Wednesday, December 26, 2012

St. Cecilia of the Potato Jesus


I think that someday they will make Cecilia Jimenez a saint.  Not now.  Certainly not any time soon.  Right now, she is scorned by all of those around her.  Her depression is so severe that she can't even leave her home.  But someday, centuries from now, she will be remembered for her faith, devotion, and sincerity.  

Who is Cecilia Jimenez?  She is the woman who is now infamous for this "renovation" project on an icon at her local parish.   


It has become known as "Potato Jesus" and has spawned hundreds of internet memes.  The original was painted by a critical and commercially unsuccessful Spanish painter who most of the world has forgotten about.  It was restored by Cecilia Jimenez who will one day be made a saint.  

I love this woman, because I have spent my life around people just like her.  The painting had been severely damaged by humidity, and there were no funds to have it professionally repaired - so she took up paint and brush and did it herself.  

The church universal is held together by the glue of men and women like Cecilia.  Having spent a lifetime praying in this church, she felt great sorrow that the beloved icon had been ruined by moisture, and she did what she could.  

Of course, the priest says he had no idea she was doing it, but she had been painting for days in plain sight of everyone.  Either her priest hadn't shown up to the church in over a week, or he is lying.  It's a pity.  Her priest should embrace her.  What a moment for the church to show grace.  The priest should be leading a large party and celebration in recognition of the new masterpiece of human devotion to God.  

Because, what better represents all of our efforts of faithfulness; the perfect production of a static Christ by an acclaimed artist or the wrecked, tattered devotion-driven failed attempt of an older, faithful woman.  

One of my favorite songs, when I was a new Christian, was called Dandelions.  It compared our attempts at devotion to a child picking dandelions for his mother.  Compared to what God has done for us, all of our efforts are childishly laughable, and tenderly embraced by God.

I recently preached my first sermon in Ukrainian.  It was about Simeon and Anna.  I focused primarily on Anna, because I had never really thought about her role in the story before.  How laughable was my attempt at preaching in Ukrainian you might ask?  At one point I mixed up the Ukrainian word for promise (OBitsyanka) and the Russian word for monkey (obiZYAnka) - stating that Simeon had a "monkey" from God that he would see the Messiah before his death.  No one laughed, but everyone smiled.  

It was my first attempt, and it wasn't an utter failure.  It was pretty good, and everyone was very encouraging.  But, it wasn't much better than dandelions or this botched painting.  It was done in faithfulness to a calling, and it brought great joy.  It was a blessed and holy time - for me if for no one else.  

And, here is what I wanted to include in that sermon, but couldn't get the words right.  Cecilia Jimenez is Anna.  

Anna was an old woman who had lived at the temple praying and worshipping for years.  She was a woman, old, a widow, and childless.  Her culture had no value for her.  She was the crazy church lady.  She wasn't even allowed into the main part of the temple because of her gender, but still she stayed.  And she prayed.  She prayed that the Savior would come - and God heard her prayer and answered her prayer.  

I wonder what Cecilia Jimenez has spent her life praying for?  Has God answered her prayers without her knowledge?  

In the end, I believe with all of my heart, that she will be rewarded for her faithfulness - regardless of the outcome of this one failed attempt.  In the future, people will read about her work and be inspired by the simple fact that our terrible, failed attempts at proper devotion to the God we love are truly loved by the God who loves us.  

Potato Jesus has brought hundreds of people into that little church to see the new tourist attraction.  Maybe just one of them will be inspired to spend some time in prayer or contemplation.  It will be worth it.  Even our sad attempts to live out our devotion to Christ can help show the way to the Savior.  
          

Saturday, December 22, 2012

My first sermon in Ukrainian



When Hans, the previous Bishop of Eurasia, first invited me to Kyiv for a breakfast conversation some winters ago - I was all kinds of nervous.  I could have taken the overnight train to Kyiv and made it to the hotel he was staying at for breakfast in the morning.  But, the problem with the overnight train is that you can't brush your teeth on the train.  The water isn't potable, and it's not safe for brushing.  It seems that the entire trainfull of people waits in line for the bathroom at McDonald's.  I usually skip this step and just chew some minty gum - but that didn't seem appropriate for having a meeting with the Bishop.

In the end, I arrived in Kyiv the night before and stayed with friends.  I know a group of artist who live in a commune - and somehow, spending the night in a commune seemed more appropriate than chewing minty gum before meeting with the Bishop.  I nervously brushed my teeth for about twenty minutes.

Bishop Vaxby immediately calmed my nerves.  He asked me to call him Hans, introduced me to the group he was visiting as one would introduce an old friend, and excused us to a second dining room.

His news was all good.  He shared that he would be asking the General Board of Global Ministries to invite me to work in Lviv.  It was really a dream come true.

Hans said that he had heard me speaking Russian and Ukrainian, and this was one of the reasons he wanted to invite me.  He said, "You are young, and within a year of language study you will be preaching in Ukrainian and Russian."  I was shocked to hear that my Bishop had more faith in me than I did.

I'm not quite there yet.  I've had to sacrifice my Russian skills to make true progress in Ukrainian.  At preaching club, I preach impromptu sermons in Ukrainian.  They are all 3-4 minutes long, and the small group is very encouraging.

Tomorrow, I will preach my first full sermon in front of a congregation in Ukrainian.  At the student center, the sermons will likely always be in English - as students feel very comfortable with that, and many people enjoy the practice of interpreting.  At the United Methodist church here, however,  we wanted sermons to all be in Ukrainian.  This will be the first time I preach at the church since the accident, and it will be my first sermon in Ukrainian.

I wrote a rough guide of what I wanted to say, sad down with my Ukrainian teacher and went line by line of how I would say it in Ukrainian.  She showed me in each line, how the grammar should fit better and which words might make more sense.  It really could almost be a children's sermon - and it certainly isn't my most impressive theological treatise - but it makes my heart happy to know that tomorrow I will push and stretch myself a little bit more - and to know that maybe I should have as much confidence in myself as my bishop does!

Below is the Ukrainian and following that is the English. From the text Luke 2:21-38.
 
Це історія чекання.

В давнину єврейський народ вмів довго чекати. Сорок років вони чекали в пустелі. Століттями вони чекали на відбудову стіни. Тисячоліттями вони чекали на Месію.

У мене нема терпіння. Я не вмію чекати. Коли я жив в Росії десять років назад, був тільки один магазин, який продавав екзотичні фрукти взимку. Там завжди була неймовірно довга черга. І коли приходила чиясь черга, він довго і нудно роздумував що він хоче купити.  Перший раз щоб купити мандаринки я прочекав пів години.

Пізніше мені потрібно було зареєструватись і я прочекав в черзі два дні в держустановах на різних кінцях міста. Я написав своїм батькам листа, (який йшов до них десять днів, і ще десять днів я чекав їхню відповідь), отож я написав їм в листі про ідею чекання. Я не знав як пояснити їм цю ідею, бо я ніколи до цього не чекав довше ніж п'ятнадцять хвилин. Ми жили в маленькому місті і там не було достатньо людей щоб утворилась черга. Я думав що вони не зможуть зрозуміти як довго я чекав на свою реєстрацію і мандарини.

----

Мої батьки ніколи нам не розповідали як довго вони чекали на мій і моєї сестри народження. вони ніколи не розповідали про бажання, надію, молитву і очікування дітей. Моїй мамі було тридцять два роки коли я народився. Я ніколи не зауважував що моя мама старша ніж мами моїх однокласників. Після мого народження моїй мамі було потрібне переливання крові. А в цей час це було дуже небезпечно через часті випадки зараження ВІЛ-СНІДом.  Мама ніколи не розповідала про те як боялась переливання крові і як потім чекала на негативні результати тесту.

Сьогодні ми читали історію про чекання і я думаю, що навіть для нас ця ідея чекання є не зовсім зрозумілою. Єврейський народ тисячоліттями чекав на Месію. Симеон - старий  віруючий чоловік. Йому було обіцяно, що він побачить Месію. Коли він тримав це дитя на руках, він знав що його час вже прийшов.

Але мене найбільше цікавить Анна, стара жінка, яка не отримала обіцянки побачити Месію перед своєю смертю. Коли я вперше прочитав цю притчу, я не зрозумів чому Анна така важлива в цій історії. Отож , чому вона така важлива в цій історії? Вона така важлива в цій історії, тому що вона провела весь свій час в храмі, в молитві. Про що вона молилася? Вона молилася про прихід Месії, обіцяний в Святому Писанні.

