Saturday, March 9, 2024

4th Sunday in Lent Year B

The Rev. Melanie Dickson Lemburg The 4th Sunday in Lent-Year B March 10, 2024 Two of our readings for today are full of both dichotomies and paradoxes that invite us to wrestle with our lives and our faith in different ways than we might normally engage. In the Old Testament reading, we see the Children of Israel wandering in the wilderness and they are, once again, complaining. But their complaints are paradoxical: “why have you brought us out here in the wilderness? There’s no food out here!” And in the next breath: “we detest this miserable food that you keep giving us!” They make a critical error in complaining against God (up until this point, they’ve just complained against Moses), so God sends venomous snakes into their camp which bite the people and the people begin to die. They plead to Moses and God to save them, and God instructs Moses to make a bronze serpent and put it up on pole, and when the people look upon it, then they will live (and be healed?). The very thing that has wounded them has become the source of their salvation. In John’s gospel, we are plopped down in the middle of a scene that deserves some context. It’s the middle of the night, and a leader in the Jewish synagogue named Nicodemus has come to visit Jesus under the cover of darkness. Nicodemus is curious about Jesus and he has some questions for him, and the two get into a discussion. In their conversation, Jesus talks about being born anew or being born from above (which is a paradox), and Nicodemus leans into the dichotomy of how can you be born anew when you are already born and living? Jesus goes on to talk about darkness and light, intimating that light is preferred over darkness. (And yet, we note that Nicodemus only feels like he can come to Jesus under cover of darkness, so without darkness, their conversation probably wouldn’t be happening.) And then Jesus likens his coming death on the cross to when Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness—a story that Nicodemus would have been very familiar with. So what are we supposed to do with all this? How does it even make any sense to us or how can it be relevant for our lives and our faith? For most of us, it is our nature to try to make sense of the world by creating dichotomies, and we live in a world that encourages this: right versus wrong; good versus evil; light versus darkness: healthy versus sick; well versus wounded. (Dare I say it in this election year? Republican versus Democrat) When really so much of our lives and especially our growth is found in the in-between places, or in the gray areas. These in-between/gray areas are often places of wisdom, nuance, and understanding. Just think about all the things that can grow and thrive in the dark: seeds, roots, babies in the womb, intimacy. Think about the ways that modern medicine must often wound people further as a part of their healing: surgery, chemotherapy. Think about what it means to be empathic—how we can lean into the sorrows of another, sharing those burdens, and it can help someone be healed. In a world where we are encouraged to dichotomize and polarize, Jesus raises up the image of the bronze serpent on a pole and he points out how rather than polarizing, it becomes a reconciling, both/and experience—the serpent is both the distributor of a lethal snake bite and an instrument of healing. Jesus cross—a symbol of humiliation and torture and an instrument of death—becomes the tree of life upon which hangs the salvation of the world. Your questions for this week: think about a time in your life when you were both right and wrong at the same time? (Or when you needed both darkness and light? Or when something that wounded you also helped heal you?) What did that teach you about living in an in-between space? What occurrence in your life or in your faith now is inviting you to stop seeing it as a dichotomy and is inviting you into living in the gifts that can be found in the gray areas, in the both/and?

