as the killing continues...

On Sunday during worship, yet another broken and bewildered white man went on a killing rampage. Like so many other wounded men in these semi-United States of America, he went berserk: how many more isolated, fragile white men with access to weapons and turn to mass murder to assert a sense of dominance in the world will it take before we wake up? It is no secret that male impotence – social or sexual – regularly explodes as violence against the vulnerable. Every day this rage is inflicted upon women, children and animals. Other times, male fear and anger turns inward and finds release through a bottle or needle. Why is it that some white men give shape and form to their powerlessness through the senseless slaughter of innocents in public?

There are multiple factors to consider: ineffective gun control of automatic weapons, the national myth of cathartic violence, inadequate mental health resources, the loss of healing rites of passage for men, economic instability, the legacy of domestic violence, virulent sexism and racism as well as the collapse of a shared commitment to the common good. This catalogue is not exhaustive, merely illustrative. So let me call attention to one other piece of this puzzle: the absence of a redemptive spirituality. Jung noted that when people forsake or abandon healing practices of heart and soul, pathological ones pop up to fill the void. Learning to live as a part of the sacred rhythm of life – the dance of light and dark, hope and anxiety, joy and sorrow, life and death – has been replaced with the idolatrous logic of the market place. In Let your Life Speak, Parker Palmer wrote: “The master metaphor of our era comes from manufactur-ing not agriculture or the seasons. As a result, we believe that we make our lives rather than grow them. Just listen to how we use the word in everyday speech: we make time, make friends, make meaning, make money, make a living and even make love.”

What we are seeing and experiencing in our epidemic of murderous white male violence is what happens when the emptiness of the market place takes up permanent residence in our soul. It fails to deliver. It is a false god. A sacramental reading of God’s first word in nature teaches that the created order ebbs and flows with balance. There are always times of abundance as well as scarcity, feasting and fasting, day and night, summer and winter, flood and drought. But as St. Paul wrote in Romans 1:

Ever since the creation of the world his eternal power and divine nature, invisible though they are, have been understood and seen through the things he has made. So they are without excuse; for though they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their senseless minds were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools; and they exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling a mortal human being or birds or four-footed animals or reptiles. Therefore God gave them up in the lusts of their hearts

God’s wrath in this context suggests the absence of God’s loving rhythm in our lives. It is as if a loving parent steps back from engaging with a beloved child for a season and says: “Do you really want to do these things? I’ve tried everything else to help you make better choices, but you seem hell-bent on doing it your way. So let me get out of you way; maybe if you experience the anguish of your selfishness, pride and fear – maybe if you “hit bottom” – you’ll want to return to my loving care?” Like the father in the Christian parable of the Prodigal Son, God’s grace stands waiting even when we become bestial. God is not the cause – nor is the Holy One rendering punishment – rather the Holy is evoking space for us to experience the consequences of our actions.

In America’s escalating encounter with mass murder, I see God’s wrath – God’s absence – as we hit bottom. Las Vegas, Sandy Hook, Sutherland Springs, Texas is what hitting bottom looks like: we are turning our inner anguish into outward rage and making others pay for our own bleak despair. I believe the American imagination has become so addicted to the bottom line brutality of the market place that we routinely confuse control with value. Our hearts have atrophied through selfish indulgence. Our collective psyche has been so trained to trust that meaning is created only by self-directed activity, that when we bump into the inevitable emptiness of the rhythm of creation we no longer know what to do except lash out in our pathological scramble for control. Like Malcolm X quipped after the assassination of John F. Kennedy: “The chickens are coming home to roost.” It was cold and insensitive – and true. Spiritual direction teaches us not to put whipped cream on bull shit. I will let Parker Palmer have the last word:

From an early age we absorb our culture’s arrogant conviction that we can manufacture everything, reducing the world to mere ‘raw material’ that lacks all value until we impose our designs upon it. What would it be like, however, to accept the notion that our lives are dependent upon an inexorable cycle of seasons, on a play of powers that we can conspire with but never fully control? That would be a truly counter-cultural challenge… that takes on our egos and institutions that desperately want to believe that we are always in charge.

sacramental spirituality: moving towards the darkness...

NOTE:  Today in worship we mark All Saints and All Souls Sunday. My worship notes for today follow. We will open the liturgy with a time of remembering those from our community who have gone home to the Lord since last year's All Saints Day. We also are starting a four week "spirituality of the seasons" series to better ground us in the approaching darkness and cold of winter. I am utilizing the insights of the Quaker writer and teacher, Parker Palmer, in his book: Let Your Life Speak. My hope is that by reclaiming the ancient wisdom of this month in the Northern Hemisphere, we might renew our ability to see our lives and surroundings sacramentally.

Introduction
I LOVE this time of year. I love everything ABOUT this time of year: the rain, the shift towards the morning frost, the colors in the fields and the trees, the weird early darkness that arrives in the middle of the afternoon with Daylight Savings Time. I love it ALL! Autumn is, for me, my favorite season – and the spirituality of autumn has always resonated within my soul. I know this is not true for everyone. Christine Valters Paintner of the Abbey of the Arts has written:

This is the time when the warmth and bloom of summer fades. The days are growing shorter and colder . . . and winter is still yet to come. Not only have things taken on a gloomier hue, if you suffer from any kind of seasonal affective disorder, the worst is yet to come.

It is not a coincidence that pre-Christian religions in Northern Europe and the Americas as well as the institutional Body of Christ treat this season with peculiar reverence: “We see birds migrating, the earth turning brown, our trees becoming barren… If we lived closer to nature in a predominantly agricultural society, we would know that the seasons are a metaphor and a fact that continually frames our lives.” (Parker Palmer) The poet, Marianne Worcester, put it like this:

Fin and feather, flesh, blood and bone: the earth calls its creatures to leave the familiar, turn again into the unknown; to move steadily and continuously and at great risk toward an invisible goal, expending great energy (always) with the possibility of failure…

That is why Christianity asks us to start this season with All Hallow’s Eve – Halloween – and then embrace both All Saints and All Souls Day. Our tradition has largely forsaken these “lesser feast days” of mystery and darkness. The Reformed Protestant world has never been good at sacramental living – letting the substance of creation speak to us about God’s grace-filled presence – so many of our ancestors threw away the rituals of the inner life that generations had cultivated and perfected when they left the Catholic Church. The result is that we’re not adept at reading the signs of the times and what they can teach us about honoring God’s holy pattern of faithful and balanced living.