Найцікавіше про Анну є те, що її вважали нічого не вартою.Вона була старою жінкою, вдовою, і бездітною.Вона була нічого не вартою в своїй культурі , але  в очах Бога вона була безцінною. Господь послав їй свого сина. Бого почув її молитву і відповів на неї.

Ми не зовсім розуміємо поняття молитви. Багато з нас не вміють молитися як слід. Ми не знаємо як діє молитва. Але ми знаємо, що Бог відповідає на наші молитви. Хіба це не цікава думка, що Бог почув молитву Анни і відповів їй?!

Бог слухає нас.

Бог відповідає на наші молитви.

І навіть в час тяжкого горя і болю, Бог чує наші молитви і Бог чекає нас.  
 
------

І на завершення, пастор Адам Гемільтон написав: "Різдвяна історія закінчується на хресті і в пустому гробі. Господь зазнає найбільшого зла, на яке спроможні люди. Його  бичували  і розіпяли на хресті, він помирає в агонії. Але це не кінець історії. На третій день  гріб спустів і Христос воскрес. Воскресіння показує нам, що ні смерть, ні ненависть, ані зло ніколи не візьмуть верх."

Наші молитви можуть мати різні відповіді - не тільки ті, на які ми хочемо, але в цей самий час ми розуміємо, о Господні шляхи це вищі.Чекаючи на Різдво, нехай Господь нагадає нам, що Він чує наші молитви і відповідає на них.

Амінь

Story Saturday

a series of posts in which I try to write a humorous account of my harrowing life

It was Voloday who invited me to the evangelism conference.  I like evangelism.  I life conferences.  I like meeting other Christians.  But the idea of listening to people prattle on in Ukrainian for several hours wasn't so appealing.  But, I couldn't think of anything better to do with my weekend than be judged by Baptists who might have seen me drink wine at a restaurant - so, of course I said, "Yes!"

The opening worship brought me to every poorly planned chapel at my Christian college.  There was off-kilter dancing, out of rhythm clapping, the theme song from Rocky, and older men trying to look like teenagers while using out-dated black slang.  It was delightful.

It was during the first session that we broke into groups to discuss the topic of barriers to evangelism.  When I was pressed to answer, I honestly stated that my biggest barrier was that I simply didn't have a lot of non-Christian friends.  I work at a church and I'm surrounded by Christians all day.

The entire group stared blankly at me.  I went through my answer in my mind and checked my cases.  I had used the proper endings all around.  Their blank stares began searching to find each other.  Reinforced by herd mentality, they all resumed the stare down.  Their stares spoke volumes, presciently, "Why would you have non-Christian friends?"  Mercifully, someone else in the group spoke up with a more agreeable opinion and everyone enthusiastically agreed.

From time to time, someone in the group would look back at me.  Our eyes would meet - and their faces would flash recognition.  Clearly I was a socialist.  Clearly I was a backslider.  Clearly I hadn't read my Bible.

And maybe all of those things are true, at least on different days.  I called my mother later in the day to complain about this.  She had about as much sympathy as Scrooge might.  "Well, that's what you get for being a liberal."  I told her that I was joking about bringing my flask and taking a swig during the session, but she was clearly not convinced.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Wordless Wednesdays


Saturday, December 15, 2012

Annual Christmas Letter

This will be the first year I write a first-person Christmas letter.  It is my habit to write a third-person, humorous account of my year in review.  To be honest, this was the hardest year of my life.  I am thankful for this year, for the growth it caused in my life, and for the people that surrounded me in it - but it was hard.

I moved full time to Lviv, Ukraine.  It was wonderful to finally have a full time placement.  For the previous 3 years, I hadn't slept in the same bed or room for more than three months at any time.  This had been exhausting, and I was thankful for the permanency of home.

Moving is stressful.  Upon arrival, I plunged head first into full time language study.  Nazar lived with me, and we would have lessons, lunch, lessons, dinner, some fun or friends over in the evening, and then more language study before bed.  Usually we would still be having lessons at 1 in the morning.  I loved this exhausting time of cramming cases and rules into my head.  In my spare time I took up painting and found I have a real knack for it.

My brain was so tired from language lessons, that I really couldn't function enough to do anything else.  The entire winter was consumed with language lessons and cultural adaptation.  Nazar's grandmother took me into her home for the holidays and made me feel part of the family.

In the spring, I began working more and more with our church planting efforts in Stryi.  Vitya, an older teenager from the church, traveled with me back and forth to work with us in the effort.  It was good to get to know Vitya.  Although he doesn't speak a word of English, and isn't my translator, it is still nice to have a native speaker to help me out from time to time.  In the mornings, or in the evenings when I am tired; I am completely incapable of speaking Ukrainian.  There were many times when Vitya did a good job helping me navigate difficult situations.  Sadly, we had to close down our efforts in that town.

I also had a chance to have breakfast with Illya's mom and worship with them at their Greek Catholic church.  I took a vacation in Romania and had a wonderful time with some European friends in their final days as exchange students.  It was perfect and relaxing.

I came home early so that I could see Nazar off to the airport.  He is a mission intern - and I am incredibly proud of his service in South Korea.  It was on my way to the airport with him and his grandmother that I got the call that there had been an accident at the student center.  The day was filled with confusion and sadness.  By the evening, all of our faces were plastered on all of the news outlets and we understood that our dear friend Illya had died, as well as an American from the team, David Nevotti.  David Goran was in the hospital without anti-biotics or painkillers and it was clear that he would need to be airlifted to Germany to have his pelvis operated on.

Our Bishop, Hans, and his wife Kaika came to be with us and it was wonderful to have their wise presence at the time.  The criminal investigation opened up and put our pastor and community at risk.  The weeks and months that follow are somewhat of a blur.  If asked to recreate a time-line, I don't know if I could.  All I remember is how wonderful the Ukrainians in our community were throughout the entire ordeal.  The constant meetings, being stopped by a friend on the street and ducking into an alleyway for prayer, the Bible-verse sharing, the 3 AM phone calls with my pastor.

Pastor Lyubomir watched a video on surviving in a Ukrainian prison.  One of the hints was to have lots of cigarettes on you when you were arrested so that you could trade for things you needed.  Lyubomir and I both bought packs of cigarettes and started carrying them, just in case.  When we would greet one another, we would silently tap our hidden packs of cigarettes.  Thankfully, the legal fears were nothing but fear.  We faced each day, and the two of us shared the burden of dealing with the legal situation.

My colleague and friend from New York, Vladimir Shaporenko came for a visit.  It was good to spend time with him, and for him to see this incredible ministry.  He was blown away by how wonderful the students were.  He promises to return again and spend more time with us.

My dear friend Maks, the first of the students to embrace me as a brother, passed away under unknown and mysterious circumstances.  His funeral was unexplainably hard.

After Nazar left, the guest room was empty.  Nazar and I had talked with Vitya about furthering his education - and I had encouraged him to apply to a technical college.  He excitedly called to let me know that he had been accepted to one.  The next day he showed up with his bags.  I slowly put everything together - that of course he had understood that our encouragement and my excitement had been an invitation of a place to live.  I was tired of living alone, understood that his family could never afford to pay for him to live in the city, and gladly accepted the company.

After a few months, it was obvious that his reading skills weren't strong enough for the technical college and he was put in a remedial program.  Although he is 19, he was put with 15 year olds in a high school.  Rather than a roommate, I ended up with an accidental teenage son.  My evenings are filled with homework help, remedial reading, and other parenting things.  My house is filled with his teenage friends, and I wouldn't have it any other way.  Everyone at church teases me about having a teenage son and still no wife, but it's a good-natured joke and I enjoy it.

Following the accident I also found a few new friends, who have been wonderful companions and truly compassionate to me.  I don't know if I would have survived without Den and Olya in addition to all of my friends from the student center.  I also found out that I really enjoy translating Ukrainian poetry into English.  I've been told that I have a knack for it, and will hopefully publish some poems next year.

This year has been long, hard, and challenging.  But, I have grown, matured, and changed.  I hope that all of you will have a wonderful Christmas.  Thank you for keeping me in your prayers this year.  I pray that next year will be a blessed one for all of us.

Love, Michael Airgood.

  

Story Saturday


I'm almost never afraid anymore.  For the longest time it seemed that any task could instill fear in me when needed to be performed in Ukrainain.  I was always afraid I wouldn't know the right word, or I would mix up my cases and embarrass myself.