Thursday, February 22, 2024

The Second Sunday in Lent-Year B

The Rev Melanie Dickson Lemburg 2nd Sunday in Lent-Year B February 25, 2024 Last fall, I was driving down Highway 17 in South Carolina, and I saw a figure approaching in the distance along the shoulder of the road. I watched as it approached, and my eyes began to discern what I was seeing. It was youngish man, probably in his twenties; he was dressed casually, but nicely—in blue jeans and a ball cap. And he was carrying something slung over his shoulder. As we grew closer still, I discovered that he was holding a wooden cross, with one of the arms draped casually over the front of his shoulder, and as he approached, I noticed that the cross seemed to somehow be bumping merrily along behind him. Still trying to make sense of what I was seeing, I glanced over as I passed him to discover that the wooden cross that he was so intentionally carrying while walking down the shoulder of Highway 17 was attached to a wheel. (Hunh!) Our gospel reading for today from Mark’s gospel gives us Jesus’s first out of three predictions of his death and suffering. This is happening in the center of Mark’s gospel and is immediately followed by the Transfiguration (which we read two Sundays ago), and we talked about how the disciples in that moment are invited to go from being spectators to being witnesses. But today’s reading sets the tone for the rest of Mark’s gospel, which focuses on the question “What does it mean to be a faithful disciple of Jesus?” and continues to show, over and over again, how Jesus’s disciples fail to understand what Jesus’s mission and ministry is all about. In our reading for today, Jesus predicts his suffering and death on the cross; Peter, who has just had a beautiful shining moment when he actually gets it right and has named Jesus as the Messiah, takes Jesus aside and rebukes him, and Jesus, in turn rebukes Peter, telling him that he is trying to distract him from his mission. Then he calls together his disciples and the crowd who is following along with them and says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” Now, before I really delve into this passage, let me take a minute to identify some of the pitfalls. (Another writer suggests that this passage is rife with possibility to be problematic, likening its treatment to how one picks up a snake. There are lots of ways a person can pick up a snake and it can go horribly wrong, but really only one right way.) So let me say very clearly that I do not believe that Jesus (or God, or the Holy Spirit) wants us to suffer or willingly inflicts suffering on us. We also have to be mindful of all the ways that this particular passage has been used to oppress people—specifically women and people of color— whom the system has been stacked against and this passage is quoted to basically tell them to suck it up and deal with their suffering as a way of following Jesus. So what is Jesus actually saying? What is happening here? Listen to what Contemplative writer Joyce Rupp writes about Jesus’ difficult teaching for followers to “take up their cross and follow him”: “What did the crowd following Jesus think when he made that tough statement? Did they wonder what carrying the cross meant? Did they have second thoughts about accompanying him? Jesus wanted his followers to know that the journey they would make involved knowing and enlivening the teachings he advocated. In other words, Jesus was cautioning them, ‘If you decide to give yourselves to what truly counts in this life, it will cost you. You will feel these teachings to be burdensome at times, like the weight of a cross.’ She continues, “We can’t just sit on the roadside of life and call ourselves followers of Jesus. We are to do more than esteem him for his generous love and dedicated service. We do not hear Jesus grumbling about the challenges and demands of this way of life. We do not see him ‘talking a good talk’ but doing nothing about it. He describes his vision and then encourages others to join him in moving those teachings into action.” i “If you decide to give yourself to what counts in this life, it will cost you.” We know this, right? Suffering is, strangely enough, an essential part of humanity, of loving engagement—with others and with life itself. And yet, so often we want to have our cake and eat it, too. We want to be followers of Jesus, but we want to be comfortable. We want to be good people, with meaningful relationships, but we don’t want to suffer. We want to be able to witness to Jesus by walking down Highway 17 carrying a big wooden cross, but we don’t want to strain our muscles, or for it to rub too much on our shoulder, so we slap a wheel on the bottom of it, and voila! No more suffering! How many times do I try to slap a wheel on the cross that Jesus has invited me to carry as a part of what it means for me to grow deeper in my discipleship? What do I lose when I do that? What is lost in my community of faith when I do that? Your invitation this week is to think about one recent way that you may have tried to slap a wheel on the cross that Jesus has invited you to carry as a part of your discipleship. Or here’s how another writer puts it: “How have you actively avoided suffering, rejection, or unpleasantness this week? [Maybe it is as simple as not telling someone the truth?] Was there a cost to you, to loved ones, or to your community in doing so? How might facing suffering directly, even just naming what is happening…open you to greater fullness this week?” ii And just for fun, here’s a poem I wrote about my encounter on Hwy 17. Wooden Cross on a Wheel Melanie Dickson Lemburg I saw his silhouette in the distance on the shoulder of 17 and I could not make sense of it. Eventually emerged a man in his prime blue-jeaned and ball-capped with a wooden cross slung over his shoulder bouncing merrily along behind him. As I passed I discovered the wooden cross was on a wheel. Why carry when you can roll? Is such work pleasing to God? Well, it certainly makes a statement. (Even Jesus had a little help carrying his cross.) Carrying crosses is cumbersome bulky and bumping with no place to rest it unless there’s a convenient corner handy to prop. Jesus never said to take up his cross. I am to take up my own cross embracing suffering and that which slowly kills me and in the awkward struggle God reveals salvation. i.Quoted in Richard Rohr's Daily Meditations From the Center for Action and Contemplation for Thursday, February 22, 2024. Original citation is Joyce Rupp. Jesus, Guide of My Life: Reflections for the Lenten Journey. Notre Dame, IN: Ave Maria Press, 2023, 20–21. ii. These questions come from Everyday Connections: Reflections and Practices for Year B edited by Heidi Haverkamp. WJK: Louisville, KY, 2023, p312.

