Letter to OSLC On Racism May 30, 2020

Dear OSLC Family,

Words escape me for what is happening in our collective life in this country. Yet, as a public leader, as a theologian, your pastor, as a human, as a follower of Jesus, I must speak out even when it’s hard. I’m struck by the words of Jesus from the John 20 reading for this week’s gospel: “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” Jesus sends the disciples into the world to be the Church, and to name sin when they see it in action.  Friends, we must name the sin that we are witnessing with horrific and murderous consequences: the sin and evil of systemic racism. We have to name the murder of George Floyd, and so many others Ahmaud Arbery, Breeona Taylor, Tamir Rice, Trayvon Martin, Sandra Bland to name a few, as unjust murder. I know that this topic may make some of you uncomfortable, and possibly angry with me that I am “being too political.”  I can tell you that even writing (and now speaking) these words are not comfortable for me either, yet I must say them because politics is about how we live together as humanity. Our own confession of sin, as found in our book of worship, proclaims that if we don’t name our sin, the truth is not in us. The truth is, structural and systemic racism is evil and sinful. It denies our siblings who are black and brown full and abundant life. It denies them the very breath that Jesus breathes into all of God’s people. It denies us all the fullness of our humanity. Our health, well-being and liberation from sin is inextricably bound up in health, well-being and liberation from sin of all people. If one part of humanity is harmed, we all are harmed.

As people of faith who are white, we have hard work to do for this sin and evil to be healed. We must admit our own complicity, comforts and benefits of the current system of racism. We must renounce and repent of our witting and unwitting participation each day that upholds this unjust social structure of racism and white supremacy (not to mention all unjust social structures). This work will be difficult, risky and decentering. We must listen to and center the voices of people who are suffering in the system of racism, we must lend our voices when appropriate and called upon (this alone will be great learning), and we must act to dismantle racism in our lives, congregation, community, country and world.

This risky work will cost us something; Jesus never denies that picking up our crosses and following him will be easy or safe. Jesus says that he came to divide, those who will stand for the truth of the gospel and those who will continue to be complicit in the ways of the world. The truth of the gospel demands that we lay down our lives for our siblings, that this is what love looks like, our own deaths. Love that risks family and friends distancing themselves from us as we tell hard truths and learn to walk the walk of antiracism. Love that engages in difficult and uncomfortable conversations for the sake of learning, growth and abundant life for all people regardless of color, gender, sexual orientation, class, race or creed. Love that hangs in tenaciously despite fear, exhaustion or uncertainty. Love that commits to change and to do better for the sake of our neighbor in need. We won’t do this perfectly, we will make mistakes, I will make mistakes, (I’m likely making mistakes in this very letter) but when we do make a mistake, we learn and do better.

Yes, I know that we are also in the midst of a pandemic and the uncertainty of many aspects of our lives together is palpable. We are uncertain of when our building will open and when we will have in-person worship. We are uncertain of how the church will change in the coming year (as it will have to). Yet, the pandemic has highlighted what has been certain in this country for 400 years: that not all lives have mattered, particularly lives of black and brown people. The certainty that black and brown people are dying of COVID19 at a higher rate and is out of control on the Navajo Nation in our own state. The certainty that those who are essential and have to work in public are predominately people of color. The certainty that many people of color lack health care. In the midst of our own uncertainties, some things are certain.

AND, there is the certainty of God’s presence, the sustaining power of the Holy Spirit to prod us to do hard things. God’s power, as witnessed in our Acts texts by wind and fire, is poured out to us today, connects us as one, unified humanity, and gives us the ability to speak and hear the languages of our siblings-do we hear them? Do we hear their cries of fear, lament and injustice-even if it’s a language we don’t know such as protests and riots? Can we hear the language of oppression and anger that hasn’t been previously heard and taken seriously? Can we hear the language of looting as a language learned from white culture that has looted other cultures for our own benefit for centuries? Can we hear the words “I can’t breathe” and offer our own breath in solidarity?