Insights
Small wonder that more and more people of the industrialized West have

abandoned the Church: today they self identify as spiritual but not religious. According to the most recent 2017 Pew Research Center’s polling, more than 27% of all Americans – and 30% of our neighbors under the age of 30 – consider themselves to be NONES – no religious or spiritual affiliation. They believe the church to be too addicted to conservative politics and narrow moral values that demonize their friends. And they have not experienced worship as a place that helps them live a life intimately embraced by the holy.

· The Quaker educator, Parker Palmer, is illustrative: “The master metaphor of our era,” he writes in Let Your Life Speak, “comes from manufacturing not agriculture and the seasons. As a result, we believe that we make our lives rather than grow them. Just listen to how we use the word in everyday speech: we make time, make friends, make meaning, make money, make a living and even make love.”

· I’ve said it before and will go to my grave repeating this: we have become addicted to and obsessed with the bottom line brutality of the market place. It has infected our imagination, inhibited our hearts, polar-ized our politics and wounded our souls. We act like we can control creation and are bewildered and bereft when we discover – usually through illness or death – that this is a lie. That means we have no inner, spiritual resources to draw upon when the dark mysteries of real life wash over us.

Wonder why there is an opioid epidemic in the USA? Sure, we have tossed out prescriptions and pills like candy in the past. We are, after all, a consumer nation built upon the progress and prowess of science and industry. And there is no doubt that fighting pain born of industrial and sports accidents are a fact in our addiction. But I submit to you that the ethical and spiritual vacuity of modern life is the leading cause of our psychic despair and physical enslavement. Back in the early 80’s when Mother Teresa first visited the USA she wept saying: HIV/AIDS is not the disease that is killing most Americans – it is loneliness. And what was true at the start of my ministry has exploded exponentially over the past 40 years in ways that are ever more dangerous and degrading.

Small wonder that fewer and fewer of us attend worship: this is the Holy Spirit humbling us so that we quit playing games and return to equipping one another with meaning, love, a sense of belonging and the tools of hope. Did you hear what the Spirit was saying to the church in the lesson from Revelation?

I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches… and they cried out: “Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!” Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from? I said to him, “Sir, only Thou knowest!” And he replied: “These have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Now they are before the throne of God and worship him day and night. In God’s love, they will hunger no more and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

The Apocalypse of John, better known as the book of Revelations that is totally ignored by most of our churches, arose during another time of persecution and despair. These writings were never prophecy nor are they literal. They are symbolic prose poems teaching God’s people that even in the darkness there is a source of love and power and hope greater than all the evidence combined. If we learn to watch and wait and trust, we can learn to see signs of God’s love even in the darkest night. But it takes practice – and inspiration – and a vocabulary and imagination greater than bottom line market place images and habits. Jesus taught his first disciples that to grow in faith they needed both a loving community AND a sacramental spirituality.

Jesus gathered those who were apprenticed to him, the committed, and led them to a quiet place, sat down and taught his climbing companions the following: “You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule. You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One who is greater than yourself. You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

It is for this very reason that our worship ministry team sensed it might be wise to spend the month of November exploring the spirituality of our seasons. It is one way to reclaim the ancient sacramental vocabulary and imagination of our origins. It is also a way to nourish a new/old way of thinking. The Episcopal priest turned Zen Buddhist meditation master, Alan Watts, observed “that a Chinese child will ask, ‘How does a baby grow?’ while most American children ask, ‘How do you make a baby?’

From an early age we absorb our culture’s arrogant conviction that we can manufacture everything, reducing the world to mere ‘raw material’ that lacks all value until we impose our designs upon it. What would it be like, however, to accept the notion that our lives are dependent upon an inexorable cycle of seasons, on a play of powers that we can conspire with but never fully control? That would be a truly counter-cultural challenge… that takes on our egos and institutions that desperately want to believe that we are always in charge.

Parker Palmer, my guide for this four week series, invites to consider adapting seasons rather than the market place or games as a deeper metaphor for our lives. He says that “seasons point to the movement of life… the notion that we are in an eternal cycle that does not deny struggle or joy, loss or gain, darkness or light, but rather encourages us to embrace it all – the facts as well as the mystery – and find in it all opportunities to go deeper.”

· Certainly that is what is at the heart of All Saints and All Souls Day: they commence as our part of the world grows darker. It is now that we experience the final harvest of the earth for a season, too. And most of us, myself included, are afraid of the dark. Maybe not literally, but as Barbara Brown Taylor has noted, we fear the darkness even when it is half of our lives. We haven’t learned to see in the dark, so we stumble and miss so much of the Lord’s meaning and blessing for our lives.

· So let me ask you: have there been people in your life whose death has changed you in some way? This is one of the dark gifts that we don’t often discuss; but have you actually learned something of this season’s mysterious wisdom that altered the way you were once living because of another’s death? I know I have…

Invite congregational stories…

Conclusion
In this spirituality series, I am going to work backwards starting with the wisdom of spring, so that by the end of this month, right before Advent begins, we will be ready for winter. Winter is so long in our neck of the woods that we often don’t honor it. I know that for decades I mostly just endured the winter, but at such a cost to my soul. So, let me give you two clues about a spirituality of spring so that we move towards winter and journey into Advent/Christmas we’ll be prepared. There are two essentials here:

+ Spring in our region is filled with… mud. Let’s not romanticize it, ok? Yes, it becomes glorious, but at first It is all about the muck – the humus – the decayed vegetable matter that feeds our plants and nourishes creation. We may want to rush to all the flowers, but the physical truth and blessing begins with the mud. That’s why there is so often a connection between that which is humiliating and true humility. Knowing who we are and how we might live together in love often requires being knocked down a peg or two – it is mud time – not yet flowering and bounty. “When there is less of you… there is more room for God” Jesus said because nourishing humility takes a life time. If you think you are humble, you probably aren’t.

· I got a rude awakening earlier this week when I posted a meme by Barbara Brown Taylor on Facebook. Her words cautioned against mixing religion with the violence. She wrote: Jesus was not killed by atheism or anarchy. He was brought down by law and order allied with religion. Beware those who claim to know the mind of God and who are prepared to use force, if necessary, to make others conform. Beware those who cannot tell God’s will from their own. Temple police are always a bad sign. When chaplains start wearing guns and hanging out at the sheriff’s office, watch out. 