I still do all of those things, they just don't scare me anymore.

I get most of the way through a rather long paragraph of information and realize that I have no clue how to say suffocate in Ukrainian, and so I prattle on for a bit longer and finally mime out the rest.  Everyone shares a good laugh at my expensive and we move on with our lives.

I was visiting a friend's village - and his mother recommended that I go visit the school and speak to all of the students.  Now, in America we would never do this.  I can just imagine a Mexican immigrant coming to our school and insisting on speaking to all of the Spanish students.  I do, however, have some experience and a few titles behind my English Teacher desk; and I distinctly remember Nazar sharing story after story of the loons they invited to come and speak to his class - so I knew I would fit in.

One loon explained to Nazar's class why they should never add sugar to tea.  They should taste the actual herbs and spices of the blend of tea.  Apparently this was shared during an all-school assembly time, and apparently he used 45 minutes to convey this point.  And to whit, Nazar still refuses sugar in his tea.

And, so, it felt quite natural to march into the school and ask to speak to the director.  Of course I was well received and invited to speak to all of the classes.  The students cleaned each classroom before I entered, and were all wonderfully polite.  The oldest students were absolutely terrified to practice their English, and together we mostly spoke Ukrainian.

It was the younger students, the eighth class and younger who spoke fluently and confidently in English.  They asked me all kinds of questions that would be much to personal to ask a stranger in America - but fit right in here.

In Ukrainian school's it's altogether miraculous to find an intelligent boy.  All of the girls are regarded as bright students, but the entire male population is fitted with dunce caps in Elementary school and they wear them straight through their second doctoral degree.  Of course, in the village the boys miss a tremendous amount of school because they are needed in the fields - so girls do get much more classroom time.  There are other reasons, too.  Classroom time is neatly planned around rote-memorization and recitals.  Girls excel in these tasks, and girls are rewarded for excelling.

It doesn't seem to matter how naturally intelligent a boy is, the second he is put in a room of female students and female teachers he becomes an idiot.

Each classroom has an icon at the head of the room.  This fascinates me.  I remember my third grade teacher kept a Bible on his desk and reminding us occasionally that it was his right to do so.  When I began teaching at the University, I was given a small book of prayers of the saints to read at the beginning of lessons.  But, I was most fascinated most by the icons.  There really isn't any rhyme or reason for which icon to hang.  I guess it would make more sense to me if each room had Jesus, or even Mary - but some rooms had random saints, Ukrainian nationalist saints, or others I didn't know of.

It was the 11th form classroom whose icon fascinated me the most.  The icon was larger than life - it filled half of a wall, really.  The icon of Mother Mary breastfeeding baby Jesus.  Her ample bosom seemed to spill out into the room of pubescent students.  I can't imagine who was so inspired to buy this and hang it in a room filled with young men.  It was just so incredibly distracting.  The entire time I tried to talk about grammar and such, my eyes just kept going back to that icon.  The way it seemed that the eyes of both Mary and suckling Jesus followed you no matter where you went in the room.

And standing in front of a room full of students who wouldn't speak English to me, and being chased by more than the eyes of a couple of saints, I immediately remembered what it was like to be afraid again.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Wordless Wednesdays

This is a tank.  The sign is also ironicly funny. 

Saturday, December 08, 2012

Story Saturday


I had to wait until the next day to get my results.  I asked Pastor Volodya to go with me to the next appointment.  His vocabulary is a bit larger than mine between our two languages - but he wouldn't be my interpreter - just another friend.

We were given the MRI scans in a large brown envelope and sent upstairs to the doctors office.  We were early, so I pulled out my scans.

It was like a branch of broccoli sticking out between two teeth.  Tiny, yet completely undeniable in every way - with no medical training I could see the herniated disc popping out.  This was not good.

When the doctor pulled out the scan, I just watched his eyes.  They winced when they came to the slide I had noticed.  He tried to play it cool, but I knew it was bad.  He drew a picture of the scoliosis in my spine, and explained that the combination of my crooked spine and my incredible weight problem had caused this.

Valodya believes innately that all Christians should have rockin'-bods.  He doesn't believe that a Christian should be on the heavy side, and he always shares a look of disgust when I eat anything sweet or anything at all really.  As soon as the doctor began discussing a diet plan, I immediately regretted bringing Valodya.  I wished that Den or Olya had been with me - they at least could have playfully teased rather than judgmentally reproved.
 
I knew my life would be a living hell after this.  Long after the pain in my back had faded, Volodya would be pressing and pushing me about my girth.  What upsets me most, is that I am not even large by American standards.  Compared to most of Minnesota I'm trim and petite.

As we left, Valodya said, "Do you think that Doctor is a Jew?"  I wish that the written word could fully capture the intonation of disgust registering in his voice, - that you could draw a crooked nose above words to symbolize a genocidal tone -  but, sadly - that's all up to your imagination.  I weakly responded, "Yes, I think so."  And he volleyed, "Good.  That's very good ... Let's go for a run."

Thursday, December 06, 2012

Tonight at Pilgrims, we are having a fun night.  We've had so many challenges and setbacks this year, and we hope to end on a lighter note.  We will do a scavenger hunt and end with pizza.  It should be delightful.

The one catch is that the groups will be tied together for the scavenger hunt.  It should be delightful.

"My best friend growing up was my next door neighbor.  We did everything together.  Alex was two years older than me, and our older siblings were the oldest kids in the neighborhood, so they were in charge.  We always played wonderful group games together and had a great time.

One day, Alex and I began a conversation about our religious understandings.  Specifically, we began arguing about which of our families was more religious.  I had never seen Alex in church before, and because at this point in my life I assumed that there was only one church in the universe, I assumed that meant that Alex didn't go to church.

He explained that he went to the other big Protestant church down the road from the one I went to.  I explained that my mother was the organist at my church.  He explained that his mother was also an organist and played the organ at his church.  We continued discussing the involvement of each of our family members to try and decide which of us was from the more religious family.

It was an odd game for children to play, but it is an even odder game for adults to play.

History has recorded many wars fought throughout the centuries between different groups and factions within the church.  There has been much division.  This is the reason that Pilgrims is proudly inter-confessional.  We believe in Unity of the body.  We believe that we are better together than we are apart.

Certainly we have disagreements, and arguments, and occasionally we raise our voices.  It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it does.  We choose to live together in community and to figure these things out.  It would be easier to just all stay separated, but we choose to take the much harder path of being together.

Alex and I were opposites in every way.  He runs ultra-marathons today, just as an example of how different we are!  But, our families lived side by side and we were together through good times and bad times.

God has brought us together as a community, and whether we always agree or not, we understand that God has brought us together for a reason.  The Bible talks about friendship, and says that a cord of three strands is not easily broken.

Can I have two volunteers?

God calls us together.  We are here for each other.  When times are tough, we hold each other up.  I can't tell you how many times a phone call, message, or prayer from someone in this community has lifted me up and made me stronger.  God binds us together as one people, and we leave this place to face the world bound together as one people.

Amen.

Wednesday, December 05, 2012

Wordless Wednesdays


Saturday, December 01, 2012

Story Saturday


Some weeks later, my back is still not feeling much better.  While we have tried most of the folk remedies not involving "eye of toad and tail of newt", my friend Lyubomir finally called a doctor for me.  I thought about taking a translator with me, but decided against it.  It seemed like a doctor's visit would be more exotic without a translator.

Somewhere in the middle of my appointment when I was explaining my "slipped capital femural epyphysis" operation - I really wish I had brought one.  Thankfully, the clinic had the internet and google translate knows all.

My doctor was a short, hairy fellow.  He certainly could have been middle-eastern, but his name was pure Ukrainian nationalist.  I wondered if he was perhaps ersatz - like the Chinese-American doctor named Chris(tmas) Carol.  But, he was very pleasant to talk to - and we talked for over 40 minutes.  My friend had recommended a private, Catholic clinic.  It was miles above the state-owned hospitals.  It was modern, clean, and inexpensive by my standards.  The doctor gladly repeated himself three times whenever it was needed.  He asked a lot of questions, and when he found out that my mom had undergone back surgery, he immediately sent me down to get an MRI.

As I walked down the bright, clean hallway - it morphed into the most hideous, Soviet prison my mind could imagine.  It suddenly dawned on me that I had never really gone to the doctor alone for anything serious before.  Then it dawned on me that perhaps something was seriously wrong - and I felt so incredibly alone.