My friends, I don’t have any answers. I don’t know where this journey of dismantling racism in ourselves and the country will lead us.  I do know that I have a vision of unity and love with this hard work. I do know that we must take the first step of being on the path. I will be offering a book club to explore this hard conversation this summer and probably into the fall. We will start with the book “How to be and Antiracist” by Ibram X. Kendi. Look for details of when to come in the enews. This is only a baby step, the prayer is that it will lead to leaps of faith.

Thank you for your faithful work in a world that offers no reward in return for this work. Thank you for your commitment to the gospel of Jesus, particularly when it’s difficult. Thank you for taking your baptism into the mission of God’s Kingdom, for reconciliation and freedom of all, to your heart, head and soul. Thank you for listening and contemplating this letter. It’s a privilege to be your pastor. Please know that I am always available for a phone call, a Facetime or a Zoom for conversation. I know that this is hard but we are in this together. We are not alone.  Jesus says “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28: 20.

In the love of Christ, Pastor Brigette

 

 

“Oneness and doing hard things” Sermon on John 17: 1-11 May 22, 2020

This sermon was preached at Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church in Holladay, UT on May 24, 2020. It can be viewed on our YouTube channel: Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church SLC.

The texts were:
Acts 1: 6-14
1 Peter 4: 12-14, 5: 6-11
John 17: 1-11

For the past few weeks in the crisis of the pandemic, we’ve been inundated with phrases such as “in this together” or “alone together,” or “better together.” I absolutely love the sentiment of how we can work together and be in solidarity with each other. This feeds my communal and idealistic soul. It’s the world how I so desperately want it to be. I so want the world to be like the CocaCola commercial from my childhood, you know the one where a diverse group of people is walking with linked arms, smiling and singing with one another-with a coke of course! “I want to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony…” I’ll stop there as I don’t know what the copyright on that might be. But that image of people together in joy is one that I long for, one that I want to help create and one that all too often is illusive. I want togetherness and wholeness to be true. But it doesn’t take long for “perfect harmony” to break down into a cacophony of discord and chaos, kinda like when we all try and say the Lord’s Prayer together on Zoom!

Together is something that as Christians, followers of Jesus, we like to think that we are good at. Community is a value after all. But togetherness, it turns out, is hard. We tend to think that to be “together,” we have to be the same or homogeneous, and that it should be easy and comfortable. But I’m pretty sure that has never been my actual experience with “together.” I’m spending a lot of “together” time with my spouse of 26 years and my 21 year old son, both of whom I love and adore and yet, easy and comfortable aren’t the words that come to mind and I’m sure that they would say the same about together with me…And I don’t think that this is what Jesus means when he prays for oneness in our reading from John today. We overhear Jesus praying for himself, the disciples and for all who will come after them, although we only read the first 11 verses today. Jesus prays for his followers to be one as he and God are one. It sounds really lovely and idyllic, until you think about it for a second. Jesus, God in the flesh, sent by God to be with us, who is one with God, is about to die on the cross, killed by the powers and principalities, as a fulfillment of his mission and ministry. Jesus prays that we too are one with God and Jesus in the mission and life of God. This doesn’t sound very easy and comfortable to me. Oneness, togetherness is hard. It’s not easy and death will occur. When we are one with God and God’s mission and community, we die to ourselves so that others experience life.