+ I like Taylor and this resonated with my own social concerns. What I didn’t see, however, and what I got called out on was the line, “Temple police are always a bad sign.” One of my Jewish colleagues chided and corrected me in public saying, “Friends, haven’t we had enough of these comments that reinforce the “bad Jews” narrative?” As soon as this was articulated, I got it; but because I am so used to 2000 years of Christian anti-Semitism I didn’t even catch this barb that hurt the colleague. Remember: I had spent the better part of the day before preaching against the anti-Semitism of St. John’s words. But I didn’t see this part of the shadow – and my best intentions hurt one I care about. It was a bit of mud time for me – the co-mingling of humiliation on the road towards humility – and I gave thanks to God.

Maybe you, too have experienced how humiliation helped you become more humble? More human? More open to God’s grace and the mystery of new life? You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule. You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One who is greater than yourself. That is one truth of spring spirituality.

+ The other comes from the word beeline: So often we use it to suggest efficiency and determination saying, “Make a BEE line” for the action. but have you ever watched a bee at work in the spring? “They flit all over the place, flirting with both the flowers and the fates… and while they are productive” as Parker Palmer puts it, “no science or bottom line can ever persuade me that they are not also pleasuring themselves in the process as well.” Mud and bees are part of a sacramental spirituality that points us to the way muck and insects – hard times and crazy journeys toward joy – are built into the order of God’s grace. Halloween – All Saints and All Souls Day – the Day of the Dead also invite us into the wisdom of the darkness.

In their truths, I pray that blessings take root in your heart and lead you deeper into the mysteries of God’s grace. Amen.

all saints day...

What a wonderfully rich graphic this is on All Saints Day. I am grateful to my friend Martha for posting it on Facebook.  I started an on-line "retreat" two days ago with Abbey of the Arts re: Honoring the Saints and Ancestors of my life. Christine Valters Paintner wrote:

The Celtic feast (of Samhain) coincides with the Christian celebration of All Saint’s Day on November 1st and All Soul’s Day on November 2nd which begin a whole month in honor of those who have died. We tend to neglect our ancestral heritage in our culture, but in other cultures remembering the ancestors is an intuitive and essential way of beginning anything new. We don’t recognize the tremendous wisdom we can draw upon from those who have traveled the journey before us and whose DNA we carry in every fiber of our bodies.

Three years ago in October my father died. As in so much of the rest of my life, it takes me a long time to feel profoundly what his departure really means. I know that after my nephew, Michael; and then his mother, my sister, Linda, died 25 years ago, I was rattled to my core. In time, I took steps towards deeper joy by leaving one faith community - and marriage - and eventually connecting with other loves.  Oddly, this is coming to pass in the aftermath of my father's death, too. In 90 days my 35+ years of local church ministry will be ended even as I start living into new ways of serving God through music, compassion and challenging hatred through the arts.  Another reflection for my retreat puts it like this:

Our western culture doesn't make much room for the honoring of ancestors or valuing what connection to the stories of our past might bring to us. When we uncover the layers of the stories we have lived for generations we begin to understand ourselves better. Some of these stories we may know the details of, and some we may have to access and experience in an embodied and intuitive way. These memories live inside of us, waiting for us to give them room in our lives.

I wasn't really sure why I was drawn to this experience except that it started with an emphasis on autumn and honored both All Saints and All Souls Day. It is raining now with a cold drizzle. The leaves are jumping from their home and being blown everywhere. I love this time of year and am eager to see where the official - and my personal - reflections will lead during this mysterious and even dark season. 

Yesterday, I played sweet, acoustic soul music with my brother, Hal, whom I have known and loved for 52 years. This afternoon I met with new sisters and brothers as we work towards racial, gender and religious justice; we're starting to grow a small network of young, diverse poets interested in caring for "the Beloved community." And tomorrow we head to Brooklyn to celebrate a daughter's birthday as we rejoice with our grandchildren who are thriving. 

full to overflowing...

Tonight was one of those times when I cherish living here. The day began with our local paper running a column I wrote about taking on the reality of racism, sexism and antisemitism in our community.  Our small, white congregation likes when their pastor steps up to the plate for justice and compassion. (And I like when they do, too.) There were good vibes all around. (You can check it out here: http://www.berkshireeagle.com/stories/rev-dr-james-l-lumsden-three-ways-to-strengthenour-ties-as-a-community,523082_ 

Later this afternoon I had the honor of introducing one of our saints to the wider Berkshires at the BIO MICAH Awards ceremony. There were activists and church leaders from the region there and I got to check in with a few dear souls I haven't seen for years. Then, while sipping local fresh apple cider, a woman from St. Mark's Parish taps my shoulder and asked, "What did you think of the show last night?" She was referring to the local production of the Rocky Horror Picture Show at Berkshire Community College. "We LOVED it" I replied setting off 20 minutes of reliving the naughty foolishness of this splendid production. Then an immigrant pastor from the Philippines and I chatted about doing the work of love and justice in a wildly secular culture. I checked in with a few other sweet activists and found that one man was moved by Jean Vanier when he read him in undergraduate school. (Small world, yes?) I shared a conversation with a local spiritual director, too and we agreed to do an on-line "abbey of the arts" retreat together for November. And right before the awards ceremony started I was asked if I would lead the closing song because "Sr. Natalie had to leave early."

Introducing Dick was tender: he is a kind and generous man who spoke about the five lights in his life.  Recalling his beloved parents - and then his treasured wife - brought him to the edge of tears. Mine spilled over. For two hours we were white and black together, Protestant, Catholic and Jew as well. At the close, I mentioned that "Sr. Natalie would have sung this like a Sister of St. Joseph, and many of us know it from Bible camp, but I first heard it in the Deep South so we're going to try it a slower and more soulfully."  Leading a solid clap on the offbeat, we brought it home with "This Little Light of Mine."

As I was leaving I got to speak with a few local colleagues who feed my heart. Walking out to my car, the whole family of our honoree were present so I got to meet the newest member, Rory, as well as daughters, son-in-law and their momma. Pulling into the grocery store to get a few last minute items, I heard, "Hey, James... nice job!" from a music minister friend who holds forth just down the block from us. "Getting a mostly older, spread out crowd to sing with soul was... awesome." While at the check out counter, a young, African American woman said, "Excuse me, sir, but that is the BIGGEST tomato I have ever seen! It's way more interesting than my pork chops."  We laughed, exchanged hand shakes and names before she said, "So if I see you again you HAVE to tell me if that tasted as good as it looks."  


Heading back to my car, the local hunger center coordinator waved as she went into the store and I left. And then a young woman and her small child were almost blown away by the wind. I stopped to help only to hear, "James! Oh James, that's you!" It was Tessa and baby Eve in rain gear. I haven't seen them since Spring. We hugged before they scampered off as the rain grew more fierce. I've played music with her dad here for 10 years. We went to Turkey together. I celebrated her wedding and baptized baby Eve. I think the world of this young, wise and immensely talented person.

