Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel: Christ the King Sunday

The readings for Sunday, November 24, 2024:

First Reading: Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14

First Reading (Semi-cont.): 2 Samuel 23:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 93

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 132:1-13 [14-19] (Psalm 132:1-12 [13-18] NRSV)

Second Reading: Revelation 1:4b-8

Gospel: John 18:33-37


Some of us may be thinking, what a strange text to lead us into Advent. Some of us may be thinking, what a non-kingly Gospel for Christ the King Sunday. The weeks to come will be full of strange juxtapositions.  This lectionary cycle of Advent is the one where we get more apocalypse and John the Baptist than we get angel messengers with good news.

This whipsawed feeling should help us feel sympathy for the Jews of Jesus' time. We know that the Jews had been on the lookout for the Messiah for many years, but they certainly weren't looking for someone like Jesus. They wanted a more traditional vision of a King. They wanted someone who would sweep in and clean up current life. Specifically, they wanted someone to kick the Romans and all the other outsiders out of their homeland. They wanted someone to restore their vision of life as it should be.

We're probably familiar with that feeling. We, too, probably want a God we can control, who will do what we want so that we feel like we're in control. Or maybe we want a God who makes us feel superior.

The Gospel readings for this week, and the Advent/Christmas texts remind us that we don't worship that kind of God. We worship a God who is willing to become one of the most vulnerable kinds of creatures in our world: a newborn baby, born to underclass parents, in an underclass minority, in an occupied land. We worship a God so radical that he is crucified as a political criminal. Yes, a political criminal--crucifixions were reserved for crimes against the state in the Roman system. It's interesting to reread the Gospels with that fact in mind and to ponder what Jesus said that made him seem so radical and subversive to the Romans.

We worship a God who wants nothing to do with our human visions of power. Our God turned away from wealth. Our God calls us to a radical generosity and invites us to share all that we have. Our God turned away from political power. Our experience of God, in Jesus, reminds us that if we behave in the way that God wants us to behave, we will come into direct conflict with the dominant power structures of our day.

Our God is one whom we will encounter in the oddest places, like in a manger or in criminal court. Advent will remind us that we need to always be alert to the possibilities of this encounter, but that it likely won't happen in the way that we've prepared for or expected.

We come to the end of a liturgical year, the end of that long, green season, as my 5th grade Sunday School teacher called it. We begin a new year trembling with fear and hope. It is a good time, as all new years are, to make resolutions. In the next liturgical year, how will we prepare to meet God? To what strange places are we willing to go so that we may encounter God?

Good News, Bad News Hurricane Recovery

 Yesterday was the first day in over 45 days where we didn't get multiple phone calls from the City of Asheville telling us to boil the water that was coming out of our taps.  Yesterday we got the word that the boil water notice is lifted.  I emptied the last of the boiled water into the pitcher, my daily ritual.  Yesterday, I didn't boil more water.  It's been interesting to find out how much water we use for cooking and drinking--about a gallon or two a day, depending on whether or not we're home, whether or not we're cooking.

Some people went online to proclaim their jubilation.  I am tired, and part of me is always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I try to do the things that help me maintain mental equilibrium.  On Sunday, I went for a walk, up to the chapel, to the outdoor altar where I planned to sit and breathe for a bit.

I saw smoke as I walked up the hill, and I expected to gaze out to see smoke drifting from a distant mountain.  Instead, I saw flames on the other side of the hill where the Quiet Way path would take hikers up to the chapel, flames not too far away from where I stood.  

I called the camp director before I called 911--in retrospect, that was stupid, but I wanted to make sure they weren't doing a controlled burn.  Nope, and he had called for help.  I walked quickly back down the hill, and then went down to a fork in the camp road to make sure to flag the trucks to the fire, should they come in the back entrance.

Happily, the response was quick.  I walked back up to make sure there was nothing more I needed to do.  The very kind fire fighter I chatted with briefly told me that I should never hesitate to call 911, that they often arrived to find fires under control, and those were happy days.