Jesus doesn’t pray for us to be safe and comfortable, or for it to be easy,  but he does pray for our protection, which is different as protection doesn’t keep us from what is hard but sustains us through the inevitable suffering. Protection is like the gear the doctors and nurses are wearing on the frontlines of the COVID19 pandemic. The protective gear doesn’t keep them from having to do their hard work, it hopefully, ensures that they can do more of it. So, too, is our protection in Jesus. In our oneness with God, we are one with each other and creation, which means we will do hard things with the presence, protection and care of God. Oneness demands that we are cognizant of being gathered in the arms and life of Jesus all held together so tightly, so close, that we can’t be socially distanced. Oneness acknowledges our lives are so entangled as a giant knot of humanity that when one thread of any injustice or trauma is pulled, we all feel the effects of it. This truth is not easy and it is not comfortable. And Jesus’ prayer doesn’t rescue us from this truth. Jesus’ prayer is that we DO feel the effects of this oneness, that we do the hard work of putting the needs of our siblings and the earth ahead of our own wants, preferences and greed. Jesus knows that we can’t be one, if we intentionally look away from our siblings who are hurting, cast out, marginalized or ignored. Oneness reveals love that is sacrificial, sees and does hard things: love that washes feet, love that feeds the hungry, love that wears a mask in public, love that stays home as much as possible, love that refuses to coopt to the lies of consumerism and capitalism as reasons for existing, love that screams the truth that this virus is disproportionately infecting and killing more of our brown and black siblings, love that demands better from our leaders, love that weeps for those who are discarded as expendable, love that gazes on the earth and all creatures as gifts and not prizes to be exploited. Love that recognizes and accepts that this kind of radical unity will scare, anger and provoke some around us. Love that is tenacious to withstand the voices that call us to simply get along, not cause waves, do what is easy, say that we’re naïve or idealistic or will demand our silence.

Jesus prays that we will be one as he and God are one. One not for our own sake, but one in the mission that Jesus names, to give glory to God. That is, to show God: who God is, what God does, how God loves and who God loves, to the whole world. This is why God sent Jesus in the flesh, that God so loved the world, not to condemn it but to save it, not to divide it, but to make it whole, not to control it, but to make the world one, in healing, sacrificial, and radical love. Oneness reveals this glorious truth. When we are one, truly one, we show God to the world. Because we are one with God, and God is one with us, we can’t help but to do anything else. It’s all of who we are and all of us together, as one. Thanks be to God.

Separation Anxiety Easter 6A May 15, 2020

This sermon was preached on May 17, 2020 at Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church in Holladay, UT. You can view it on our YouTube channel Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church SLC.

The texts were:
Acts 17: 22-31
1 Peter 3:13-22
John 14: 15-21

If you’re a parent or have worked with or even just been around small children ever in your life, then you know about separation anxiety. It’s when a young child, typically from the ages of nine months to about four or five years old, will cry, or act out in some way when a parent or significant caregiver leaves them. Separation anxiety is about the fear of being alone, of not knowing what’s going to happen when these significant people whom we love aren’t present. It’s an unmooring of identity in some way too. In young children, they know who they are in relationship to other people around them, but without those other people, there’s a loss of self. What do I do? Will I be ok? Where did that person whom I love go? Two of our three children exhibited separation anxiety. Our oldest, Kayla, from the time she was two weeks old, couldn’t have cared less if Mike or I came or went, as she was pretty sure that she didn’t have much use for us anyway. So, it took us by surprise when Andrew cried whenever we went outside of his line of sight. I couldn’t even leave the room without tears for a long time. Our third child, Benjamin, also had separation anxiety, not from Mike or I, but from our nanny! Whenever we picked Ben up from Miss Trista he cried for her. While we were glad that he loved her and she loved him, we couldn’t help but to feel a little hurt. What would often calm down both Andrew and Benjamin were reminders of not being alone and of being loved. A hug, a stuffed animal, or a picture book of the people who loved them were helpful.

In some ways, we never completely ever outgrow this separation anxiety. What we learn are coping mechanisms for our fear of loneliness, isolation and loss of identity. Some of our coping mechanisms are healthy, such as telling yourself when you’ll see that person again, or the intellectual understanding of time and space. We might have treasured objects and pictures that assist us in this as well. But sometimes that fear of loneliness can get the better of us and make us insular and behave in ways that keep us from the reality of love.