Wednesday, February 14, 2024

Ash Wednesday

The Rev Melanie Dickson Lemburg Ash Wednesday 2024 (7 and 11:30am) February 14, 2024 It’s always a little weird when Ash Wednesday falls on Valentine’s Day. It’s like the secular world and the church world collide in a way that seems starkly incongruous. But this year, I decided to lean into the connection to see where it would take me. And where it took me was, unsurprisingly, to consideration of the heart. Every year on Ash Wednesday, we recite or sing Psalm 51 either during the imposition of ashes or just after, and in that Psalm we ask God to “Create in me, a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” It has been an interesting exercise this year for me to think about this day, Ash Wednesday, and all of Lent in light of this request I am making of God. What does it mean for my heart to be created clean? What does it look like for God to renew a right spirit within me? There’s a camp song that our daughter learned when she was little that is set to this verse from Psalm 51. She went through a phase where she wanted my husband to sing it to her every night before bedtime. It goes Create in me, a clean heart O, God, that I might be renewed. Create in me, a clean heart O, God, that I might be renewed. So fill me. Heal me. And bring me back to you. Create in me, a clean heart O, God, that I might be renewed. What are the ways that you need God to create a clean heart in you during this Lenten season? What does it look like for God to renew a right spirit within you? (Or even to renew you?) Create in me, a clean heart O, God, that I might be renewed. What are you longing to change? What is the deepest desire of your heart that needs tending to? Create in me, a clean heart O, God, that I might be renewed. Lent is a season in which we fast from practices that break our hearts or break the hearts of others, fasting from practices that distract us and draw us away from the heart of God. So fill me. Heal me. And bring me back to you. And when we create space in our fasting then we can embrace practices that are more life-giving, practices that can restore our hearts with God’s help and gracious presence. Create in me, a clean heart O, God, that I might be renewed. This requires truth telling and radical self-honesty, which is part of the work that we begin this day. And this work can be supported by Lenten practices or disciplines. I’ve started reading a new book as a part of my Lenten practice that looks at fasting and embracing in a new light. The book is titled A Different Kind of Fast: Feeding our True Hunger by Christine Valters Paintner. And in this book, the author invites us to get in touch with our true hunger that we so often try to feed or placate with heart-breaking practices, practices that draw us away from the heart of God and from our own truest hearts. She has written a Lenten retreat to encourage us to consider fasting from these practices and in the space opened by that fast, embracing more life-giving practices over the different weeks of Lent. Listen to her invitation: 1. “Fast from multi-tasking and the destructive energy of inattentiveness… Embrace the practice of beholding each thing, person, moment, as you respond to that hunger for presence.” 2. “Fast from anxiety and endless torrent of thoughts that rise up in your mind, thoughts that paralyze you with fear of the future. [Embrace] the radical trust at the heart of things and listen to the hunger for contentment in the moment.” 3. Fast from “speed and rushing through your life.” Embrace “the grace shimmering right here in… holy pause[s].” 4. “Fast from being strong and always trying to hold it together, and instead embrace the profound grace that comes through your vulnerability and tenderness…exploring [your] hunger for the ability to reveal [y]our wounded places and have them seen and loved by another.” 5. “Fast from endless list-making and too many deadlines and enter into the quiet as you listen for what is ripening and unfolding, what is ready to be born.” 6. “Fast from certainty and attempting to control the outcome of things so that you might grow in trust in the great mystery of life.” Embrace the beauty of the unknown and be nourished by new possibilities we would have never dreamed. i It's certainly a different kind of fast than we usually take up, isn’t it? But just maybe, on this Ash Wednesday that is also Valentine’s Day, we need to give some attention in the coming season to all the ways that we break our own hearts, and how God is longing to restore and renew them for us. Create in me, a clean heart O, God, that I might be renewed. Create in me, a clean heart O, God, that I might be renewed. So fill me. Heal me. And bring me back to you. Create in me, a clean heart O, God, that I might be renewed. i. Paintner, Christine Valters. A Different Kind of Fast: Feeding our True Hungers in Lent. Broadleaf: Minneapolis, 2024, pp 29-31 in kindle edition.