Clearly, while one door closes here another is already opening. I give thanks to God for a fascinating day and deep connections reaffirmed. It is our oldest daughter's birthday, too and for the gift of her sweet self - and her precious family - I am full to overflowing.

Que le pèlerinage continue!

My reflections on retirement have become an extended exercise. It is my hope that they prayerfully honor both the close of my ordained days while openly exploring emerging possibilities. Some may have already grown weary of this written pilgrimage. It wears me out at times, too. After all, I have been on this road for 30 odd months and am only now claiming a measure of clarity. For while the close of the ordained chapter is set - Sunday, January 28, 2018  during 10:30 am worship - what is to follow is only now beginning to take shape and form. 

Last night at dinner with dear friends in a favorite local eatery, someone said, "You two look GREAT!" On the drive home, Di amplified this observation with: "I am really eager to see you after January comes and goes and you finally lay this burden down." Moi aussi mes amis mais il y a un travail important à faire avant de lâcher!  A few commitments still remain that are energizing, vital and of possible significance to our wider community:

+ After last Sunday's forum on racism, sexism and antisemitism, and the critique that younger voices are still not at the table, a poetry slam has been proposed for sometime before the end of this calendar year. I am charged to see this come to pass. Our younger local artists have insights and wisdom the wider community needs to hear and embrace. These artists need affirmation and encouragement, too.  Stay tuned as this is a fast moving train with exciting possibilities.

+ In early January 2018, I have two music projects that are coming into

focus: one involves marking the one year anniversary of the Four Freedoms March and the other hosting a salon with my brother from another mother Hal Lefferts. The Four Freedoms anniversary portends to be an interfaith gathering of artists and musicians sharing songs, poems and dance as an act of solidarity with our African American and immigrant sisters and brothers in Pittsfield. My hope is that this will be a time of joyful and creative resistance to the rising white supremacist hatred that continues to rear its ugly head in America. The white community must stand up and be counted and this is one of the ways I can help. The salon - and worship time with Hal- is an experiment in sharing truth-telling about this moment in time through song. We'll hold a dialogue in music and spoken word during my sermon time then invite folk back to our home a few hours later for a house concert. During the private gathering, we can go deeper into the meaning and response of Hal's beautiful and insightful compositions. (This is a particular joy for me!)

+ In December, I will have the privilege of sharing one final Advent with this faith community - and my final Christmas Eve, too.  That will be a tender and even bitter sweet time for me. For while we've had our differences over the past few years - and grown in quite different directions - our love is deep and what we have shared has been sacred. I love this community and its people as I have learned to love the Body of Christ in Saginaw, Cleveland and Tucson. They will always be a part of my heart.

+ I will also be building my on-going relationship with L'Arche Ottawa during this time of transition. In November there is a formation retreat. In December a chance to share supper in community and some acts of service, too. After the New Year arrives and we sort out how often I can be in the North Country, it is my deepest hope to work out a regular schedule where I can volunteer.  My heart has been warmed beyond my understanding by L'Arche Ottawa and I am eager to see where the Spirit leads us together. By summer of 2018 I suspect we'll have greater clarity.

And then there is all the other time for music making with Hal and friends and being with my grandchildren!  Two years ago I participated in an on-line retreat and shared a photo of our old garden gazebo.  The wetlands behind the house was shrouded in fog and one of the spiritual directors said: this suggests a mystical portal into a time of mystery and new beginnings. She was right and now I have stepped through it: Que le pèlerinage continue!

21st century loving-kindness...

For most of my days in ministry - and all of my days as an advocate for social justice - I have been energized by a call to compassion. In different eras, this calling emphasized varying nuances. Early on, my outward perspective tended towards the stark challenge of Isaiah 58:

Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.

If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in. If you refrain from trampling the sabbath, from pursuing your own interests on my holy day; if you call the sabbath a delight and the holy day of the Lord honorable; if you honor it, not going your own ways, serving your own interests, or pursuing your own affairs; then you shall take delight in the Lord, and I will make you ride upon the heights of the earth; I will feed you with the heritage of your ancestor Jacob, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.

Like many privileged bourgeois activists, not only did I privatize the ancient prophet's words shared once with a post-exilic Israel, but I wrestled with them without context.  Self-righteousness is often the result of such study - and my assertiveness was no exception. Without a community to help me understand these words in history - and without mentors to plane off the rough edges of my zeal - I was cocksure I knew what the Lord's will meant better than most - and acted accordingly. I was blunt, insensitive and impatient towards others. I was equally blind to my own arrogance and emotional aggression. After all, with a monopoly upon truth, why waste time in the company of those who were too slow, frightened or compromised to topple the status quo?

My laboratory for experimenting with moderation was Union Theological Seminary in NYC. Many of my peers were equally doctrinaire - and articulate. Women called me out over sexism. GLBTQ colleagues did likewise over my shallow sense of human sexuality. People of color publicly and privately took me to task for denying my racism. And key professors quietly cautioned me to move beyond my materialist reading of reality into a more complex appreciation of our shared human experience. As one feminist friend said to me in a class Dorothee Soelle was teaching about anxiety, "You could quote Marx chapter and verse with authority. You had a history of organizing and nonviolent action. But the way you spoke came across like a club rather than a tool. Your vigor was obnoxious and isolating." To be sure, my seminary experience took me down a few pegs. I was invited by some - and directed by others - to learn to listen and share rather than control and lead.

Becoming a pastor in discrete communities of faith strengthened the call of downward mobility.  With real people to love - and real consequences to my thoughts and words - the practice of patience and greater silence took on a new urgency. I still too often spoke without thinking, but now the effects of my words mattered. The local church is where I learned again and again the relationship between humility and humiliation. It is also where I began to find allies willing to help me go beyond denial, overconfidence and antagonism. This was especially true in the recovery community.  Along with a wise and tender spiritual director, they showed me new vistas of compassion and encouraged me to honor the gift of silence. Henri Nouwen once wrote:  without dedicated time each day for resting in communion with God's love there is no way to authentically share it in the world.  By the end of my tenth year of ordination, a new text from the Bible had become my mantra:

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. (Matthew 11: 28-30, The Message)

By my twentieth year of ministry, I was ready to throw it all away.  Entering the doctoral program at San Francisco Theological Seminary was a life saver: this is where I learned to integrate intellect with pastoral ministry. It was also where I explored how the arts give shape and form to the most profound human truths. Here was a new language that cut deeper than the sanitized liturgies I grew up with; here, too, was a way to speak to those beyond the confines of organized religion. In time, my dissertation on popular culture and a "still speaking God" shaped my new direction in ministry.  Psalm 37 became my guide:

Do not fret because of the wicked; do not be envious of wrongdoers, for they will soon fade like the grass and wither like the green herb. Trust in the Lord, and do good; so you will live in the land, and enjoy security. Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act. He will make your vindication shine like the light, and the justice of your cause like the noonday. Be still before the Lord, and wait patiently for him; do not fret over those who prosper in their way, over those who carry out evil devices... Wait for the Lord, and keep to his way, and he will exalt you to inherit the land.

