we must boldly and clearly claim our Sacred Story, our Scripture as one that teaches of a God who moves to earth to love us all, to take on our skin, to move with us, as one of us, to stop the violence that we human beings are so damn good at. May we be a people who promote peace with our words, our actions and our lives. May we be a people who proclaim the profound love of a dying and rising God, who stops at nothing to welcome all into God's saving embrace. And may we never, ever use our faith as a weapon. 

Heartbreak

But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the LORD:I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.--From the 31st chapter of Jeremiah

I'm mucking around with the idea of the heart and heartbreak, what it means to have our hearts break. The image is usually one we associate with romantic love--getting our hearts broken with a painful break up. Who hasn't known that pain? And I think of the horrific story of Trayvon Martin, one of far too many children gunned down in the violence that comes from humanity's brokenness. Reading the story of the murder of Trayvon Martin is, at least for me, heartbreak. Heartbreak over the loss of a child, heartbreak over the racism that still permeates our culture, heartbreak over a system that would look the other way,  heartbreak that is filled with both sorrow and anger (is there really any breaking of our hearts that doesn't have both?).

One of my peers told me the other of an old teaching that said God breaks open our hearts so that God's covenant can be poured into them. I love this image. To have God's love, so heavy and so full, etched onto us, flowing into our hearts--it is almost too much to bear.

Mary Oliver's poem Lead is also running around in my head. This is the last part of it:
I tell you this
to break your heart,
by which I mean only
that it break open and never close again
to the rest of the world.

In this season of heart-break, may we be aware of the Love that is so heavy it is almost too much to bear, Love that breaks us and Love that breaks for us.

I'm late, I'm late for a very important date!

I'm late in posting for last week. My apologies! Last week was a full, wonderful, long and holy week. So apologies for not getting this posted sooner.

I mentioned this in my sermon, but I've been focused (bordering on obsessed) on the idea of covenant. You can't step into the Scriptures appointed for Lent and not be. The Hebrew Scripture or Old Testament is filled with some of the most prophetic and vivid images of God and humanity wrestling with what it means to be in covenant relationship with each other. Covenant, as understood in the Biblical context is something deeper than just a written contract--it involves God and promise and humanity. And then Jesus comes along and takes it to the next level, the deeper level, himself becoming the new covenant. Covenant isn't something to enter lightly and it's not something you just leave.

Yet we live in a time and age when it's easy to walk away from each other. Marriage is as disposable as our paper cups. Heck, even Baptism some times feels like something that you can just abandon. How often do we baptize a child and then never seem them or their parents again? Of course, the promise with Baptism is that even when we walk away, God does not as we are marked as Christ's own forever (and there ain't nothing you can do about that).

How do we, in 2012, understand covenant as it is presented to us in Scripture? How do we understand God's promises, God's covenants with us in this day and age? What does it mean in this time to enter a covenant relationship, such as Baptism, or Holy Union or Marriage and make promises in the name of God, to enter a covenant relationship? The comment section is open!

I Got A Name

God said to him, "As for me, this is my covenant with you: You shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations. No longer shall your name be Abram, but your name shall be Abraham; for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations. I will make you exceedingly fruitful; and I will make nations of you, and kings shall come from you. ...As for Sarah your wife, you shall not call her Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name." Genesis 17

What does it mean to have a name? To be named? My mother tells me that I was either going to be Laura, Molly or Sarah. And when I made my grand entrance onto this earth, it was abundantly clear I was a Sarah. I don't know how she and my father knew--it just seemed the right name.

God changes the names of Sarai and Abram, giving them new names, Sarah and Abraham, to mark their new relationship, the covenant that they have with God and the promise that they will become the parents of a multitude of nations. The gift of our names may not come with the promise that we will become the parents of multitudes of nations, but they do come with hope and promise. Parents name their children and with it the promise of care, of nurture. As we baptize, we say "____(name), I baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." Naming is the first part of the water-bath of baptism. Monks and nuns sometimes take a new name when they enter the order. There are other naming traditions as well--any that come to mind for you?