Saturday, February 10, 2024

Last Sunday after Epiphany Year B

The Rev Melanie D. Lemburg Last Sunday after the Epiphany-Year B February 11, 2024 I have a new song that I’m quasi-obsessed with. It’s my new hype song; I listen to it when I’m driving in the car often on repeat because it makes me happy. It wasn’t a song I had planned to preach on until I woke up with it going through my head on Monday morning. The song is titled Shambala and it’s performed by Three Dog Night. Do y’all know this song? It was released in 1973 and the song is about the mythical kingdom of Shambala which is referred to in Tibetan Buddhism, and it is speculated that the song to this mythical place is actually about the spiritual path or journey. It starts: “Wash away my troubles Wash away my pain With the rain in Shambala Wash away my sorrow Wash away my shame With the rain in Shambala Ah ooh yeah Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah Ah ooh yeah Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah” The narrator goes on to sing about the people he encounters on the road to Shambala—people who are helpful, kind, lucky, and so kind-on the road to Shambala- and then launches into the rousing chorus: “How does your light shine In the halls of Shambala? How does your light shine In the halls of Shambala?” Today is the last Sunday after the Epiphany, the season in the church when we most focus on light—the light shining in the darkness, the ways that God is manifest in this world in the person of Jesus, the ways that God continues to be manifest in this world through the power of the Holy Spirit shining in our lives, weaving people and experiences together. So this question of how does your light shine is an especially appropriate one for us as we close out this season. But I think we can be a bit more specific in looking at how our light shines considering two of our readings for today—the Old Testament and the gospel. In the Old Testament, we see two of the greatest prophets of Israel-Elijah and Elisha; Elijah has served as a mentor to Elisha and Elijah is preparing to complete his time on earth and be taken up to heaven. There’s this strange group of spectator prophets who seem to be trailing after them wanting to see what will happen and kind of heckling Elisha, who just keeps telling them to essentially “shut up!” And in the gospel reading for today-the story of Jesus’s Transfiguration—we have Jesus’s closest disciples on top of the mountain with him when he becomes transfigured, and a voice from heaven proclaims: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Another writer says of this gospel account: “The disciples witness the deeds of Jesus, but fail to grasp the core of his character and mission. This is all the more striking, considering that the divine voice, heard in the transfiguration account, commands them to listen to Jesus (9:7). Narratively speaking this imperative suggests more than practices of passive listening. Here, the voice demands that the very disposition of Jesus’s closest followers evolve from spectators to witnesses.” We see this differentiation between witnesses and spectators at work in the Old Testament story as well. The spectators are the gaggle of prophets who are following along to see what’s going to happen to Elijah. But it is Elisha who insists on accompanying Elijah to the very end, and who receives a double portion of Elijah’s spirit as he is able to watch Elijah being taken up to heaven on chariots of fire with horses of fire in a whirlwind. And it is, thus, Elisha who becomes the witness and the next great prophet of Israel. So, what do you think is the difference between a spectator and a witness? Our Wednesday congregation weighed in on this question this week: for them a spectator indicates a certain amount of distance between the watcher and the event. But a witness implies connection, an experiential piece that changes the watcher making them become a part of the ongoing story; someone observed that witness is both a noun and a verb; and being a witness can sometimes mean standing up for what you believe is true or what truly happened. Think about how the disciples change from spectators to witnesses between the transfiguration and after Jesus’s resurrection (well into the Acts of the Apostles). Do you think the transformation from spectator to witness is a sudden development or more of a slow growth in the life of faith? How are you being called in your own life to grow from spectator or passive listener to witness to the manifestation of God through the Holy Spirit in your life or in the world around you? Or to quote my friends Three Dog Night: “How does your light shine in the halls of Shambala?” i. https://genius.com/Three-dog-night-shambala-lyrics ii. Smith, Shively T.J. As represented in Everyday Connections: Reflections and Practices for Year B. Ed Heidi Haverkamp. WJK: Louisville, 2023.

