For Such A Time As This...

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The following is a message based on Esther 4: 10-17 I gave in my church this morning. I have asked my congregation to have words of courage, I can do no less...

Pastor Martin Niemöller was a protestant pastor in Germany during the second world war, and the time of reconciliation afterward. A time we recognize as full of great horror and upheaval. You may already be well familiar with a poem based on a speech of his, this particular version comes off the US Holocaust memorial:

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

It seems that these words could have easily been written for Mordecai to share with Esther.

Both of those times were times of great risk and upheaval. Jews did not have a place that belonged solely to them. They lived without security. They lived without true belonging and safety just for being who they were.

It’s something which we all long for and need. It’s something upon which we build the foundations of our society so that our children grow up and inherit something better, safer, some place in which they can belong.

That sense of belonging—it beckons us all. We all have a deep desire for safety. These are universal needs.

Esther had every reason to be afraid. Disobeying the King would put her very life in danger. Esther was only Queen because the Queen before her was booted out for making King Xerces unhappy.

But Mordecai’s words echo down through the generations, “Do not think that in the king’s palace you will escape any more than all the other Jews. For if you keep silence at such a time as this, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter, but you and your father’s family will perish. Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.’

Such a time as this…

We live in a time where hate is pedaled to us like the sales pitch of an old time tonic salesman promising to cure everything that ails us.

But the idea of God not loving people is something which we can let go of.

The last time I was preaching I was unaware that morning a shooting had occurred at Pulse nightclub in Florida and so did not mention it in worship, through pastoral prayer, nor did I find a way to address it in the message.

There’s some controversy surrounding this nightclub because it was a gay club.

While most of our culture has condemned that shooting as an atrocity, a hate crime, a heinous act. Others have said, well, it’s very sad, and it’s wrong to shoot people. But, they were, you know, gay. I wouldn’t do that, and I’m sure God doesn’t think it’s okay, but they were in a nightclub doing, well, who knows what….

As if any of that has any correlation to the horror of what happened.

While I was on vacation I heard an interesting thing at my Dad’s church that hadn’t occurred to me before. His pastor spoke about how this club was a place of safety for the gay community. That there are so few places in our society where Lesbian, Gay, Transgender or Bisexual folks don’t have to obsessively watch themselves and how others respond to them.

Now, I have never thought of a club, dancing, and drinking as a place of safety. A place of complete belonging and acceptance.

But, then, I’ve never needed to do so. I’ve been welcome wherever I’ve been, and my relationship with the one I love the most in this world has always been accepted. I’ve never had to look out for us and I’ve most definitely never had to hide our love.  

And as Pastor Brenda shared this I sat there and wondered was the church as much, or more, of a place of safety as gay clubs can be seen to be?

And, sadly, for many, the church is not. If one is gay, then one can find oneself in a group of people who profess love and grace and acceptance for all, but in practice share words of hate, coldness, and be a place where one is most definitely not welcome.

But there are exceptions. Places where the love of God and God’s hospitality are a priority and are shared with all who enter. Churches that have made it their mission to go out of their way to show that they care and love all people, and do not see one’s sexuality as a hindrance to God’s acceptance.

The Disciples of Christ Church affirms that all are loved and accepted by God and encourages its churches to go through a process of discussion about how to be more accepting, show God’s hospitality, and share with the surrounding community that it believes all are welcomed by God.

But, many churches-both denominations and congregations- continue to struggle with ideas of what is acceptable to God and what isn’t.

How is that our decision?

How can we judge what God deems lovable?

If God can deem anyone unlovable, then friends, we have to realize that God can deem us unlovable too.

Esther’s answer was through her faith-fasting and prayer that gave her the courage to speak out for her people.

We, too, can have the courage to pray and speak out for our people.

Yes, our people.

LGBT folks are our people—no longer should they be shunned by the church or church folk.

Instead let us be a voice that shows God’s acceptance. A voice that speaks out against hate. Unless good folks stand up and say, no more, then this cycle of violence will continue.

Let’s not let this issue get clouded that in this one instance the shooter happened to be Muslim. He did not act in a way that is consistent with the Muslim faith as most Muslims understand it. 