And now, with 36 years of ordained ministry at my back and 40 years of working in the local church, yet another insight about compassion and justice is being revealed.  Jean Vanier of the L'Arche community wrote in his ground-breaking Community and Growth:

The Hebrew word 'Hesed' expresses two things: fidelity and tenderness. In our civilization we can be tender but unfaithful, and faithful without tenderness. Our world is waiting for communities of tenderness and fidelity. They are coming.

I have long wondered about "loving kindness" in the English translations of

Scripture. For decades this rendering seemed too meek. Incomplete. But not so any longer.  A word search reveals that "hesed" becomes mercy 149 times in the Bible and loving kindness another 30 times.  And my heart suggests that the both/and of loving kindness is more useful in the 21st century as action and intent embrace.  Psalm 85 is illuminating concerning the marriage of heart, mind and body:

Steadfast love (or the loving kindness of hesed)and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other. Faithfulness will spring up from the ground and righteousness will look down from the sky. The Lord will give what is good and our land will yield its increase. Righteousness will go before him and will make a path for his steps.

In our age, we are saturated with fear and overwhelmed by callous indifference and selfishness.  Loving kindness is indeed a balm for our wounds - and a clear alternative to the status quo. As Vanier has written elsewhere: the most any of us can do is share love with those closest to us. Applying the 10 foot rule keeps us focused and resourceful without giving in to despair.  And that is where my soul finds rest this day:

O Lord, my heart is not proud; my eyes are not raised in haughty looks.
I do not occupy myself with great matters, with things that are too high for me. But I have quieted and stilled my soul, like a weaned child on its mother's breast; so my soul is quieted within me. O Israel, trust in the Lord, from this time forth for evermore.  (Psalm 131)

God knows I still have my blind spots - and my shadows that I barely know are there - but such is the human condition, yes?  

homily at a celebration of life: kathy arzt...

NOTE: Today we celebrated the life of Kathy Arzt, church member and sister in Christ, at a memorial service.  My life was changed for the better because of her vibrant faith. I will miss her profoundly even as I rejoice that she has gone home to the Lord beyond all pain and suffering. Here are my homily notes. 

Introduction
“We do not want you to be uninformed or confused, brothers and sisters, about those who have died” wrote St. Paul to his small community of faith in Thessaloníki probably 20 years after the death and resurrection of Jesus. “And we do not want you to grieve as others do who have no hope,” he continued. “For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring to him all those who have lived and died by faith.”

In times like this, I hang on to those words. Not only do I cherish them in my heart and find them to be a source of incomparable comfort, but they offer me a pattern for living into authentic Christian grief. And I have to tell, when my sister in Christ, Kathy Arzt, passed from this life to life everlasting last week, I was rattled. I was surprised and unnerved. Don’t get me wrong, I knew her death was coming – we had talked about it on and off for nearly five years – but I had just been with her the day before and she didn't look like she was ready to let go.

I mean, the night before she’d eaten some prime rib and that very morning enjoyed a poached egg. Yes, she was on a journey that was drawing to a close, but man… I wasn't fully prepared for it to arrive so soon. “In the blink of an eye,” St. Paul wrote elsewhere, “we will all be changed.” And he was right. As his forbearers in faith once noted, “To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven: a time to be born… and a time to die.” For me, and maybe for you, it just came like a thief in the night no matter how emotionally and spiritually prepared I thought I was.

So this morning, as we return thanks to God for the life, death and gift of life eternal that the Lord has shared with us through Kathy Arzt, I want to simultaneously celebrate the fullness of her humanity and faith and do so in a way that helps us grieve as authentic Christians. Because, grieve we must, NOT as those who do so without hope – in ignorance or confusion about God’s grace – but as those who know and trust that the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ is the core of God’s beloved creation. God’s promise is that through Jesus we shall all be brought home into his loving embrace forever.

Insights
Jesus told his first followers – of whom we are in debt – “do not let your hearts be troubled – trust in God – and trust in me.” That’s what the word believe really means: trust. It isn't doctrinal nor is it abstract, ok? Back in my more cocky days I used to ask young teens in confirmation if that “believed” in that stool. (PUT A STOOL IN FRONT OF THE COMMUNION TABLE.) They often thought I was crazy so I would ask them: What is the point of this stool? “To sit upon” they usually replied. So, do you trust that stool to hold you up? I continued. If you do, come over here and sit upon it!

THAT is what trust means: not abstract, idealized theological concepts, but rather embodied acts of obedience. So when Jesus tells us to trust God rather than let our hearts be troubled, he’s teaching us about how we are to live and act and think. That’s St. Paul’s point, too: grieve as those who trust Christ’s resurrection.

That’s how Kathy lived – and trusted – she knew from the inside out that when this realm was over, it wasn't the end of the story. “If I go and prepare a place for you,” Jesus said, “then I will come again and take you to myself.” She counted on returning to Jesus. She spoke to him constantly in those later days about returning to his love for eternity and being embraced fully by his gracious love. And now she has gone home – where for Kathy there is only love and healing and light in the presence of the Lord. It hurts us that she is gone – we feel empty – and well we should. She was a powerful and significant personality, right? There was nothing meek or retiring about Kathy Arzt.

I remember the early days of getting to know her: outwardly what I saw was a bold and commanding professional woman who dressed for success, knew her own mind and wasn't afraid to tell you what she was thinking. Truth be told, at first Kathy intimidated me: she was a force of nature who didn't pull her punches. She wasn't cruel, just forceful and I knew from the get go that I didn't want to be on her bad side. So, let’s be honest, with a personality that big, you can’t help but miss her now that she is gone. That’s part of our authentic Christian grieving. But it isn't the END of the story.