Sunday, January 28, 2024

4th Sunday after Epiphany Year B

The Rev. Melanie Dickson Lemburg The 4th Sunday after the Epiphany-Year B January 28, 2024 A few weeks ago, I was at Honey Creek (our diocesan camp and conference center) for a meeting; it was dinnertime, and I was a little late joining the group. I fixed my plate at the buffet and was walking across the dining room to a table when I WENT DOWN! Thankfully, I suffered no real injury beyond the significant bruises to my rear end (which I landed on) and of course, my pride. As two kind friends rushed over to help scoop me and my spilled plate up off the floor and try to restore me to rights, I bewilderedly looked at the foot that had betrayed me to discover off the side the instrument of my literal downfall: a single, rogue, green bean that had been dropped onto the dining room floor by someone who had come before me. (You’ll be relieved to note that I checked my initial impulse to hold a full inquiry and was able to let the matter go.) The apostle Paul writes about this in our passage from 1st Corinthians today. Paul is writing to the young church in Corinth which is a church in conflict. We only get glimpses of what’s going on there in Paul’s admonitions to them on how to get along together as one should in Christian community. In today’s passage, we see Paul reflecting on the relationship between individual freedom and responsibility to others for a community’s overall health instigated by the question of whether or not it is ok for Christians to eat meat that has been offered to idols.i Paul says, sure, it’s ok to do this, but he offers one of the strongest admonitions in the New Testament (in the Greek word blepete)- a word of strong warning, or caution that is translated “take care.” Sure, it’s ok, he says, “but take care that this liberty of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block” to someone else. You could also say, “Pay attention that you don’t drop a green bean off your plate and cause someone else to fall.” (Ok, so maybe I’m not as over it as I say.) It’s actually pretty intense, if you think about it. Our lives are made up of webs and webs of connections—with family, friends, acquaintances, fellow church members, strangers. How many times a day do we inadvertently do something (or not do something) that becomes a stumbling block for someone else? Probably so much more than we ever realize. In fact, I bet I’ve left a scattered trail of green beans throughout my life for people to slip on! And while Paul says, yes, technically I do have the individual liberty to leave my green beans wherever I want, as a follower of Jesus, I should take care, take care of other people, take care that my action or inaction doesn’t cause anyone else to stumble or fall. So what do we, as Christians, do about this? How then should we live? First, we have to pay attention to when we drop green beans. We can’t just go through life oblivious to how our action or inaction may cause damage to others. We have to pay attention to what aspects of our personalities, what aspects of our behaviors can become stumbling blocks (and have become stumbling blocks) for the people around us in any given web of relationships. For me, this means bringing more thoughtfulness to ordinary encounters, and it also means paying attention to the ways I have tripped people up in the past; asking for forgiveness; and trying to change my behavior. One of my gifts is that I can see potential—in people, in situations—and one of the challenges of that is that I can be relentless and demanding in pursuit of the achievement of that potential, to the detriment of relationships. A friend of mine shared that her stumbling block is her certitude—that she believes that she is always right and it brings with it a certain degree of inflexibility to other peoples’ ideas. Our Wednesday healing service congregation shared a couple of their stumbling blocks, too. One said that her perfectionism can be an impediment to her most important relationships, and another said that her time frame for things doesn’t always line up with others’ expectations, and this can be responsible for dropped green beans lying around. Once we recognize that we all inadvertently drop green beans from time to time, and are therefore in need of forgiveness, then it reminds us that others who drop green beans that trip us up are worthy of our forgiveness, too. I wonder what in your actions or inactions have you seen to be the cause of other people’s stumbling? What do you need to pay attention to in order to better take care of the people around you? The other challenge in this passage today for us is that it isn’t just about individual behavior; it’s also about communal behavior. How are we, as a church, dropping green beans for other people to slip on and not even noticing? What are the areas that we need to pay attention to that can be or already have become stumbling blocks for people in our midst or others seeking God in this community? One of the gifts of this place is long-established relationships, ties of kinship, and long-held friendships. One of the stumbling blocks in that is we often don’t pay attention to the stranger in our midst, the people outside our circle who are seeking belonging in this community, because we are so busy talking with our friends. How might we open up pathways of belonging in some of those old, cherished, long-standing relationships and create new space for others? I think it’s going to take all of us being intentional about this and maybe even putting some new practices in place. Your invitation this week is to think about all this on both individual and communal levels. How might your behavior (or lack thereof) become a stumbling block to others you encounter? Or what have you experienced around this in the past that you need to pay attention to? How are you being called to “take care” that you don’t cause someone else to fall? And how are we being called to pay attention to this as a church and to continue to be transformed as a community of faith? i. Feasting on the Word. Exegetical Perspective; WJK: p 303