I texted Olya, one of my closest friends, and asked her to come and sit with me.  She texted back that she was in Poland.  It was cavalier, one of those, "Olya can't come to the phone right now because she's in Poland" messages.  I didn't want to call any of the students from the student center and get the gossip cart rolling - and I nervously clicked through my contact list to think of someone outside the community who might be free and willing to come sit at the clinic with me.
 
My friend Den's name popped up.  We met through my friend Valya who is fashionable and hip and who know's everyone who is anyone in this city.  Den works for a film festival, and looks like that's about right.  Den looks a little bit like Johnny Depp, but not so very masculine; and when he talks he sounds a bit like a self-conscious Truman Capote.  He's a new friend, but very fun to be around. I enjoy spending time with Den because we both get to practice language - but it is never forced.  We will talk in Ukrainian and I forget and start into English until he forgets and we switch back and forth this way.  It never feels like I am giving an English lesson or taking a Ukrainian lesson.
 
He promised he would be waiting for me when I finished the MRI.  And immediately my fears subsided a bit - which is good because it was at this point that they pulled me into the room.

They put me into a small closet and the attendant mumbled something.  Thankfully, I've had enough screening and examinations to know the drill and quickly changed out of my clothes into the paper poncho.

Boy, does being being squeezed into a paper-thin, plexi-clear, paper poncho designed for a tiny Ukrainian make me forget that I actually speak Ukrainian.  The nurse came and asked me a series of very serious, ominous questions.  His tone imbued each one with a sense of life or death, and yet it was as if I had just landed in this country that morning.  The only thought running through my head was, "I need an adult!" - and finally he switched into English and asked me if I had ever had an MRI before.  I said yes and we proceeded to the room.

My last MRI had cost 300 times more than this one would - and the only difference was I had listed to Bach during it.  This room was filled with odd techno-music.  I thought this was bizarre - but when the machine startled it's rattles and poundings, it seemed to fit the music nicely.

I fell asleep instantly and was relieved forty minutes later to get to put my clothes back on.  Den was waiting out in the lobby as promised.  I sat down next to him and we talked a little bit about what might be wrong.  I looked up and noticed that the woman working in the coat room was staring at us.  We must have looked an odd pair, because her expression read, "Don't you know this is a Catholic clinic?"  Den noticed what I was noticing and began to laugh.  "Yes, the woman at reception had the same look when I said that I was not your translator, but just a friend."  We both laughed, which made Scowly McCoatroom very nervous.
 
We sat for a while longer as the sounds of techno music left my ears and coat-room woman's scowl melted away.  And we got up and began the long, slow, walk home.

(to be continued ...) 

Thursday, November 29, 2012

and to walk humbly with your God

Luke 18:9-14

Here is the problem that we face when we act justly and love mercy - when we live our life in all the right ways, we tend to get proud and boastful about it.

One pastor wrote about his favorite sermon to preach.  He had never tasted alcohol in his life, and he would often preach against the dangers of alcohol.  He was reading this story in the Bible, when he realized that if a sermon is too easy to preach, he probably shouldn't be preaching it.  He was so proud of his accomplishment of staying away from alcohol, that he thought the rest of his sins were somehow less bad.

As soon as we get our act together, it becomes so easy to begin judging others for not living in the right way. And in this passage, we find Jesus lifting up the man on the ground, and rejecting the man who is so proud.

And so, of the list of three - the list of how we should live our lives, "to talk humbly with your God" is the third and the final.

This is one of those impossibly complicated things to explain, "to walk humbly with your God."

Let's begin with humility.

I'm rather convinced that humility is one of those things that most people just don't understand.  I think that we try and find some way to show humility.  We find some act that is a symbol of humility.

And all of these little actions, they show that we value humility - but they don't make us humble.

I once saw a foot washing ceremony that left me feeling very confused.  A foot washing ceremony is used as a symbol of humility and service.  I have seen really beautiful services that included a foot washing.  In this one, a very wealthy leader of a large community had invited one of the church leaders up on the stage.  They were both in suits.  The leader rolled up his sleeves, and prepared to wash the other man's feet.  But, he noticed that he was still wearing his watch, and it was obviously a very expensive watch.  He gently took it off, and waved for someone to come over and take it from him before the ceremony.  One of his staff members ran over and dutifully held on to the watch throughout the service.  After the other man's feet were washed, the leader took his expensive watch and put it back on.

And, in this service, who showed humility?  It was the staff member who was a servant to the wealthy leader.

Do you want to grow humble - go sit on the street in the cold and beg for change.  Crawl on crutches and maimed legs from place to place and wait for the kindness of strangers to make things better for you.

When you are humiliated, you will be made humble.  When the whole class joins the lecturer in laughing at your mistake, you will feel what it means to be humble.  

When I have gone with the group that does the feeding ministry, I have seen some really humble people.  I have seen people who have been humbled by their difficult circumstances.  Christina, will now come up and share some words about the feeding ministry which will be next week.

In the church, we value humility; when we meet a truly humble person - we are in shock.  I don't know how many of you had a chance to meet Hans Vaxby when he was in Lviv this summer.  He is retiring this year after serving as the Bishop of the United Methodist church in Eurasia.  When you meet Hans, he immediately asks you to just call him Hans.  He doesn't like to be called Bishop or Mr. Vaxby.  He prefers the simple use of his first name, Hans.  He just exudes humility.  In everything he does, he just does it humbly.  He gladly steps aside so that others can step up.

As Christians, we work to imitate Christ.  It is  Christ hanging naked on the cross that shows us what true humility is.  They ripped out his beard.  They beat him.  They hung a sign over his head which read "King of the Jews"  They humiliated him.  And humility is that he forgave them.  In humility, we never try to boast about our own accomplishments and good deeds.  They are all rags compared with the glory of Christ.

My favorite hymn comes from the Spanish language.  What it says is simple: When the poor ones who have nothing share with strangers, then we know that God still goes that road with us.  When the thirsty give water to others, then we know that God still goes that road with us.  When we show humility, we show that God is real, and that God is by our side.

Matthew 28:16-20

When we read the scriptures that record the great commission, we read Jesus calling us to go out into the world and to share the good news of Jesus Christ.  In the English version, they translated the first word "Go" as a direct command.  But, this wasn't entirely correct.  It would be better translated, "As you are going"  This great commission, this call to go into all the world - this is a call for us to keep walking on the road we are on.  This is a call for us to live our lives - to go to the university, to show up to work, to go on vacation, to eat dinner with friends - and in doing those things, to walk humbly with our God.  We are not called to stand on the street corners and yell and scream about our faith, we are called to humbly live life and through that, invite others to join this road with us.

And this same scripture, it ends with the final thought, "I am with you always"

In days of great success and in days of terrible failure - God is with you.  When I am able to live out my faith fully, and when I am a terrible witness of God's love - God is with me.  Like the thirsty who give water, when we share our time and energy with this ministry - God is with us.

As we walk in humility, God is with us.



Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Wordless Wednesdays

The coat room under the staircase at the University.  Also, Hogwarts. 

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Story Saturday


The pain was immediate and entirely convincing.  I had only bent down to pet my cat, but as the pain shot through my spine, I lunged for my bed.  After twenty minutes of total immobility I called to my roommate and asked him to hand me my computer so I could call my sister.  My closest friends reference my roommate as my other cat.  It's nothing he has done wrong, nor is it the way I treat him - it's simply our communication patterns.  He doesn't speak any English and my Ukrainian is hit or miss on my best days.  When we don't understand each other, Vittya simply walks away and finds something more interesting, like a ball of string or a laser point on the wall.

After I called him back and tried again, this time in Ukrainian, I explained that I was in a lot of pain.  Vittya's Ukrainian instincts kicked in and immediately he offered me a dozen wives tale remedies.  He called his mother who had the other 27 he could write down.  I called my other cat back into the room again and this time he handed me my computer so I could call my sister, the doctor.

I don't know why I'll never trust wives tales.  Maybe I feel that for medical advice to be real, you have to really fight to get it out of your doctor.
 
Rebecca sighs in a loud, prolonged way anytime I begin a medical question.  I wonder what it would look like if I did the same each time I was asked to pray at a family function.  I can imagine Debbie rolling her eyes at being asked to pick out a note on a piano.  This time, I'm clearly on the edge of tears and Rebecca finds it in her heart to render a diagnosis.  "It's not cancer."  This is really progress in getting a diagnosis from her, and I calm down enough for her to explain what probably happened.

