November 13, 2016 - Twenty Sixth Sunday after Pentecost - Pastor Sara Presiding

Safety Pins Show support for the Vulnerable 

Worship felt intimate today.

Pastor Sara presided while Pastor Michelle was with her husband in Washington D.C.  Although this is not the first time Sara has preached here, it was the first time she wore her pastor's stoll in Creator worship.

Many in the congregation were wearing safety pins today.

After the election of Donald J. Trump, fears are growing that segments of his base may physically or emotionally abuse minorities, immigrants, women and members of the L.G.B.T. community. As a show of support, groups of people across America are attaching safety pins to their lapels, shirts and dresses to signify that they are linked, willing to stand up for the vulnerable.

This all feels like the beginning of something.

Sara posted the sermon she gave called On Feeling Like The World is Ending.

I had the privilege of filling in at my home congregation, Creator Lutheran Church in Clackamas, OR on Sunday, November 13th, 2016. The Sunday following the U.S. Elections.

We begin worship with Confession and Forgiveness.
We begin with Confession.  This is our circle of worship.  So to should be our circle of living.

We begin with confession.
Confession: I am a straight, married, 33 year old, white, female. Parts of me are privileged.
And yet. Parts of me are not. And those parts feel deeply divided and broken.
So all of me is not whole this week.

Confession: This week I am one who has lamented the drastic division unveiled by the results of our national election.  And I am one who has felt voiceless and powerless and lost.

You see, as a young woman, despite my privilege as a child of the white middle class… I doubted my strength and power as a woman. I too… in the midst of my suburban educated upbringing have been told that I am unworthy, not smart enough to have a voice. Because I. am a woman.

So yes. I relived these pains this week. I confess to you. And I know… that I am not the only one feeling broken. Regardless of politics, we have uncovered this week a nation and a people more divided than we imagined. For regardless of who you voted for on Tuesday…. If you yourself are not feeling broken and divided this week: You likely have a neighbor, a friend, a loved one whose impulse on Wednesday morning was not rejoicing… but instead was fear, betrayal and lament.
And lament…. Lament….I think is what gives birth to our confessions.

I have watched this week as the lament of many has been called into question. And I have lamented myself as I too have struggled to find the gospel for this week. Struggled to find the light in the darkness. Struggled with whether or not I should even bring this lament to the table or if it might be more comfortable to just preach on moving on.

But that too, would be betraying the gospel.
Letting go of lament before her voice is finished crying out.
Moving her chaos and gut-wrenching truth to a more convenient location.
Calling for her quiet and telling her that this too shall pass.
This would be counter-productive for our work as people of faith.
Because lament…. Is what gives birth to our confessions. And without confession…. Where will we find forgiveness, justice and reconciliation?
And so yes… we lament. And we let her voice ring loud.

 For it is not long in scripture before one comes across the lament of a child of God. 

Adam and Eve.
Jacob and Esau.
Sarah and Abraham.
Hagar and Ishmael.
The psalms of lament from king David.
The Israelites in Egypt.
The Israelites in the wilderness
The Israelites in exile.

Lament is real. It is part of our bodied existence in our human skin. It is holy space. Regardless of how broken it is. And lament…. Lament begs to be heard.

Walter Brueggeman, a brilliant Old Testament theologian and poet says the following about the necessity of lament for our human tradition:

“One loss that results from the absence of lament is the loss of genuine covenant interaction, since the second party to the covenant (the petitioner) has become voiceless or has a voice that is permitted to speak only praise and doxology. Where lament is absent, covenant comes into being only as a celebration of joy and well being. Or in political categories, the greater party is surrounded by subjects who are always “yes-men and women” from whom “never is heard a discouraging word.” Since such a celebrative, consenting silence does not square with reality, covenant minus lament is finally a practice of denial, cover-up, and pretense.”

So yes. We lament. We lament for ourselves. We lament for our community. We lament for our neighbors. And… if we are NOT lamenting… then it falls upon us to listen to the lament of others.
We live in God’s circle alongside all God’s beloved in covenant relationship. In relationship of promise. With God. With one another. And part of this chaotic covenant relationship we hold dear begs that we make space for lament. For lament is what gives birth to our confessions.

And confession paves our way towards the light of hope found in forgiveness and reconciliation.
Paul in his letter to the Thessalonians this morning says many things. But the one thing he says that I am choosing to cling to is this: 

Do not be weary in doing what is right.
Do not be weary in feeding the hungry.
Do not be weary in working for affordable housing for our neighbors in need.
Do not be weary in standing up for the human and civil rights of all God’s beloved.
Do not be weary in speaking truth to power.
Do not be weary in working for peace and justice in all the world.
Do not be weary.

Among other hard things about this past week, the poet, song-writer and prophet Leonard Cohen passed away. As I was listening to NPR this week, I was struck by the final words of his final album brought to light by the show host. They are, perhaps, the prophetic gospel commission for this week and beyond:

I wish there was a treaty we could sign
It’s over now.
The water and the wine.
We were broken then, but now we’re borderline
And I wish there was a treaty.
I wish there was a treaty.
Between your love and mine.

In God, we have such a treaty. A treaty gifted to us in the healing waters of baptism that strengthen, connect and unite us all.

So…. let’s come to the font. And… in the same chaotic disorganized beauty of Creator’s Maundy Thursday footwashing… let’s mark one another with the sign of that treaty of love, justice and peace. A sign that the first thing we see in one another is only and ever our belovedness.

This is our treaty. This is our love. Amen.