Thursday, January 11, 2024

2nd Sunday after Epiphany Year B

The Rev. Melanie Lemburg The 2nd Sunday after the Epiphany-Year B January 14, 2024 Last weekend, I gathered at Honey Creek with the Diocese of Georgia’s Commission on Ministry, which is a committee required by The Episcopal Church canons whose purpose is to advise the Bishop of each diocese in matters pertaining to ministry. Last weekend, we were meeting with people who were discerning a call to ordained ministry—both the priesthood and the diaconate. I told my colleagues when we gathered that I love doing this sort of work for the same reason that I love doing pre-marital counseling: they both help me remember my first love. It is enlivening for me to work with a group of other faithful lay and clergy to try to listen to how the Holy Spirit is acting in lives of individuals and in the greater church. Our work is essentially trying to listen for God’s call among us. So I’ve been especially struck this week in our readings by the story of Eli and Samuel. Eli is an interesting character to me. He’s a priest, but it’s not clear if he is an especially good or effective priest. In fact, throughout Eli’s story in the first part of 1 Samuel, he gets more things wrong than he does right. The book opens with an exchange between Hannah, Samuel’s mother, and Eli when she comes to pray at Shiloh where Eli is in service. She is distraught and in her prayers, she begs God for a son, praying with her lips moving but no words coming out. In watching her, Eli determines that she must be drunk, so he confronts her and chastises her. When she stands up to him, he offers her God’s blessing, and not long afterward, she has Samuel, who she dedicates to the service of God. We also learn that Eli’s sons, who are also priests, are scoundrels. They send their servants to take the best meat from what has been sacrifice to God, and thus they hold God (and the people worshipping God) in contempt. Eli gets a warning that his sons are invoking the wrath of God with their behavior, but he seems unwilling or unable to curtail their behavior. After our reading for today, as events in the life of Israel unfold, Israel goes to war with the Philistines. The Philistines kill a great number of Israelites, including both of Eli’s sons, and they steal the Ark of Covenant which holds the stone tablets containing the 10 Commandments and is Israel’s most prized relic at this time. When Eli receives the news that both his sons have been killed and the ark has been stolen, he falls over and breaks his neck and dies. But our story for today, gives us a glimpse of a single shining moment in Eli’s ministry. Samuel is young--tradition tells us probably around 12--and while he has spent his entire life in the service of the Lord, he doesn’t know the Lord. The Lord calls to Samuel, and he thinks it’s Eli, so he goes to see what the old man wants from him. Eli sends him back to bed with both a patience and a gentleness that he did not exhibit with Samuel’s mother Hannah. After three different times of this, Eli finally realizes what is going on, and he teaches Samuel how to respond to the Lord saying, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” Samuel does as Eli instructs, and the Lord tells Samuel that God is about to punish Eli for the sins of his sons. In the morning, Eli presses Samuel to share what God has revealed to him, and he receives the news courageously with a fair amount of equanimity, not offering any anger toward Samuel as messenger. And here’s a spoiler alert: Samuel goes on to become a great prophet in the history of Israel, an important figure in the establishment of the monarchy, featuring in both King Saul and King David’s stories. But even Samuel has to learn how to hear God’s call in his life, and it was the fallible priest Eli who taught him. Well, that’s all great, Melanie, but what does that have to do with me or with us, today? The reason why we do the work of discernment for ordained life as a committee in the diocese is because much of the time, we need community to understand who we truly are, who God is calling us to be. Eli’s story is heartening to me because it shows that we as individuals don’t have to be good or effective in order to help people learn a little bit more about who God has created them to be, and this is the call of what it means to be together in community. We are called to hold up a mirror for each other at times when we see the giftedness of the other, or when we can discern how God may be acting in that person’s life. It’s a task that requires humility, gentleness, a willingness to listen, and great courage to risk ourselves in this endeavor. But each of us is called to do this work for each other, both inside the church and beyond. You know, I’m not sure if I would be a priest, if my mother hadn’t named something that I was already wrestling with inside, giving me a sort of blessing to begin seriously considering it. And this is not a task that is limited to ordained vocations. So this is especially important work that we can offer to the younger people among us. But we have to take the time to listen, to be curious, and to be compassionate about the things that they are passionate about. To do this truly effectively, we have to be open to perspectives different than our own, and we have to be able to reimagine the contours of our own youth alongside the benefits of wisdom and age. This is also work that we are called to both as individuals and also as a whole church. Your invitation this week is to think of a time when someone noticed something in you and named it for you in a way that helped you understand yourself different? This week, be open to looking and listening to ways God might be inviting you to share something that you see (in kindness, gentleness, humility, and courage) about someone you encounter.