Vittya came back with an additional 47 folk-remedies from his grandmother; and I sent him out to go fetch some tylenol and an ice-pack.  He cocks his head to the side, and I try the sentence again in Ukrainian.  I'm amazed at how slowly my brain works when I'm in pain.

After three tries with the Ukrainian word for ice-pack, I phone a Ukrainian friend to translate.

I thank Rebecca and she prods me to move my toes - a feat that I am still capable of - and she tells me that I'll be fine and to stop being a baby.  Exactly what I had hoped to hear from her.

Vittya offers to begin calling his aunts for more remedies, but I just thank him for the ice-pack and try to get some rest.  His confused look tells me that probably after I rest I will be able to speak in Ukrainian again.

(to be continued ...)

Thursday, November 22, 2012

to love mercy

We are told to love mercy.

And who loves mercy?  People who have been shown much mercy, love mercy.


When we think of someone who has been shown much mercy, we cannot help but think of King David.  It was during the time when the king should have been off to war, but this king stayed home.  And when he saw Bathsheba bathing on the roof, he called his servants to go and collect her for him.  Although David had many wives and concubines, he wanted Bathsheba and he took her.

Her husband, Uriah, was at war.  When she became pregnant, David called her husband back hoping that everyone would be bad at math and he wouldn't get caught.  But, Uriah refused to leave the gates of the palace.  He begged to return to the battlefield to serve his country.  David sent him back, with secret instructions for the general to send him first and have everyone else pull back - ensuring his death.

An adulterer and a murderer.  Shevchenko wrote about David in his well known poem, Kavkaz.


Бо благоденствує! У нас
Святую Біблію читає
Святий чернець і научає,
Що цар якийсь-то свині пас
Та дружню жінку взяв до себе,
А друга вбив. Тепер на небі.
Об бачите, які у нас
Сидять на небі! Ви ще темні,
Святим хрестом не просвіщенні,
У нас навчіться!.. 


These are the kind of people who are sitting in heaven.  And what is more, David was known as a man after God's own heart.  David was known for his goodness and faithfulness.  David was shown mercy by God.



We are guilty of tremendous sin, and our punishment is death.

We deserve that death, but Christ hangs on the cross in the way of our punishment.  This is what we deserve, but our of God's great love - we receive something else.



Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.  People who love mercy, they show mercy.

We are not ashamed or embarrassed to be in need of mercy.  We love the mercy that God shows us.  When I stand before you, dear friends, I feel so entirely inadequate.  I feel like I don't have anything to say, or that my life is too messed up - and I realize that a lot of those feelings stem from some embarrassment of all the mercy God has shown me.  God's mercy is something that we should love and delight in.  I need a tremendous amount of grace and mercy from God.  I stand before you as a sinner, who knows the great love of a merciful God.  And, I think that's a pretty great place to be.

It's hard to understand the exact words used in this verse.  This idea of mercy is complicated.  The word in the original Greek is Chesed (хесед).  It is this idea of loving kindness.




The first time I remember hearing about the slavic world, was when I was a teenager.  Americans are known around the world for not knowing much about the rest of the world - and sadly, this is true.  When I was a teenager, a family friend, Diane, came to one of my classes with a guest.  This man worked for the government and worked with international aide.  It was so interesting, because at first he began talking about coming to Ukraine in the early 90s to help the poor Ukrainians.  He told us about the collective farms, and that the tractors they used were very inefficient - they left a lot of the crop behind on the ground.  So, this man brought tractors in from the US that were much more efficient.

And this is often our understanding of justice that we learned about last week.  There is a problem, and we go in and we fix it.

It was the story I had grown up hearing, about how America helped other countries.  But this man, he went on - and he told us the rest of the story. Before his arrival, after the inefficient tractors had gone through, old women had followed behind and picked up the rest.  They had gleaned the field.  The had sold some of this on the roadside and had taken the rest home for their families to eat.  The story of Ruth is a story of mercy.  .  These women without a kinsman, without a man to provide for them, they were left to the mercy of the community.  This community could have left them for dead, but instead they were kind enough to allow them to glean behind the farmers.  Ruth's mother-in-law is named Naomi.  Her name meant sweet, but when she was left alone without a man to provide for her, she asked to be called "bitter" instead.  It is through this that Ruth meets Boaz and is able to provide for her mother-in-law.  It is through their mercy to Ruth's mother-in-law, that she returned to being known as Naomi.  Through pain and suffering she is made bitter, through mercy she is made sweet.

This American continued the story in a way that really surprised me.  With the new, efficient, American tractors; there was nothing left for the old women to glean.  These women began to suffer terribly.  They lost income and they lost food.  This man went on to explain to us the way that he and his team had ruined the lives of these women by not paying attention.  He saw a problem and fixed it, but he created many, many more problems.

But our sense of doing justice must be tempered by our love for mercy.  Mercy is tenderness and gentleness.  If this man had spent more time studying and observing, and listening to the people he wanted to help - he could have shown mercy to these older women as well.

It was such a powerful lesson to me about consequences of our actions.  That even when we try to do good, we can still cause harm.  When we talked about justice, the verb was "to act" or "to do"  when Micah talks about Mercy, he isn't calling us to go and to do something.  There isn't an action that is part of this.  Mercy is one of those things you can't plan for.  You have to love mercy every day. You have to joyfully receive God's mercy, and in doing both of those - you will be able to show mercy as well.  


My grandfather is a big, tall, strong man.  All of my life, he has seemed to be bigger and taller and stronger than all of my friend's grandfathers.  He's got a big smile and thick glasses, and people almost always like him.  He makes strangers smile and remembers their names.  When he was in school, his nickname was Radar.  His glasses were very thick, but he wasn't allowed to wear them on the football field. But,  It seemed he always knew where the football was, and he was always one of the best players.  My grandfather is very Italian, and their stereotype is that they will do anything for those they love.   He and my grandma were high-school sweethearts.  One day, he was walking my grandma to her house and another boy pulled up in his truck.  The boy said that he was in love with Elaine, and my grandpa said, "Well, so am I - the only difference is that she loves me back."  The other boy tried to run him over with his truck.  I just assume that the other boy spent some time in the hospital  after that.

My grandparents have been married for almost 65 years.  As my grandma has gotten older, she has lost her memory.  She usually doesn't recognize me, and often forgets who my mom is as well.  Sometimes she doesn't even recognize her own husband.  My grandfather was always the stereotype of a 1950s husband.  He earned the paycheck, and grandma did everything around the house.  When grandma started forgetting recipes and burning food, grandpa learned how to cook all of their favorite foods and how often to serve them.  He washes all the dishes.  He keeps the house spotless.  He does the laundry and irons the clothes.  And he doesn't correct or argue with grandma.  When he is reading the mail she just brought in, and she decides she should check for the mail, he watches out the window to make sure she is safe.   He helps her all day long and makes sure she is comfortable.

My grandpa was always so rough and strong and manly.  It surprises our whole family to see how gentle and tender he is with grandma now.  I think because we here are all so young, it's hard to think about love in very real ways.  We think about love in terms of lust and affection.  We think about doing fun things with someone special.  I don't think when we are young and we are in love, that we think about helping someone in and out of bed and sitting with them through scary doctors appointments.  We probably don't think about real love and the real ways that we will show it when it really happens.

This word, Chesed, it is used in Genesis 20:13 to describe Abraham and Sarah's relationship when they are both well into old age.  And this is our example of showing mercy to one another.  We must care deeply about each other's feelings.

When my grandparents were married 65 years ago, this wasn't something they were thinking about.  They weren't thinking about their old age.  They were young and in love.  But each day, they grew in love and kindness.  They learned to show each other mercy.  And, when grandma's memory began to fail, to show mercy was the natural reaction for grandpa.

When we love mercy, we care more for the feelings of others than for our own.  We show mercy because we accept mercy from God.  Go forth this day, and show others the mercy you have received.  

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Wordless Wednesdays

My Ukrainian teacher and my cat, Mefodyi.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Story Saturday


I'm certain she was the old woman I had watched in the church.  I love when older adults begin conversations with me, but it is a rare occasion when I notice an older person before they notice me.  I was waiting for a bus in a small town, and there were no benches at the bus stop.  I was on vacation at the time, so I plopped down on a stone wall and began reading a book.  In Lviv, or somewhere where people knew me I would not sit on a dirty, cold surface - I have a reputation to keep - but out here in the village, it seemed less harmful.