Separation anxiety was rampant among the disciples as we continue through our reading of John 14 this week, more of Jesus’ Farewell speech that ends at John 17 next week. Jesus has talked about going and preparing a room for the disciples, about his death, Judas’ betrayal, Peter’s denial, and the disciples are struggling with what will happen if Jesus is gone. Jesus has admonished them to not be troubled, but if you’ve ever tried to be rational with a toddler screaming for their parent or nanny, then you know how effective, or not, it is to simply say do not to worry. Again, even as adults, what we may know intellectually, doesn’t always translate into our emotions. Jesus knows this too and I love that he simply and lovingly states in verse 18 “I will not leave you orphaned.” Jesus then goes to tell them how they know that is true. In God’s love, we are never alone. God loves and values community, relationship and togetherness. God’s love embodies this truth: in sending Jesus to live among humanity as love in action and then in sending the Holy Spirit, or what the gospel writer John calls the Paraclete. The meaning of paraclete is someone who is called to come alongside us in our day to day lives to teach us,  comfort us, encourage us, advocate for and with us, and to love us.

Just as separation anxiety was high with the disciples, so too, is our separation anxiety high as we are separated from so much it seems: gathering in physical community with those we love and care about, daily routines, our sense of security and safety, and perhaps even separated from our own sense of identity. We focus on these separations and even some of our most helpful coping mechanisms are not enough. Sometimes all of the self-talk and comforting treasures can’t ease our troubled hearts. But we hear Jesus say, “I will not leave you; I am coming.” Jesus promises that the Holy Spirit is coming, is here, to give us community through God and each other, even when we can’t touch. Community that recalls our identity as part of God’s life. Community that reveals the love that is from God, lives in Jesus, lives in the Holy Spirit and lives in us, so that we include others into God’s community.

Jesus says that this love is the commandment, the action that he has been revealing his whole earthly ministry and is how community is built. This love that transcends separation, differences and divisions. This love pulls us from our anxieties and shows us the presence and actions of God in our lives-through one another. This reality of always being in community, even if we’re physically separated, is a promise that we can cling to and see. We can see that we don’t have to worry about being separated because the truth is that we can never truly be without God or God’s people. Yes, much of how we are connecting right now feels very inadequate and in many ways it is. But as the ancient Desert Mothers and Fathers of the early Christian faith found, solitude doesn’t have to mean loneliness or despair. The Holy Spirit comes alongside us with tangible signs, such as water, bread, wine, phone calls, texts, pictures, FaceTime, yes even Zoom to show us that we are never separated from God and always loved.  Thanks be to God!

Our Way of Life Sermon on John 14 Easter 5A May 9, 2020

This sermon was preached at Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church in Holladay, UT on May 10, 2020. It can be views on YouTube at Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church SLC channel.

The texts were:

1 Peter 2: 2-10
John 14: 1-14

This has been one of those weeks where I get to the end of each day and think: Why am I exhausted even though I didn’t actually get done what I needed to? I look at my task list teeming with items waiting to be checked off and yet, they just continue to sit on the page, mocking me and reproducing each day exponentially like rabbits. It can make you feel frustrated at best and worthless at worse. This week was one where honestly, I found myself doing the 14 year old angsty couch flop a couple of times because it was all the energy I could muster. Just lie on the couch and suck up oxygen. Then I start to go down the path that maybe that’s all I’m good for. After all, we are what we produce, what work we can show for our efforts. It’s the way of life that we’ve been sold: that the more we produce, the more value we have and the more we matter to people and the world. We euphemistically call this “work ethic” and don’t get me wrong, yes there are simply things that have to get done just for life to toodle along. But somehow, somewhere, we decided that more was more, that what we did was equal to who we are and that who we are needs to be important, the brightest, the best. We must have all the answers or know how to get them at least. This is our purpose; this is our way of life. The entire culture we live in is structured to support this way of life. Some professions pay more income than others, some professions are  more esteemed than others, certain groups of people matter more or less than others. It’s topsy turvy who counts in this way of life where the intrinsic value of human life is quantified. In the past few weeks/months, this way of life has been significantly challenged and questioned by the pandemic and the repercussions from it.