What is the story of your name? Is your name an important part of your identity? For you parents out there, how did you decide on the name you chose for your child?

Wade in the Water

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." (From the first chapter of the Gospel of Mark)

We heard much of this reading just a few weeks ago at the Baptism of Christ. And here, less than 2 months later, we have it again. The authors of our lectionary point us to baptism, which is always a good thing. It's got me wondering about what baptism means in our lives today. What does it mean to be "buried with Christ in his death...[and to] share in his resurrection**"?

I don't remember my baptism, but I sometimes think of it when I meet Ed, my favorite pan handler. I struggle with what it means to live into Jesus' call to care for the poor and my own conflicting ideas about handing out cash on the street. I think about it when I watch the news and feel the simultaneous ache and callousness of my heart at the daily reportings of gun violence that lead to far too many deaths of children on the streets of Chicago. I think about it when I wonder how the conflict in the land I so love, Israel/Palestine, will ever come to a peaceful end. What does my baptism mean in these contexts? What am I called to do? How do I trust God, how do I trust the waters of baptism in the midst of conflict and struggle?

So my question, dear friends, this day is about baptism. What does your baptism mean to you? How do you (or do you) live out your baptism every day? And what, if anything, do you remember of your baptism?


**Book of Common Prayer p. 306

What should I give up for Lent?

One of my dearest friends, quite a foodie, pulled me aside last week and said: "I want to give up alcohol for Lent, but I'm going to Charlie Trotters and want a wine flight with my meal. I mean, it's a once in a lifetime experience. Is that okay?" It's that time of year. We ponder which Lenten discipline seems best for us. The question has been a buzz on Facebook this week--what should I give up for Lent? One friend posted: "Contemplating giving up Coke Zero for Lent. (That translates into my entire caffeine and carbonated beverage intake as well.) Discuss..." My favorite of the responses she received was this: "Will it make you a more loving person?"

Over the years I've given things up and taken things on. In recent years, many folks I know have given up Facebook for Lent, given up swearing, added in exercise, given up meat. Giving up chocolate and alcohol seem to also be common and profound choices. Every year I toy with giving up coffee, but I truly think it would make me so unpleasant to be around that you would all insist on my taking it back up. I'm clear it would NOT make me a more loving person.

On Ash Wednesday we are invited to mark a holy Lent by observing "a season of penitence and fasting"*. Giving something up or denying ourselves of something we love for the season of Lent is one way to do that. Far more than "dieting for Jesus,"**Lenten denials invite us to be present to the things we take for granted--the ease with which we reach for food or coffee or soda, the mindlessness that can draw us away from God and each other as we find ourselves overly attached to our computers and phones, and to ponder what is for which we truly hunger and thirst. 

As we enter this holy season, I hope that you will find a discipline that will lead not so much to feeling trapped or deprived, as welcoming a new holy habit, and creating space to hear where God is calling and leading--things which may well be born from the space of denial and fasting. Will the Lenten discipline you choose make you a more loving person? Will it help you recognize the face of Jesus in those you meet on the street corners and in the grocery store? And finally, what, if anything, are you giving up for Lent? The comment section is open and would love to hear from you!



*Book of Common Prayer, p. 264-265
**Sarah being snarky

A Lenten Experiment

Welcome to From Broadway and Belmont--The Blog. This hope for this space is to have a place for reflection. For the season of Lent, I will be posting a weekly reflection. These may be based on the lectionary (the Scripture read on Sundays in Church), or may just be Lenten reflections. They will be brief and in no way a polished essay or sermon, but rather, some thoughts and questions for you and me to nibble on throughout the week as we prepare for Sunday.

You'll also notice a header called "Book Study." For Lent, I'm going to read The Rev. Dr. Lauren Winner's book Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis.  I invite you to read it with me. Each day I'll post some questions for reflection and thought. We'll try our hand at a "cyber-book study" by chatting with each other in the comments section.

Peace & all good,
Sarah+