Because over the last five years I saw Kathy take all that bold strength and courage and love that was truly a gift from God in its time, and practice turning it over to the Lord so that she might have the strength to find her way through the reality of her cancer. It was a hard road taking on that cancer – there were times of agony and total darkness – times when she made the words of the Psalmist her own: Out of my depths I cry to you, Lord; hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy as I await your love.

Some of you here today – including her beloved, Bill – heard those cries. You held her in her agony, wiped away your mutual tears when none of the pain meds touched her suffering and endured an aching darkness and despair. How many times did Kathy tell me that in those moments YOU became Jesus for her: she called some of you her saints because you sat with her and comforted her when nothing else helped. In faith, hope and love, you waited upon the Lord with her and gave her the only thing any of us really have to give another: our presence, our time and our love.

And after the pain was over, she rejoiced for the love you shared with her in those horrible hours. So I want to say out loud that over the past five years I saw Kathy bring all of the strength and power she once used to raise a GREAT family – and I mean a GREAT family Stephen, Tessa and Bill – all the power and pizzazz she once used to become a professional woman of depth and integrity – all that power that on the surface used to intimidate me – all that power to become a disciple of Jesus who trusted and lived into his resurrection even when she could only feel his death on the Cross.

Kathy had faith. Somebody once said, “Religion is for people who are afraid of going to hell. FAITH is for those who have already been there.” And Kathy had certain been there and back. “Yea thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of death… what? THOU art with me, Lord. THY rod and thy staff they comfort me. Man, Kathy HAD faith. Faith – trust that the Cross is at the core of creation – grieving as authentic Christian who are not ignorant of God’s love in Jesus Christ is about letting go of what we think we know and letting God be God. In Eugene Petersen’s reworking of St. Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says to us: You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule. You’re blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you. Theologians call this the Paschal Mystery – the great reversal of God’s love – where the end becomes the beginning of blessing.Towards the end of his earthly life, St. Paul put it like this: God told me that ‘My grace is sufficient for you; my power is made perfect in your weakness.’ That is why I now boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Today I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong by God’s love.

Over and over again I saw this ripen in Kathy. About a month ago, when she was down in Great Barrington I stopped by to see her at about lunch time. She was eating like a horse that day and when she saw me, she greeted me, waved me and said, “Don’t mind my bald head and don’t be upset that I’m cursing like a sailor these days. Just come on in, it’s good to see you.” I was in awe – she was radiant – and I don’t mean just figuratively – I mean the radiance of God’s loving presence was pouring out of her. And when I told her this she gave one of those hearty bursts of belly laughter and said, “James, everyone is tell me this. Well, I just know it isn't ME!” (In my weakness, Lord, you make me strong.) She said two other things that afternoon I will carry with me forever.

First she said, “James why did I spend all that time and money on makeup and clothes and hair dye? Now I’m bald as a cue ball and my skin looks about 150 years old, but I feel more beautiful than ever before.” And who was I to argue with one in communion with the Lord? She was right: totally radiant and vibrant with life even as she was dying.

Second she said, “I’m ready to go now. I don’t want to – I would much rather be able to see Paula's baby – but that may not be up to me. I am at peace with God and whenever He’s ready for me, I’m going home.” And after a knowing pause, she laughed, put her hand on my chest and said, “Bless you – just make sure everyone knows that I’ll be pulling for you in God’s presence. It’s ALL going to be ok.” I almost wept but kept it together until I got back in my car.

In Kathy’s Bible, this passage from I Peter was marked with special importance:

Since Jesus went through everything you’re going through and more, learn to think like him. Think of your sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way. Then you’ll be able to live out your days free to pursue what God wants instead of being tyrannized by what you want. You've already put in your time in that God-ignorant way of life, partying night after night, a drunken and profligate life. (How many times did she used to say: Thank God we lived before the days of social media?)Now it’s time to be done with the old ways for good. Listen to the Message. It was preached to those believers who are now dead, and yet even though they died (just as all people must), they will still get in on the life that God has given in Jesus.

Kathy Arzt lived by faith – by trust – by love born of Jesus from the inside out.
She cherished her babies Tessa, Steph and Bill like a Momma Lion, treasured her grandchildren – Paula and Jonathan, Lexi and Victoria, Ryan and Sean, Fiona and Bodie- with an intensity and gentle humor that only Nonnie could make real – and loved so many of us in all our broken beauty that we can’t help but feel empty even as we give thanks to God that he pain and suffering are over.

And oh did she loved her man Bill. For 44 years she loved that man like there was no tomorrow. She loved him in ways that were holy and human, sacred and sensual all at the same time and brought heaven and earth together. They would laugh and love like nobody's business - and it was a wonder to behold. On the day she passed from this life, as Bill knelt by her bedside and prayed and wept, after a time Kathy opened her eyes, whispered softly, "I love you" and let go as she was accepted into the arms of everlasting light. Oh, did she love that man.

Conclusion
After her first series of operation – and treatment – and recover, Kathy and Bill used to faithfully come to our midday Wednesday Eucharist. It was a quiet little time of talking about Scripture and our lives, prayer and sharing the body and blood of Christ around the communion table. Time and again she would say: I know God has some-thing important for me to do now that I am getting well. I know it my heart. I just don’t know what it is. 

Over the years we talked about just exactly what this special ministry might be – Bible study for lay people? Visitation? What? And I have to tell you, that in the end it was none of those things. Or maybe all of them and more. Because I can say with certainty now that Kathy’s last special act for the Lord was sharing her presence with us – her vulnerability, her suffering and her love in a humble and honest way. Because when she was weak, she empowered us to reach out beyond our comfort zones in love and trust God in ways that have changed us forever. Kathy helped us become weak so that God could become our strength.

Now, before we hear from the Arzt family, I'd like you to pray with me the last prayer I shared with Kathy in this life:  the Hail Mary. She and I used to joke that we were some of the most renegade Congregationalists around because be BOTH loved the Blessed Virgin Mary and called out to her in prayer often. So, perhaps you can join me and then we'll sing what we often shared before Eucharist:

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed art Thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of Thy woman Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the time of our death.

In life, in death and life beyond death, Kathy Arzt was a gift from God:  Alleluia...

healing the breach part two...

Here's a follow-up I've proposed to our local paper re: taking next

steps. We're also exploring a poetry slam event before the end of the year to find new ways to bring younger voices into the work of healing the breach.