This way of life isn’t new and throughout history some lives have mattered more than others. The disciples in our gospel today would be caught in this same way of life under the Roman Empire and the Institutional church. What you could do, your social status, your ability status, your gender status designated your value. The disciples were not people on the upper rungs of society and yet Jesus had chosen them. But it’s clear from all of the questions and confusion the disciples had in our gospel reading, that they clung to the societal structure ingrained in them: the need to produce and prove their worth. Little did the disciples know that they were gathered on the night before the way of life that they had always known would change forever. In the midst of this Jesus says to them “you will do greater works than the ones you saw me do and because I am going to my father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father is glorified in the Son.” You see, it’s not about what you will or can do, it’s not about your social status. It’s about Jesus and the way of life with God that Jesus offers.

Jesus knows that the way of life that the world offers us is unsustainable, not life giving and doesn’t honor our dignity. God sent Jesus to help break the patterns of life as usual and to show us a different way to live: in love and relationship where your value isn’t based on what you do, say, wealth or talents, but you are loved because you are you and you belong to God. Your task list doesn’t have to be impressive or done. Your real job, your real life work is to live in the truth and promise of Jesus that there is more than the striving of this world, that the way of life that we have known, can’t sustain us like Jesus’ love can. Jesus is the way, the truth and the life, but not to exclude anyone but to open up a different way to live for all people.

The way of life that we had just a few short weeks ago is no more. The way of life where we thought everything was fine, where we thought we had control, where we thought we were making some sort of progress towards financial security, or personal health or whatever, is gone. What we are discovering is that way of life wasn’t good for everyone and maybe it wasn’t good or us or anyone. What’s been revealed is how much our actions impact one another. How certain people, of whom before we never gave a second thought about, are now the most important in our food supply chains, healthcare and cleaning systems, educational systems. Whether we like it or not, the pandemic will change our way of life forever. There will be no going back to what was, in our lives, in our jobs, in our churches, as what was, no longer exists. And that causes us grief, it causes me grief. Jesus sees our grief, our suffering, our pain right now and sits with us in it because it’s real and we can’t diminish it or ignore it. We find ourselves like the disciples that night before their lives changed,  on the precipice, in that liminal space of a new way of life opening up to what’s next. We will need to walk through the pain and suffering first, but then new life awaits.

A way of new life that reveals the deep truth about who we are and who’s we are. The way of life that reminds us that all people are created in God’s love and we are to reflect this truth in our actions, words and lives. The way of life where people matter more than money and the way of life where we seek to not harm creation. The way of life where people of color can go for a run safely in their neighborhood, the way of life where mental health is taken seriously, the way of life where all are truly safe and valued. A way of life where God’s love prevails. Jesus is inviting us to open our hearts, minds, souls, imaginations to what living in this way of life might be. It won’t be doing more, it might be doing less or doing everything differently. We may not see it fully now, but maybe we’ve caught glimpses of it in how we’ve cared for each other in this pandemic. By calling people, giving what we have, serving and yes, staying home on the couch. Jesus promises that this new way, life and truth is here, and for us all. Thanks be to God.

 

 

Don’t Miss the Obvious Sermon on John 10 Easter 4A May 1, 2020

This sermon was preached at Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church in Holladay, UT on May 3, 2020. You can view it on our YouTube Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church SLC or go to oslcslc.org

The texts were:
Acts 2: 42-47
Psalm 23
John 10:1-10

Have you ever been to a carnival or an amusement park where that have that weird house of mirrors or other type of maze? I’ve been in one exactly once and frankly, its’ not for me. You enter that mirror room or hall and you can’t figure out what’s real, what the next step should be, if what you think you should do is correct. For me, it incites a little panic that I’ll never get out and be stuck there forever. You can get so flustered that you miss things that should be obvious. But once you start to cut through the distractions, and false information, you can recognize what you might be missing. You see the path or the door that has always been there.