Sunday, December 24, 2023

The Eve of Christ's Nativity-2023

Christmas Eve 2023 The Rev Melanie Dickson Lemburg December 24, 2023 Many of you know that it is not uncommon for me to get a particular song stuck in my head. I’m a big believer in how the Holy Spirit uses that to get my attention and as an invitation to delve deeper into what might be unfolding in my soul in a particular season. If you’ve been here before for Christmas Eve, chances are, you’ve heard me talk about this. One year it was Dona nobis pacem (God, give us peace) which was lodged firmly in my soul. Another year it was two particular lines from O Holy Night: “a thrill of hope/ the weary world rejoices”. Last year, it was a different line from O Holy Night…. You get the picture. This year, the Holy Spirit has shaken it up a bit, because my obsession hasn’t been limited to one song; instead, I’ve been obsessed, all through the Advent season, with two very different songs. I think the second song came into play because I couldn’t figure out why the first song was stuck on repeat in my soul. (But more on that later). This first song that got stuck in my soul this year is brand new to me. It’s titled Lully, Lulla, Lullay, and it’s written by a contemporary composer named Philip Stopford. I encountered it when I attended The University of the South’s Lessons and Carols service earlier this month where my daughter was singing in the choir. We had talked with her about the program earlier that day, and she had shared that it was her favorite song in their program. So when they started singing, I was immediately captivated by the gentle lullaby nature of the song. (It’s set to the words of the Coventry Carol, if you’re familiar with that.) The chorus goes: Lully, lullah, thou little tiny child/ Bye bye, lully, lully. It’s a lullaby sung from a mother’s perspective. It could even by Mary singing it for Jesus. But as the song unfolds, its soaring and beautiful melody becomes haunting as the song tells about the murder of the innocents, all the young children murdered by order of King Herod in his attempt to wipe out the threat of the baby Jesus: “ O sisters too, how may we do, For to preserve this day This poor youngling for whom we do sing Bye, bye, lully, lullay. Herod, the king, in his raging, Charged he hath this day His men of might, in his owne sight, All young children to slay. That woe is me, poor Child for Thee! And ever mourn and sigh, For thy parting neither say nor sing, Bye, bye, lully, lullay. i Y’all know this story, right? Even though it’s not one we typically read on Christmas Eve, it’s still part of the story of the birth Jesus. We find it in Matthew’s gospel, which tells us that after Jesus is born, Herod, the King, gets wind of Jesus’s birth from the wise men, and he grows concerned about a potential rival king, so he sends soldiers to the area in and around Bethlehem with orders to kill all the children there who are 2 years old or younger. (Jesus escapes because Joseph is warned in a dream to take Jesus and Mary into Egypt where they will be safe.) As I’m listening to this beautiful song unfold in the magnificent space that is All Saints’ Chapel at Sewanee, I can feel myself coming apart. The one Kleenex that I have on my person cannot combat the weeping that has just overwhelmed me. I mean, I am wrecked. As I sit listening to this song, I’m thinking about my own children, who are way past the age of infancy (thank goodness!), and this crazy world they are growing up in. I’m thinking about all the children of the world now and since the time of Jesus who have been killed because of the decisions of men mad with power, about how it’s happening, even now, in the same place it did 2,000 years ago, in Bethlehem (whose Christians have chosen not to offer Christmas observances this year in their churches because they are at war, under siege). The song comes to a hauntingly beautiful conclusion. I am openly weeping, and then immediately next in the program is that the congregation is supposed to stand and sing Angels we have heard on high. I stand up, and I’m really trying to get it together, but I’m still a blubbering mess, who’s trying desperately to sing Gloria….in excelsis deio. And then I start to get mad—who’s idea was it to play such a sad song and then make us get up and sing, anyway?! By the time angels we have heard on high is over, I’ve pulled myself together, but I’m still haunted by the emotional whip-lash I’ve just experienced through the two songs. But here’s the really crazy part, y’all. I can’t stop listening to this song. I bought it, and I’ve listened to it over and over throughout Advent, and sometimes, it still makes me weep. (I was listening to it on my way to