 This grandmother clearly felt I was playing Russian roullete with my life by sitting directly on the cold stone.  Her general opinion of young people was on the low side - I think most older people who haunt emptier and emptier churches have a low estimation of young people.  I try and be nice.  She says that she has even seen young people wearing flip flops this fall.  I try to not convey by my facial expressions that I had been tempted to work on my toe tan today as well.

And then she asked the inevitable question.  "How old do you think I am?"

I've never been asked this question by an American, but in this corner of the world it's a fun game to liven up beet picking season.
 
I usually pick an age, divide by two and then add ten years.  She looked about 120 - so I guessed 70.  She was 78.  I use to just take 10 or 15 years off of my guess, but that's too risky.

And long after she had shuffled away, I crept back up to my seat on the stone wall.  Through my gloves, I looked at my knuckes which, even through the thick leather of my gloves, show the arthritis of someone much older than my years.  And I wonder how many more winters I'll survive here.  I can imagine going to my high school reunion in a decade and holding an ancient bell-horn to my wrinkled, fuzzy ear and asking my former classmates, "How old do you think I am?"

Thursday, November 15, 2012

To act Justly


To act justly - part one of a three part sermon series.

Luke 18:2-8

We begin with this story to talk about the idea and concept of justice.  Justice is a hard concept to talk about, because there are so many different ideas.

What does justice look like in our world?  This is hard to determine because everyone has a different idea of what justice should look like.

Perhaps we should begin with what Micah was probably referencing.

God had laid down very fair laws for the Jewish people to follow.

For example, God had laid down very fair laws regarding wealth and land.  There should be a "year of Jubilee" every 49 years in which all of the land and the wealth was re-divided.  All debts would be forgiven and all stock-piles emptied.  The idea, of course, was the final knowledge that God was the giver of all good things.  The land and everything on it belonged to God, and no one could sell God's land for all eternity.  If you were wealthy because of your faithfulness to God, your wealth would quickly be returned to you.  If you were in debt up to your eyeballs - you had the chance to start over and try to be more faithful to God.  Historians believe the Jewish people did this ... only once.  Oddly, the Samaritans who were despised by the Jews followed this idea for thousands of years.  But, for the Jewish people,  it was too much for the rich and the powerful to give those things away - so they created some symbol to replace it and they continued the celebration without anything real to celebrate.

It was similar with many of the laws God had handed down.  The Jewish people would follow and delight in the laws set down before their God for some time, and then they would begin to go their own way.  This cycle continues over and over, and when the people ignore God; things grow worse and worse for them.
But in this call for just acts, we see something larger than just following the rules.  We see a greater call to faithful living, and a greater call to make things right in the world.  

Micah writes as someone whose town had been destroyed by the enemy - and that enemy had in turn been destroyed by God's hand.  And yet, Micah isn't talking about this long-range God-sized justice.  He isn't talking about the Justice of God destroying our enemies.  He is talking about what we as people must do.  As a community and as individuals.  

And the world asks, "What is justice?" and our response is usually, "to follow the rules" or when asked what is justice, we see visions of our enemies lying dead in the path of God - but Micah doesn't hold up either of these things as the true justice.  The justice God calls us to is something bigger and grander than either of these two visions.  Justice is when God's shadow falls on all of the earth.  It is when all is as it should be.  And this justice, it is God's justice.  God will accomplish this - and God will use us to accomplish it.
So when Micah says, "Act justly" - this is talking about us personally.  It's not even talking about the bigger, giant changes needed in the world.  It's talking about us.  That we as individuals and as a group should act justly.

When we act justly, we act as though the world around us is imaginary.  We choose the way of justice in the face of the bribery, corruption, and scandal that surround us.  We don't say - well, I'll sit around until things get better and then I'll go along with them.

There is an old story of a man walking on the beach.  He notices a young boy walking along the beach coming in the opposite direction.  The young boy stops every few feet and stoops down.  He picks something up, throws it into the ocean and continues on his way.  A few steps later he does the same thing.  Over and over again.  When their paths cross, the old man gives in to his curiosity and asks the young boy what he is doing.  The young boy explains that he is picking up starfish and throwing them back into the Ocean.  The old man understands that the boy is trying to save their lives, but he can remember seeing hundreds of starfish on his walk just today.  He laughs condescendingly and says to the boy, "There are so many starfish, and so many miles of Ocean.  Do you really think you can make a difference?"  The boy stoops over, picks up a starfish and throws him back into the ocean. "I made a difference for that one, didn't I?"

When we act justly, we are a people of action.  We go out and we do something.  In our own small way, we act.  We speak out in the name of the poor, we give voice to the voiceless.  We challenge our governments to make no laws that tear rights away from people - even people we might disagree with or might not like.  We work to make the world better in any small way that we can.  

When we choose to act justly, we understand that this is our small part.  We have no audience.  We are not trying to impress anyone.  We are imperfect, we are sinful, we often act unjustly.  But that doesn't stop us from believing in a better world and acting in our own small way for justice.

Let me give you an example of a small thing I do to act justly.  I am especially opposed to bribes when it comes to education.  It hurts the entire country when someone can get a degree through bribery and not through their own hard work and merit.  There isn't much I can do to end bribery.  I'm not in a position of power to refuse bribes, and while I refuse to pay them - this often leaves me in a very hard place.  In talking with many students, I heard very good things about the department of translation studies.  I did some more research and heard from every student that none of the teachers in the department would accept bribes.  Everyone who graduates from that department has earned his or her diploma.  I volunteer in that department because I am proud that they do the right thing.  In my own small way, I can reward the just choices of the department and, as a native speaker of English,  help to make it a little bit better and a little bit stronger.  This is not a huge step.  This is not some beautiful scene in a movie where the protagonist stares down the nazi tanks.  This is just one young person doing something small to act justly.

The movies, they always have the same plot - that there will come some day when you have to make some decision to do something really great.  And, this idea is purely an invention of Hollywood.  You cannot choose in the dire moment to become brave and to act justly to save the world.  Each morning, when you wake and put your socks on you must make the save decision.  You must decide to live each day with the prayer "thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven."  You much choose each day to act justly.

Olena Teliha, the Ukrainian poet who was executed at Babin Yar, had many chances to escape to safety.  Once, a friend asked her why she did not run and protect herself.  She said, "I have told others to stay - and now I must stay myself."  In each small decision to act justly, there is also a large decision to act justly.  Our small, daily decisions - they form who we are.  when we choose each day to live justly, we choose to be people of justice.

I think when we begin down this path that leads to justice, we cannot travel very far without thinking about judgement.  About the way our actions are judged by God and by others.  If we act justly, I can guarantee you that the world will judge us harshly.

Micah's words, they call us to act justly.  In the smallest things, when we act justly - God is preparing us for larger things.  And in the end, when we have gone beyond this world; we will hear the words - well done my good and faithful servant.  When we act justly, we will be judged rightly.  We will be able to stand before our God with open hearts and share in God's embrace.

To act justly means to get our hands dirty.  It means to stoop down into the world of the unjust, and to bring back one small thing onto the surface of the just.  When we act justly, we do not care what punishment the world might have for us, we only care what good God has in store for this world.  To act justly means to act first - to act long before it is cool, popular, or even safe.

On the day before she was executed by Nazi Germany for distributing anti-nazi flyers at her university, she told the high court, "Somebody, after all, had to make a start. What we wrote and said is also believed by many others. They just don't dare express themselves as we did."  Perhaps the ancient words rang through her ears - "all it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."

These priests and nuns who walked hand in hand with black protesters for equal rights, they were the first to do that.


When we go and share bread and food with people begging on the streets, we are also making the decision that we believe it is wrong that they must be on the streets.  Someday, this small decision might lead us to bigger decisions.  Perhaps some day, as an adult, you will open your home to someone in need - or you will pass a new law through the Duma to create a more fair system for the poor in Ukraine.  Someday you may be asked to give up something truly precious for others.

Micah reminds us what the Lord requires of us.  This is all that we need to do.  And the first part of that equation is to act justly.