Violence happens all the time to the LGBT community. And some of it is perpetrated by folks who profess to be committed Christians.

It may no longer be enough to not say hateful things or not do hateful things to this group of people. It may be time for folks who love God like we do to be more vocal about God’s love and acceptance.

Like Mordecai’s words of wisdom to Esther, our answers also lay within the courage that is found through hope. And hope, my friends, is not a weak emotion used when our backs are to the wall and we have nothing left. We lead with hope. We lead with love.

And, instead of feeding the fear and hate that seems to be rampant in our country right now, we can instead courageously and steadfastly say words of love, compassion, and truth.

That Love is always greater than hate. Hope is always greater than fear. We are not a people of hate or of fear. We are always a people of love and of hope.

Amen.

Anointed by Words...

Each Wednesday afternoon I meet with a small group for a book discussion. It’s lovely, we have great conversation about the current book, our faith, and how we understand God.  I look forward each week to seeing this group and all of the ways they make me think. It’s a joy to read and think and talk about it all together.

We meet in the home of a delightful woman, who cannot often leave her home to come to church. So, we bring church to her…and her wit and thoughts on our book and discussion are always worth hearing.

It’s a small group, this church within a church, and yet last week it was the most eventful church moment (in two parts) I’ve experienced in quite some time. I wasn’t busy ‘being’ the church as pastor, I was ‘receiving’ the church as a fellow worshiper.

Since it was Ash Wednesday on the way out of my office to attend the book study I grabbed my small wooden container filled to the brim with ashes (container bought at the Christian bookstore just that morning) and put them in my purse. No worries—they traveled safely.

Before we began I asked the woman who’s home we were meeting in if she would like to receive ashes after our study. She shared that she was hoping I would bring some and that she almost called me to make sure I would. I invited those present to remain, so we could continue in community together and if any of them were unable to attend our service that night and would like to receive also to let me know by turn.

Our regular study commenced. And then church REALLY began. In all of its simplicity and glory and loveliness, church that brought tears to our eyes and made a connection with the divine that in all its mystery and glory burst forth upon us.

She was sitting, and being a bit frail there was no way I would ask her to get up and come to me…so naturally I went to her. And on my knees I shared a short reading and prayer and anointed her with ashes, and uttered the familiar words cherished and passed down through the centuries, “From dust we came and to dust we shall return.”

Tears flowed. Church was joyful. We understood that we were in the midst of the Holy Spirt, which continually dances through our lives, but that we don’t always recognize.

Then I quietly asked, ‘are there any others’ from behind me a quiet voice said ‘me, please.’

I turned and in the same way, offered ashes to another. Saying once again, words that bring connection to all who have come before and to all who will come after.

And tears flowed.

Our hearts were full.

Then we went along our day, and what stuck out to me was the beauty and privilege of being able to offer these lovely women a ritual that has stood the test of time, that unites so many of us in different places with slightly different theologies, and connects us all to our shared past.

And, I thought I was the one who was offering the anointing that afternoon.

Until I returned to church…

A short time later I came into the church office and overheard the second woman say, with a tremble in her voice, ‘and then she…’ And they both looked up. I did not realize that I was stumbling upon my own anointing.

With tears flowing down her cheeks, she said to me, “To think. That MY pastor would humble herself like that and serve me on her knees…”

I’ll confess, it was not humility that brought me to my knees an hour earlier. It was the thought that I should go to them, help them be comfortable, and offer them what I thought they were seeking.

I did not realize that I was going to benefit in a much different way.

To hear a woman, a long time dedicated member of God’s church say to me, “To think MY pastor…”

My pastor. Not THE pastor, or even OUR pastor. But, MY pastor. In that moment she did more for me than I can express. These four plus months of newness in call, of stumbling my way around new people and new traditions, finding my preaching voice, of planning and rushing and learning what it means to be THE pastor, I understood I wasn’t THE pastor. I was HER pastor. And, with those simple words she anointed me.

She anointed me.

More than in my Installation last October I was made Pastor. And I am grateful, and now truly humbled that these people have called me be with them. It is a privilege, and may I NEVER forget that afternoon in a compact church office with a woman who taught me that I am, indeed, HER pastor.

Thanks be to God.