pickleball the other day and started weeping at 7:00 in the morning.) But I still hadn’t figured out what invitation is there in this for me from the Holy Spirit. So, this is where the second song comes in, and interestingly enough it’s next up after Lullay, Lulla on my Advent playlist, so I’ve been listening to it all season. (This is one of those times when my spiritual obtuseness has given the Holy Spirit a run for her money.) The second song isn’t an Advent or Christmas song, but it’s a song on one of my favorite artists’ new albums, and it felt Advent-y to me. It’s titled Singing in the Dark by Carrie Newcomer. (Those of you who were at the Blue Christmas service heard me sing it with my friend Joshua Varner.ii) It’s a song about singing prayers with the monks of Gethsemane in the early hours of the morning before dawn has broken, and it’s all about how we can carry each other through dark times with our song and our common prayer, how our voices raised together can call forth the light out of the darkness. Our reading from the prophet Isaiah tonight hints at some of these images. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. But just like in the darkness of night in Bethlehem when the light of the angel’s song breaks forth, these people who are in exile and hope to return once again to their homeland know that darkness and light are never really far apart. In fact, you can’t have one without the other. It’s all a part of the same story: the murder of the innocents by King Herod and the light breaking forth in the dark from angelic voices. It’s all a part of the same story. In one of my favorite prayers in the liturgy for healing that we offer every week here, we pray “Gracious God, we give you thanks for your beloved Jesus Christ, in whom you have shared the beauty and pain of human life.” And that is certainly what is at the heart of this night, what is at the heart of this collaboration of darkness and light, what is at the heart of the incarnation, at the heart of Emmanuel—who is God with us. The creator of all has come alongside us, in and among us, both 2,000 years ago and again this night, to experience all the beauty and pain that come together to make up this human life, this human story. We gather here this night to name that, to recognize it, to lift it up for each other when we need reminding. That God has not left us to our own pain and horror; that God is present with us in it, even as God is present in the beauty, in the shining singing of the angels, and in the soft candle-light of Silent Night. When our hearts are breaking with beauty, God is with us. When our hearts are breaking with pain, God is with us. It’s all a part of the same story. And God is with us. We gather tonight because it is the nature of Christian community to raise our voices together against the dark, to call forth the light with our singing and with our proclamation of the good news. And it is the nature of Christian community when one is suffering, then we carry that one through with our singing until they are able to sing again. So if you find yourself able to sing this night, then sing on behalf of your neighbors who can’t this year. And if you find you can’t sing this year, that’s ok. We’ve got you. Know you’re not alone. Bishop Stephen Charleston puts it this way: “We will stay with you. That is the ancient pledge that turned humanity from being solitary creatures to living in community. In family. In kinship. We will stay with you, whatever comes…We will never wonder if we are alone, for in our heart is the pledge of hope: we will stay with you.”iii This year, what I’ve learned is that my invitation from the Holy Spirit has been to dwell alongside the darkness for a bit. It has been an invitation to me to hold in my heart the needs of those who are suffering here in this parish and around the world. To learn the lesson as another writer puts it “It is healthy and holy for joy and grief to coexist.” iv I’m so very grateful to be here, singing with you, in the heartbreak of pain and the heartbreak of beauty here on this most holy night. Remembering together that it is all a part of the same story. i. You can listen to the Sewanee Choir sing this hauntingly beautiful song starting at 1 hr 5 min. https://new.sewanee.edu/campus-life/believing/all-saints-chapel/festival-service-of-lessons-and-carols/festival-service-of-lessons-and-carol/ ii.You can listen to Joshua and me sign this song here. Thanks to Elizabeth Varner for recording it for our mammas: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1vkJ2-_gX0_tCT2NmnxxyqeBWqqyKaFcN/view iii.Bishop Stephen Charleston on Facebook. Thursday, December 21, 2023 iv. Attributed to Holley Gerth in a Facebook image