I have been worried about fire since the early days of hurricane recovery--so many trees down, and such a dry October and November.  I am glad the fire was contained, but worried about what would have happened if no one had been around/awake to see the smoke and flames, as several of us did.

I am also worried about the health of my spouse.  A few weeks ago, he did something to his back while helping with the chainsaw to get trees cleared.  It comes and goes, and just when I think we've turned a corner, he has a flare, a sciatica kind of pain.  Yesterday was a very bad flare.  Luckily, he has a doctor's appointment for his annual physical on Friday, so maybe we will discover that there's something that can be done.  

My spouse's experience makes me worry about the future. We do not live in a country that has lots of options for people who need more care than I can give--and with Trump in charge, I don't foresee our nation ever evolving that direction.  The long term outlook might terrify me, if I really let myself think about it.

But I don't have time to think about that now.  I have grading to do and then there will be more grading to do, and I have seminary work that must be done, and then final papers and projects for seminary.  Let me get that work underway before driving down the mountain to teach in person at Spartanburg Methodist College.

Feast Day of Saint Hilda of Whitby

Today is the feast day of Saint Hilda of Whitby (614-680). We know of her primarily through the writings of the Venerable Bede, who said, "her wisdom was so great that even kings and princes sought her counsel," and "all who knew her called her Mother, because of her distinctive piety and grace."

Whitby is on the east coast of England in North Yorkshire. Whitby is famous for many things, but in church history, perhaps most famous for the Synod of Whitby in 664, which ironed out some differences between Celtic and Roman practices in Christianity, including how to figure out the date for Easter. Hilda was a Celtic Christian, and yet, when ordered to do so, she began to adopt Roman ways. She is remembered as a reconciler of the two traditions.

She founded several monasteries and was trained five men who later went on to become bishops. The monasteries that she founded were centers of education and the arts, and through the work done there, the monasteries also preserved knowledge.

For those of us who are English majors, we might be most grateful to Saint Hilda for her encouragement of Caedmon, one of the earliest English poets who makes it into anthologies; some call him the first British poet. Many give her credit for encouraging the stories from the Bible put into song and spoken stories in ordinary language of the people who would hear it.

Hilda is one of the patron saints of learning and culture, including poetry. We remember her as being of key importance in the shift from paganism to Christianity in England.

As with many of these ancient Christians, I am in awe of what they both created and preserved in times that must have been more difficult than ours, in harsh landscapes. With Saint Hilda, there's the added aspect of her gender--she accomplished so much in a time when women weren't given much in the way of opportunity.

And these days, when the U.S. seems so bitterly divided, I find my brain returning to her ability to reconcile and also lead. Modern people might not realize the depth of these church divisions, like the one between Roman Christians and Celtic Christians; indeed, one group left the Synod of Whitby and went to Iona and later Ireland, which at the time would have been even more savage landscapes.

These days, I think about Saint Hilda and remember that it is possible to reconcile huge differences. I remember Saint Hilda and hope that more of us can channel her.

For a more developed essay that has wonderful photos, I recommend this blog post.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, November 17, 2024:

First Reading: Daniel 12:1-3

First Reading (Semi-cont.): 1 Samuel 1:4-20

Psalm: Psalm 16

Psalm (Semi-cont.): 1 Samuel 2:1-10

Second Reading: Hebrews 10:11-14 [15-18] 19-25

Gospel: Mark 13:1-8

Here we are, back to apocalyptic texts, a rather strange turn just before we launch into the holiday season (both the secular one and the sacred). This week's Gospel is the type of text that many Christians use to support their assertion that we're living in the end times, that the rapture is near.

Keep in mind that the idea of rapture is fairly new; most scholars date it to the middle of the 19th century. But Christians have felt besieged since the beginning, and indeed, at certain times throughout the centuries, they have been severely threatened.

Most scholars believe that the book of Mark was written just after a particularly brutal suppression of a Jewish uprising and just before the destruction of the Temple, a time when the empire of Rome made it increasingly difficult to be an alien part of the empire. The Gospel of Mark is the most apocalyptic Gospel, perhaps because it was written when people really expected the end was near. Indeed, in many ways, the end was near. The whole of chapter 13 of Mark is grim indeed. Perhaps the Gospel writer uses such a chapter to launch into the Passion story, to set the mood.