To remind us to act justly, come and place your own handprint on this cloth after you have finished praying.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Wordless Wednesdays


Monday, November 05, 2012


The pumpkins slowly rot, and the decorations that adorned my house in childhood adorn my house in adulthood.  Halloween came and went.  A small group of friends gathered at my house for a small dinner party.  We talked too loud and laughed a lot.  I have always promised myself that I would have a Halloween party at my apartment some day, and even though the dishes still haven't all been washed - I'm glad I kept that promise to myself.  .

I always promised myself that I would have a Guy Fawkes day party every 5th of November, but here is the day and I just don't have the energy for a party.  Jonathan Pound loved this holiday so much.  We would always watch V for Vendetta and have a large group over.  

Almost a month ago, I hurt my back.  With the diagnosis of a herniated disc and a rather scary MRI view of it protruding, I have slowed down significantly.  I've had to put off some of my favorite things, and I've had to take the long view on some issues that at perfect health might have been solved a bit more quickly.

I am about finished with my daily treatments and will be able to begin having treatments every other day.  This will free up a lot of time in my schedule.  These daily treatments have taken five or six hours out of my day (less if I take a taxi to the hospital - the hour tram commute is such a huge waste of time!) for almost two weeks.  I am just sapped of energy, but thankfully - the pain is decreasing.

A new friend, Mikita, fell down a flight of stairs and is in a coma after two operations.  I pray for his recovery, and am reminded again how lucky I am to have my health and to have insurance to cover the medical care.  His family couldn't afford the third operation the doctors recommended.  

My friend Den shared about interning at the psychiatric hospital when he was doing his counseling rotations for his social work masters degree.  I think that when my Ukrainian is stronger that I will go there and volunteer.  I hate hospitals, and I can't imagine living in one.  Den shared that many of the young people are forced to live there because their parents don't agree with their lifestyle choices - so they have them committed.

I have begun re-reading Brennan Manning's "Ragamuffin Gospel."  If you haven't read it, please go and find a copy and read it.  It is such a wonderful book.  It is so good to focus on grace and freedom.   I sometimes think about how much of my Christian education focused on teaching me to be a "good kid."  I wish that I had learned more about grace in Sunday school.  I hope that I teach more about grace in the future.

I've thought about starting a Manning Monday - which I'm almost certain Bill Beatty did at one point, but I'm entirely too tired to check at the moment.  We'll see.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Sermon 10-11-12


James the Less

What scripture do we use to begin tonight?  We will talk about James the Less - and it would be very nice if we could open up our Bibles to a passage of scripture where James stands up and says something.  It would be great if we could get some idea of his personality and faith from some interaction with Jesus - but we can't.  The Bible doesn't record a single word spoken by James the Less.  The Bible doesn't contain one story where he is the hero, or even highlighted as a major player.  We could believe that he never did anything - and that would be sufficient reason to skip over him entirely.

But during the next few weeks we will examine the lives of  the very ordinary men Jesus chose as disciples.  None of them had a doctorate in anything.  Most were poor laborers with calloused hands and difficult lives.  We will take every scrap of information that history records about these men and we will learn how they lived out their faith.

We know the way Peter stepped out of the boat and walked on water, but standing terrified in the boat behind him were 11 other men.  We are probably a lot more like those others than we are like Peter.  We can say that we are too shy or introverted and ignore the lessons Peter's life teaches us - but after these next few sermons we hope you won't have any excuse not to dig deeper into your faith.

James the less.

James was called by Jesus to be one of the twelve disciples.  This was an honor that only 11 other men had.  But, he had the unfortunate problem of having the same name as someone else and he was a little bit younger, shorter, or both.

And when we read the letter that the other James wrote to the early church, we are inspired and moved by his words.  They are some of the most forceful and inspiring words given after Jesus' resurrection.  And I imagine that James the Less felt a little hidden by the shadow of James - you know, the great one.

- 1 Timothy 4:12
- James 1:2-9

Here's what we know about James the Less.  He was probably related to Jesus.  His father, Cleopas, was probably Mary's brother.  When the Bible talks about "the other Mary" it is often talking about James Mother.  She would have been Mary's sister-in-law and she was a constant and devout follower of Jesus.  And that would make James the Less, Jesus' cousin.  Probably Jesus' younger cousin - or shorter cousin.

When I first arrived in Ukraine I was a little overwhelmed by all of the Maryannas and Olyas in our group.  And it was amusing when Erica Oliveira came and people had such a hard time keeping the two separated.

And in Jesus' day, people didn't regularly have last names.  People were known by their father's name or by the town they come from or by some defining feature.  Which Jesus?  Jesus of Nazareth.  Which Simon? Simon from the political group known as the Zealots.  Which James?  James the Less.  

A name is very important.  Hearing your own name is one of the most comforting things to the human soul.  When I lived in South Korea people couldn't pronounce my name.  They called me Michaer.  I absolutely couldn't live with the idea that I never heard my name.  I remember Dale telling me about how many hours he spent practicing saying Olya, so he could say his beloved's name correctly.  Names are so important.

Names define who we are and what we will accomplish. and I can't imagine that James the Less was able to live without a little bit of an inferiority complex.
----
Growing up my sister was simply perfect.  She was just talented at everything.  She had perfect pitch and could sing any song.  She had perfect rhythm and could pick up any instrument and play it well.  She liked school and did well in school.

I grew up in my sister's shadow.  Every teacher that I had in school had already had my sister and assumed that I would be just like her.  I was given an instrument to play and it was assumed that I would like to play that instrument.  I hated playing musical instruments.  I never really had an ear for music.  I wasn't good in school and didn't make good marks.  It wasn't until I went to University and was able to make my own mark that I was able to live outside of the shadow of my sister.

And I imagine that James the Less always felt a little bit ... well ... less that the other James.  He always lived in the Shadow of the other James who was in the group.
---
But we know a bit more about James the Less.  We know that they started calling him James son of Alpheous (perhaps the region where Cleopas is from) and that when that got confusing, they began to call him James the Just, James the brother (cousin) of Jesus, until they all started calling him Bishop James.

The man who was always in the shadow of another, went on to become Bishop of Jerusalem in the decades following Jesus' resurrection.
  
If he had been content to be saddened by something as minor as a title, he would have never risen to greatness.

We are more than our limitations.

Young, old, rich, poor, it is human nature that we label things.  We are a society and we create tiers of influence.  This isn't wrong.  But, we are not limited by these things.  When you get your first job - and you work for a month without any pay and everyone is mean to you and you have to do all the jobs that no one else wants to do - you must live into the lesson of James the Less.  You must do that job to the very best of your ability.
 
You must scrub the floors and serve tea and coffee, and do all the jobs that no one else wants to do - and when you do all of these things without complaint - people will notice your good work.  This is the way that we serve Christ, by serving others in the most humble ways.
  ---
Mother Teresa is known throughout the world for her great acts of service, spiritual presence, and devotion to Christ.
 
She had many titles to choose from - Mother Teresa, signaling her position as head of a religious order.  Nobel leaureate.  Others called her a living saint.  Dying lepers called her Jesus in human form.

And how did Mother Teresa refer to herself?  When this incredible woman of faith, this woman who changed the world and gave a new face to the Catholic church - this woman who gave away everything and inspires generations of believers to give up everything in service to God.  How did she refer to herself?

God's littlest.  She refered to her own small stature and her own small faith.

And in the darkest corners of Mother Teresa's soul, there were cobwebs of doubt and confusion.  She constantly struggled with issues of faith - she sometimes was even unsure if God was real.  But, in the end, over and over again she returned to God's greatness and resumed her position as God's littlest.

As people of faith, we must constantly remind ourselves of our own small stature and small faith.  The word Christian was used to mock the first followers - it meant, "Little Christ" and it wasn't a compliment.  Perhaps we would all benefit by putting the words "the Less" after our names.

Perhaps, like James, we would be reminded of how Big our God is when we are reminded of how small we are.  Because it is in our littleness that God's greatness is revealed.

There is a lot of debate about who wrote the Book of James in the Bible - and some people really believe it was James the Less.  To me, it is important only that it is written by one of the twelve disciples.  It was written by one of the twelve, and then re-written by a Greek disciple of the author some decades later.

But, the author begins the letter with these words of explanation, "James, a slave of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ."

Whether this book was written by James the Great, or James the Less - the most important title that either could find for their lives is "slave."

You are a supremely talented group of young people.  Some day you will run this country.  You will make this country better, stronger, and more independent.  You will change the course of history.  You will run companies, manage businesses, teach at universities, and sit on important committees.  And I pray that for all of your life the most important title you ever find will be "slave."