I recently had the privilege to participate in the Pittsfield Area Council of Congregation’s forum “Healing Pittsfield: A Conversation about What Divides Us.” Each of my colleagues on the panel brought wisdom and years of commitment to the challenge of overcoming racism, sexism and anti-Semitism in the Berkshires. The moderators, Rev. Shelia-Sholes-Ross and Rabbi Joshua Briendel, were equally sensitive and insightful in moving the conversation deeper. It was an important local step in our quest towards reclaiming the Beloved Community of MLK’s dream.

What happens next, however, is vexing. As one member of my congregation observed to me after the event, “This was very important – and I am grateful. But it seems that we’ve been lamenting exactly these same problems without moving towards life-changing solutions for over 50 years.” A sentence in The Eagle’s editorial of 10/24/17 (“Pittsfield’s Divisions Are Cultural and Tangible”) makes the same point: “If there was a simple solution, it would have been found by now – in Pittsfield” and other American communities. And therein rests our dilemma. There are, indeed, solutions, but they are far from simple. They require sacrifice, time, candor, humility and resources at a moment in our history when all are in short supply. Nevertheless, at the forum, I suggested three time-tested next step actions that would address our collective ignorance while strengthening the ties that bind us together in community. They are:

+ An interfaith, grassroots, multi-year commitment to The People's Suppers movement. (www.thepeoplessupper.org)The goal of this effort links ends with means: slowing down to break bread with others gives us a chance to meet those who are different from ourselves. As we listen carefully to one another’s deepest concerns with humility we begin to rebuild “brave places” where our vulnerability becomes our strength. Founder Emily May put it like this: “We aim to repair the breach in our interpersonal relationships across political, ideological, and identity differences, leading to more civil discourse. And, we plan to do it in the most nourishing way we know – over supper!” Guidelines for each supper are provided – as well as personal training – so leaders need not reinvent the wheel. At each gathering, we begin by sharing personal responses to three questions: 1) What's the first moment that you understood what it means to be a citizen? 2) What do you dream for your community? 3) What was a moment in which you were made to feel not welcome? Every one of us eats – and almost every one of us in Pittsfield yearns for a more perfect union. Using this new/old resource gives shape and form to one of our oldest prayers: “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies… my cup overflows.”

+ A full year of researching and reporting on Pittsfield’s “shadows and light” re: racism, sexism and anti-Semitism. Our wounds have a deep history. Sadly, most of Pittsfield’s white population knows nothing of our culture of overt and covert oppression. One example is illustrative: how many of us know that it was illegal for Jews to own land in Pittsfield until after 1890? Without land, there could be no cemetery – or synagogue. That does not mean that Jews did not contribute to the well-being of our town before Knesset Israel was founded in 1893. It does mean that they were systematically denied the right to worship freely. During Pittsfield’s 250th anniversary, the Eagle and other local institutions ran daily mini-stories about events and people that had an impact on our community on that date in our past. My challenge builds on this: consider the insights we might discern if not only the Eagle, but the Athenaeum, the NAACP, the Jewish Federation, PACC and the Samuel Harrison House collaborated on a yearlong project of sharing our “hidden” histories? Both the ugly and exhilarating truths? If we want to change the trajectory of our culture, we must do the hard work of telling the truth to one another our loud.

+ A regional Truth and Reconciliation Commission that culminates in public ceremonies of repentance and forgiveness. When apartheid came to a close in South Africa, the nation’s leadership understood that laws on paper were important, but they did not change human hearts – especially hearts baptized in decades of hatred and blood. Under the tender but strong leadership of Bishop Desmond Tutu, a multi-year voluntary project was initiated that brought together people who had oppressed others for honest conversations. In time, two things transpired: many of the oppressors came to ask their victims for forgiveness, and, many of the hurting found the strength and courage to do so in ways that liberated both parties. Canada recently spent a few years of learning about its own subjugation of First Nations’ People in a similar process. This led to new initiatives to combat police brutality towards indigenous women. I confess that I do not have a monopoly on wisdom about how something similar might take place among us, yet it is clear that without owning our sins in public – and working towards reconciliation – there can be no deep healing.

There are certainly other ways to move deeper, too. The PACC team of panelists is already considering creative, “out of the box” events that would welcome younger Berkshire citizens to this essential conversation. I stand ready to do my part and pray that the Spirit of creating brave and hope-filled space continues.

going deeper with a more radical challenge...

On Sunday I participated in an important local event re: challenging and healing

the breach caused by white supremacy, sexism and antisemitism. The local paper, the Berkshire Eagle, is working hard to be a voice of wisdom and solidarity in our community. And while I always yearn for greater depth, it is working hard and I support it. The modest review of our symposium can be found @ http://www.berkshireeagle.com/stories/community-leaders-gather-for-forum-healing-pittsfield-a-conversation-about-what-divides-us,522558.

Today, the editors weighed in on this matter. Another good sign. But for whatever reason, they missed my deeper challenge. Black and white allies have been talking about this for 50 years - and not much has changed. We all tend to report out the obvious facts, without pushing the envelope towards radical change. And, IMHO that's what the paper left out.  What follows is my letter encouraging a redress so that we might do the hard work of listening, learning, unearthing our shadows and light and then seeking concrete ways of living into repentance and forgiveness.

To the editor:
I was pleased that the Eagle chose not only to send a reporter and photographer to the recent PACC "Healing Pittsfield Conversation About What Divides Us," but also to go deeper with today's editorial. There were, however two omissions in your editorial. The first, and least important, is that Rabbi Josh Briendel was not a panelist, but a moderator. I, in fact, was the fourth panelist. The second and far more important omission was my challenge to Pittsfield that included:

1) A grassroots commitment to supporting The People's Suppers movement that brings strangers and potential political opponents together for an evening meal and conversation. As the event's other moderator, the Rev. Shelia Sholes-Ross noted: Pittsfield could stand to do some bread breaking together in pursuit of healing our fractured identity. When I was pastor in Cleveland, OH the Community Relations Board regularly brought merchants, citizens and politicians together with clergy and civic leaders for a supper. A lot can happen when we pass one another the butter beans and are not meeting in a polarized setting. (for more information:
www.thepeoplessupper.org)

2) A shared year of research and reporting on the "shadows and light" of our community when it comes to racism, sexism and Antisemitism. So many of our neighbors don't know the ways we have historically wounded one another. Nor do we know the ways we have strengthened our better angels over the past 255 years. My proposal asked the key institutions to engage in a year of changing our collective ignorance and neglected history so that we might grow beyond our divisions. My friends in Canada recently did something similar in uncovering their own broken history re: First Nations People.