Or maybe the Gospel writer wants to remind us of the cost of following Jesus. Maybe it's the larger cost of existing in the world. Even if we're lucky enough to be born into a stable time period, to be part of a country with a stable government, if we're conscious, it's hard to escape the conclusion that it could all vanish at any moment. And even if we don't suffer on the grand (genocidal) scale, most of us will endure more loss than our younger selves would have believed could be survived.

Before we sink too deeply into depression, we need to remember that Jesus came to give us Good News. And that Good News is that we have each other, and we have a God who loves us, no matter what. If we devote our lives to that love, then we can survive all sorts of betrayal, loss, and persecution.  

And there's more good news.  God is making all things new, and the forces of betrayal, loss, persecution, and death will not have the final say.

It's also important to look at the last part of the last sentence of this week's Gospel: "this is but the beginning of the birth-pangs." Birth-pangs. What is being born exactly?

The most positive spin on this bit is to say that the Kingdom of God is being born. We tend to think of the Kingdom of God as referring to Heaven, but if you read all the references to the Kingdom of God, it appears that Jesus isn't talking about Heaven as we know it. In some places, Jesus seems to talk about the Kingdom as already existing, perhaps as Jesus walking amongst us. In other places, the Kingdom of God will come to earth later, in a kind of purifying, redeeming vision. Yet again, we see references to this process already beginning, both with Christ's efforts and with the efforts of his believers.

Those of us who have had children, or who have had relatives and friends who have had children, know that parents have to go through a fierce process to hold that little baby in their arms. Jesus reminds us that the process towards the Kingdom of God can be equally fierce. Jesus reminds us that we must stay alert and aware, but that we need not feel alarmed.

Veterans Day 2024

 Today is Veterans Day.  Here is a picture of my favorite veteran, my dad:

He's my favorite veteran for obvious reasons, but there are many other veterans who would also be favorites:  my father-in-law, an Army veteran, and my Florida pastor Keith Spencer and his wife, Piper Spencer, Navy veterans, for example.  I think of one of my best friends from high school, Chum Kimsey:

The above picture is from 2014, when she had just been diagnosed with esophageal cancer, which would take her life.  She served in the Army in the late 80's and early 90's.

Yesterday we watched a Veterans Day concert, which made me feel both grateful and teary-eyed.  I thought of our current country, how few people serve in this way, even as many people say they support our military.  The concert contained footage from an Honor Flight event, which made me think of my own experience with my dad and sister on a similar trip.  

It was both a joyful trip and a somber one, being surrounded by living veterans, all older than 65, and the monuments to the wars that they fought.  It was a sobering reminder of the ultimate cost that so many veterans pay/paid.

I am also thinking of all the quilters I know who make quilts for veterans as a way to say thank you:

I'm not at a point yet where I could do that--but this morning, I'm wishing that I could show gratitude in this way, a way that results in a beautiful quilt.  For this morning, though, words will have to do.

Sermon for Sunday, November 10, 2024

 November 10, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Mark 12:38-44

All week, I’ve been thinking of widows.  I’ve been thinking of the widow in our Old Testament reading who gave her last bit of food and water to Elijah.  I’ve been thinking of the widow in the New Testament who gave two copper coins, all that she had, to pay her temple tax.  It wasn’t until the end of the week that I returned to the New Testament reading and saw the mirror image here, the behavior of the hypocritical scribes, the behavior of the widow.

In our Gospel text for this morning, it’s tempting to focus on the widow who gave all that she had.  After all, we’ve been here before.  Just a few weeks ago, we had the story of the wealthy man who approached Jesus wanting to know what to do to get eternal life.  Do you remember the answer?  Give all earthly wealth to the poor.

And here’s a widow, doing just that, giving up everything, in contrast to the rich who are plunking money into the Temple coffers.  Why, the sermon practically writes itself!