Amen.  

Faith, hope, and charity

I was attending one Sunday school class in the states via Skype a few weeks ago.  It was a bit awkward, because they asked me to be there, but the teacher had prepared a lesson and I didn't want to push him aside.  So I sat in my living room in front of my computer and listened to the lesson on 1 Corinthians 13.

My problem with people who watch church on TV is that they miss the element of community.  I'm sure that if I knew this teacher personally, I would have enjoyed his lesson much more.

I remember from my days with the Curtis Trogdon Wesley Class, that as each teacher took his or her turn, that different people had different skills as a teacher.  Everyone had different faults.  Some spoke too slowly, others prepared poorly, still others (present company included!!!) couldn't remember the roving, rotating schedule and were often surprised into the pulpit and asked to lecture on Leviticus on more than one occasion.

I never heard a bad lesson.

One of my mentors told me once, "If you love your church and your church loves you - you can't preach a bad sermon."  I can't imagine the horror and pain of standing in front of a church that hates you.

And I was very bored by this man's lesson.  I'm sure he's a nice man.  I'm sure that his Sunday School class just loves him dearly and they all loved his lesson.  But, his highlight was on the final verses and his translation had "Faith, Hope, and Charity..."  and I had never heard this translation before.  Love is the greatest of these.  It felt so strange to hear that "charity" was the greatest of the three - because to my mind, "charity" wasn't even on the list.

Because, for me, switching from love to charity really changes the meaning of the text.  And I know that it is complicated because English only has one word for love - but it is simple because English only has one word for love.

And now that I translate from time to time, I understand was an extraordinary and fascinating challenge translating the Bible must have been.  English is such a weak language with so few really great words and so many missing concepts.  Isn't that a strange thought?  We always assume that everything can be expressed in our mother tongue, but in reality each language has it's own weaknesses and faults.

Like, in the Beatitudes, the beginning phrase (blessed are) turns each one into an ironic greeting.  In Ukrainian they are understood as originally spoken - but not in English.  And we aren't even touching on the gigantic cultural differences that separate us from the words of Jesus.  Think about how a firm Calvanist might translate many passages and how an Armenian might translate them differently.  When we read the word "Hell" in the New Testament, Jesus often isn't speaking about the physical place we think of.

And I will be charitable (as it is the greatest of the three!) and concede that Bible translators work in teams of extremely gifted and brilliant people.  I'm not saying they are making mistakes.  I'm not speaking against the authenticity of the Bible.  But, isn't it interesting to think that how we understand the Bible is shaped by our very language and culture.

I am reminded again how easy it is for our language and culture to shape the Gospel instead of allowing the Gospel to shape our language and culture.

The Gospel.
It means Good News.  But, it is a word used in relation to the word Eklesia - a word which has become synonymous with our word "church."  But Eklesia meant "the called out ones."  When a news crier would walk up and down the streets crying out the news, those who gathered around to hear would be called "Eklesia" and if he pronounced Good News it would be called Gospel.

And today we call the people who reside inside the large building (or the large building itself!) the "church."  Not the called out ones, but the gathered and tamed ones who once heard the Good News and responded.  And we have too often reduced the "Good News" into a three minute salvation pitch.

And how different would the Gospel sound to fresh eats without the baggage of a different culture and language.  How fresh and new would this old faith sound without our old buildings and notions.

But, I'll try to remain charitable, it's the most import component of our faith.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Sermon- the woman at the well

John 4:1-30
Jesus shouldn't have stopped to speak to this woman.  
She was a woman, and in their culture it was a terrible offense for a man and a woman to just strike up a conversation.  And beyond that, this woman was from a different racial and religious group.  For a whole host of reasons, Jesus should not have stopped and talked to this woman. 
And Jesus stops and talks to this woman.  
I think it's really so easy to paint Jesus as being very prim and proper.  Because we live in a world with icons of saints and glossy magazines of sinners - it's hard for us to see the real image of Jesus.  Jesus just broke all of the rules.   
John Paul II said, "This is an event without precedent: that a woman, and what is more a sinful woman, becomes a disciple of Christ."  "
----
I was at a birthday party with a large group of people, many of whom I did not know.  I was sitting with good friends, but one of the girls at the table was a stranger.  All of us talked and laughed and had good birthday party fun - and then the girl I didn't know leaned over and asked, "So what do you do in Ukraine?"  When I explained that I worked with an interconfessional student ministry, she really wanted to finish the conversation.  She and most of her friends are rather progressive and unconventional and don't care so much for religion.  
And I'm reminded of this taboo conversation at the well between a mixed-race woman with a string of lovers and this wandering preacher who would eventually die to save the whole world.  How awkward was this conversation? 
For the woman is was wildly uncomfortable.  You can feel this in her words.  For Jesus it was a wonderful time.  Because Jesus didn't stop to talk to a woman.  Jesus didn't stop to talk to a despised racial minority.  Jesus didn't stop to a sinner famous for her sin.  Jesus stopped to talk to a person.  Jesus stopped to talk to a beloved child of God. 
Jesus asks her for a drink of water.  He doesn't have anything to dip into the well to get the water - so he is asking her to dip her bucket into the water and share with him.  This idea is revolutionary because the very act of drinking from an unclean woman's cup would make Jesus unclean for worship in the Jewish faith.  There's so much chatter in this encounter about this very idea.  Because our faith doesn't have this element of clean and unclean, we miss most of the hidden conversation.  But, this woman's people were desipised by the Jews and she would have know that in their eyes she was unclean.  

It's so amazing that our religion lacks this idea of clean and unclean that for two thousand years people have been trying to put it back in.  They fought to keep people from eating meat offered to idols because it wasn't clean - and Paul fought right back that the Christian faith doesn't hold to these ideas.
  
Because I'll be painfully honest - if ours was a religion of rules and regulations, it might be easier to face the tragedies we have faced.  If we could say "this happened because we sinned too much and we weren't good enough" then we could just behave better and make sure we don't have to face this again.  We could offer up some burnt sacrifice to an idol and atone for our sins - but Jesus calls us to the Way of Life.  Jesus calls us to a much better way, but a much harder way.  Jesus calls us to trust in his goodness.  To know that God has a plan and we do not.  To know that we do not understand.  To be good and loving not because we want an easier life but because we serve a God who is good and loving.  Rules and regulations would be so much easier right now - but God instead gives us grace.  We must accept that grace and all the challenges that come our way we must understand in the framework of that grace. 

I love the way that Jesus pushes the theological arguments aside.  Their religions were seperated by just a few things - but those things were pretty fundamental and they really blocked the people from one another.  Jesus just pushes these theological concerns out of the way and refocuses on what this woman really needs to connect with God. 

And Jesus offers this woman living water.  He offers that she will never be thirsty again.  We are rarely thirsty - for a woman in the desert, thirst is a constant.  When you walk a long distance to get water, you will be thirsty often.  But we feel our own thirst.  We thirst for good things - for justice and mercy.  We thirst for selfish things - for sex, money, and power.  We thirst for basic things - like being able to pray fully again and live into the faith that we still claim.  

Jesus shouldn't have stopped and talked to this woman.  There were so many reasons.  And in a religion of rules, regulations, and warnings - God certainly wouldn't have anything to do with us.  God couldn't interact with our sin and our selfishness.  But in a religion of Grace, Jesus will always stop to talk with us - with sinful little us.  Because God's thirst is that we drink of the living water - that when we connect with God through Jesus Christ, all of our thirst is quenched.   When we live in relationship with God our thirst for justice and mercy will be quenched by God's great call on our lives.  Our thirst for bad things will be filled by the goodness of God, and our basic thirst will be satisfied by daily interaction with God. 
John Paul II continues, "Indeed, once taught, she proclaims Christ to the inhabitants of Samaria, so that they too receive him with faith. This is an unprecedented event, if one remembers the usual way women were treated by those who were teachers in Israel; whereas in Jesus of Nazareths way of acting such an event becomes normal".

This woman goes and tells the others.  She starts from her own place of brokeness.  she explains that Jesus knew about her scandalous sins and she explains that Jesus loved anyway.  It's a radical testimony of grace.  She shares with the entire town.  She invites them to drink of the living water.  She invites them to join with Jesus and share in the grace she has discovered.  
Amen.

And the people come to Jesus.  
From our point of weakness and thirst, we may begin to share our own story of our encounter with the Messiah.  We may share with others the living water that streams up from within us.