3) A public ritual based upon our year of story telling much like South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission. We will not advance the cause of solidarity by repeating the obvious facts. Rather, we must dig deeper and acknowledge the wounds we have caused - and ask one another for forgiveness. Then, and only then, will we have a fighting chance of overcoming the divisions we have only talked about for the past 50 years. .

I know the Eagle is committed to getting the story right and thank you in advance for your attention to this matter.

Gratefully,

The Rev. Dr. James Lumsden

tasting grace with colleagues in ministry...

Once upon a time, during a casual pastoral visit with a retired clergy person, he said, "You have a great staff right now - and a great sense of momentum. Honor it, man, and cherish it because this only happens once, maybe twice, in a lifetime." As I look backwards over nearly 40 years of ministry in the church, I know I have been blessed because I experienced an extended taste of God's grace with my different colleagues at least four different times. 

The first took place in Cleveland with a consortium of lay leaders. We made a commitment to one another to gather every two weeks for Eucharist and study. We also pledged to listen to the Spirit moving within and among us to select our leadership team. No filling slots, no overt parish politics, please; just prayer and honest conversation. This created an environment where neighborhood ministry flourished along with new music and a commitment to bring a measure of hope to the public schools.  I give thanks to God for Fran Apltauer and Kristie Greene for those sacred days. 

When life took us to the desert Southwest, there were two incarnations that felt holy to me. Bringing Sean Schulze on as music director - a gifted musician 
from South Africa - kicked up our worship groove. And for the two years that Amy O'Brien served our children, youth and young families, we had a dynamic team that was faithful, creative and way too much fun. Especially given the gifts and wisdom my dear colleague, Debbie Anderson, brought into the mix. When Sean and Amy moved on, Debbie deepened her commitment to lay empower-ment - and we added Thomas Azar to the music staff. Then we REALLY cooked in the music realm as Linda Schloss, Kim Elliot, Eric Johnson, don E Merson, Ina Merson and Dianne De Mott joined forces and gave birth to Stranger (our band.)

I would also celebrate an extended sacred run in Pittsfield, too as my colleagues David, Becky and Carlton joined forces with another gifted musical team that included Jon, Eva, Elizabeth, Sue, Brian, David and Andy. Janet's on-going devotion to our children added to the blessings. It was a joy doing ministry when this team was vibrant.

With all blessings, however, there is a time to revel in them and a time when they end: to everything there is a season. I grieve when those sacred times pass, but honor this holy rhythm knowing that I was fortunate enough to encounter them not merely once or twice, but four distinctive times. Jean Vanier reminds me that there is no ideal when it comes to a living community.

The ideal doesn't exist. The personal equilibrium and the harmony people dream of come only after years and years of struggle, and then only as flashes of grace and peace. Peace is the fruit of love and service to others. I'd like to tell the people in communities, "Stop looking for peace. Give yourselves where you are. Stop looking at yourselves, look instead at your brothers and sisters in need. Ask how you can better love your brothers and sisters. Then you will find peace.

Indeed, there is no ideal - but I've tasted something close and give thanks to God for the feast!

healing the breach...

Today I had the privilege to join with three others local civic leaders in the first of a series of community conversations - and plans - for challenging racism, sexism and antisemitism in the Berkshires. About 75 people attended. My prepared comments are as follows. Many thanks to the Rev. Sheila Sholes-Ross, Rabbi Josh Breindel, Gwendolyn Hampton VanSant and Dennis Powell. 

HEALING THE BREACH

It is my joy and privilege to be asked to share a reflection with you this day: thank you. As an old, straight, white Protestant guy getting closer to retirement, it would be so easy for me to settle back into all my privilege and just hold up in my study reading books, praying liturgies and playing music. And that’s what often happens with a lot of old, straight, white, privileged retired guys: we are so used to acting like we’re at the top of the food chain that don’t even consider doing something different. We may carp and complain about the world going to hell in a hand basket, but as my friends in AA say: if you always do, what you’ve always done, then you’ll always get what you’ve always got. So I’m here to affirm that white, male, nativist, racist, anti-Semitic misogyny must be challenged. And what I’ve learned over the past 40 years of doing justice, practicing compassion and trusting God’s guidance with humility includes these three commitments.

The first task for me – and people like me who want to address the social sins of racism, sexism and anti-Semitism – is for us to shut up and learn to listen. My first practice must be hearing and believing those who have been wounded by my privilege. It is the only way I can credibly commit what the late German theologian, Dorothee Soelle, once called race, gender and class suicide. First, listen and believe.

Second, show up in solidarity. That might mean standing in the rain for a pop up demonstration on Park Square or writing a well-crafted letter for the editorial page of the Eagle. Whatever form it takes, showing up in solidarity is essential. My mentor in ministry, Ray Swartzback, a veteran of both the Battle of the Bulge and the American Civil Rights struggle of the 50s and 60s taught me that white guys need to understand that our credibility is not portable – it must always be earned – and the only way to earn trust is to consistently show up in solidarity.

And third, celebrate the 10 foot rule. Individually I don’t have much power but I can change what happens 5 feet in front of me and all around. I need not be over-whelmed by fear or immobilized by anxiety if I practice the 10 foot rule. Take, for example, what a young woman from Brooklyn, Emily May, can teach us with her People’s Suppers. To challenge the status quo, she started to invite people into her home to break bread. The concept is simple: Bring a group of willing people together for a meal, give them the opportunity to truly hear from and see each other, face to face (and see what happens when we claim) a "brave space" from within our vulnerability. Most folks, she says, do show up albeit a little nervous. But they almost always all leave a little more open, a little more understanding, and a little more brave. Next to everybody's plate is a card: These dinners can be places for healing – and places for bridging. At each dinner, we ask the same series of questions: What's the first moment that you understood what it means to be a citizen? What do you dream for your community? What was a moment in which you were made to feel not welcome? There are other themes to these peoples dinners including intra-faith gatherings and those focused on building solidarity with those who have been wounded by sexual violence and harassment. But all give shape and form to the 10 foot rule.

Like the Sikh scholar and activist, Valarie Kaur, I sense this present darkness is more of a womb than a tomb – a sacred moment when new life and hope is struggling to be born. And as an old hippie who home delivered BOTH of my daughters I know that this birthing is holy ground – along with a lot of pain, hard work and love. For me it requires listening and believing, showing up in solidarity and using my time and resources to give justice and compassion shape and form through the ten foot rule. Mohandas Gandhi is reputed to have said, “BE the change you wish to see in the world.” And what was true then in toppling the British Empire is no less true as we confront patriarchy, racism and anti-Semitism in the Berkshires.