Maybe right now, you feel how I do, that we are being inundated with a bazillion pieces of information all day long and somehow, we are to sift through it, figure out what’s relevant and helpful and then use it to go forward in our lives in some sort of meaningful way. What media outlet is least biased? What voice is the most logical? What’s the truth? There’s so much that we can’t understand or make sense of.  It’s decentering, exhausting and leaves us overwhelmed with all of the distractions and voices to choose from. It’s like living in that giant hall of mirrors.  I think this is true about our lives in general in the 21^st century, but then you add a pandemic to the mix, the whole thing seems up for grabs. I think this is why verse six from our John 10 reading this week has been ruminating around in my brain, “but they did not understand what Jesus was saying to them.” Ah ha! THIS I actually understand! Not understanding is the ONLY thing I understand right now!

We think we understand this passage in John 10 as the Good Shepherd text but really Jesus is still addressing the situation we read back in Lent in John 9, regarding the man born blind whom he had healed and whom the religious authorities had subsequently thrown out of the community. You might recall that Jesus found the man after he had been expelled and the man professed his belief in Jesus, even though up until that point, he had only ever heard his voice. Jesus affirms this and talks about how blindness is beyond physical sight. Jesus doesn’t stop talking at the end of chapter 9, he simply switches tactics. Jesus offers many metaphors and figures of speech, confusing those who are still listening. They’re just not getting it. And I wonder if I really get it either.

This metaphor packed passage is one that has been used for centuries as fodder to make distinctive claims about being a follower of Jesus. Jesus speaks seemingly exclusionary statements about who listens to him, as well as who he is and who others are. Jesus says that his sheep will listen to his voice and not that of the stranger or those who will rob, destroy, and kill. Jesus says that he is the gate, which can also mean the door. This leads us to assume that Jesus is saying that not everyone listens, some get lost in the other distractions and not everyone can be in the fold, so to speak. We worry if we belong, if we are listening and if we will find the right path through the distractions. But just like we get distracted and lost in the information piled on us each day, we get lost in the images that Jesus is using and miss the words of promise that Jesus offers.

We miss the other things that Jesus says: such as the sheep do listen. Jesus is the gate or the door. Jesus came to give us abundant life. We miss the promise in this passage that no matter what happens, no matter who tries to rob us of our dignity, worth, or voice, Jesus is there. No matter what or who tries to divide us from each other or the love of God, Jesus is there. No matter what stranger may try and come along and tell us that they can offer us an easier, better life, Jesus won’t let us go. No matter if we come or go out to the pasture, Jesus is always there as the door that opens wide to let us in or out as we need. The door is for us, and for all. It’s not about who’s in or out, the point is that with Jesus, the door is always there and will open. We can’t get lost. We don’t have to understand why, we only have to keep listening to the promise. We will listen to our shepherd because Jesus’ voice is the only one who calls us by our name, our true name as beloved child of God. Jesus’ voice is the only one who will lead us to what really matters, the truth of our lives: it is God who gives us true abundant life: pastures of peace, protection of our spirits from harm, steadfast presence with us no matter how deep and dark the valley might be. We are in relationship with Jesus and so we are whole and holy.

Living in abundant life means that we cling to these promises from God in the midst of what we don’t understand, in what is painful, hard and uncomfortable. The promise of this abundant life  is for you, for me and for all people. The promise is that with Jesus, we don’t navigate life alone, we are gathered in loving community and we together, follow the voice of love that calls to us: love of God, love of our neighbor, and the love of creation. This voice of love is only one we hear, the only one our hearts respond to, this voice of love cuts through all of the other distractions and false promises, this voice of love leads us to Jesus, the door that is for all people, the door that opens to truth, love, grace and life.