For all of you anticipating a good old-fashioned stewardship sermon, I’m about to disappoint you.  I don’t think that Jesus is telling us that we must give up ALL that we have.  Go back to the text.  He observes the widow’s actions.  He does not say, “Go and do likewise.”

So what is the point?  What are we to learn?  Let’s look at the passage again.  Let’s look at the contrasts.

The first contrast is easiest to see:  rich people giving large sums vs. widow woman giving 2 copper coins.  She’s not tithing.  She’s giving all that she owns.  And for what?  Two copper coins would buy nothing.  She’s not required to give all that she has.  We might build a back story for her.  Maybe she gives all that she has because she believes in the mission of the Temple in a way that the rich people do not.  But we don’t know that—we don’t have that insight into either the rich benefactors or the widow.

Who gets that level of backstory?  It’s the scribes in the beginning of today’s Gospel.  Please note that Jesus is not condemning all scribes or all religious authorities or every member of an elite class.  Jesus condemns the ones who like the attention that they get because they have authority.  They get to wear the robes and eat the food and have the best seats and be treated with respect—and Jesus seems to suggest that they are holding their office for all the wrong reasons, so that they can get the high regard of their society—and so that they can get rich.

And how do they get rich?  By robbing widows.  By taking from the poor, from people on the lowest rungs of society, from those who can least afford to lose what they have.  By taking from the very people that they are supposed to help.  This Gospel is less about giving all that we have and more about hypocrisy, in some ways, and you don’t need me to preach a sermon on the perils of hypocrisy.  Every day’s news cycle offers at least one warning about the perils of hypocrisy.

As I’ve been thinking about the widows in this week’s readings, I’ve been thinking about all the ways that our societal structures put people in danger, particularly people with little political power.  An election season might make us think that we have the power to change things, and sometimes we do.  But Jesus reminds us again and again that the system is rigged.  Our earthly empires, whether it’s the Roman empire of Jesus’ time or various societal systems of our own time—our earthly empires are not looking out for the powerless.  On the contrary, they are getting rich by exploiting those who have so little.

I hear the words of my Preaching professor echoing in my head:  where is the good news in all of this?  The widow in the Old Testament gives us the good news that although we may not be able to reverse earthly empires who prey on the weak, that it is God who is in charge.  The widows in both of our texts for today give all that they have.  Maybe it’s because they have faith in the Temple system or maybe it’s because they were expecting to die anyway.  They give, and God transforms.

Let’s be very clear on this.  With both widows, we don’t know their mental state.  God doesn’t reward them with abundance because of their trust or their faith or their good works.  God gives them abundance because that is what God does.  The proper response to God’s abundance is to share.

I have seen this dynamic in action this week, very far away from the corridors of political power that were playing out across the nation and the airwaves and social media.  I have spent this week not only with Biblical widows but with 21st century widows and older women.  I have seen the Kingdom of God this week, because I have been at Quilt Camp at Lutheridge.

In the three days before Quilt Camp, we got a message from one of the leaders.  Wouldn’t it be great if we brought any extra quilts we have --  we could share them with people in the western NC area, like the Lutheridge staff, people who have suffered so much loss and have still showed up to work.  On the first night, the leader who had sent out the message confided in me that she thought we didn’t have enough quilts even to share with the Lutheridge staff.

But it was early in the retreat, and by the morning, after everyone had a chance to get settled, we had more than enough.  Plus, one of the other leaders went through her own fabric stash and organized it into a pillowcase project for us to do.  We each received a ziplock bag with 3 pieces of fabric cut into the pattern we would use—plus, there were extra bags, just in case.  And by the end of the retreat, we got them all made so that they could be taken to a local quilt fabric shop to be given to community people who had lost their houses.

You might say, “You were making pillowcases for people who have lost everything?  Talk about two copper coins!  What kind of stupid offering is that?”

It is the kind of offering that we have.  We have fabric in abundance, we have time, and we have skills.  And a pillowcase can be used for so many things beyond just protecting a pillow.

As I watched us working on our own projects while also spending time on projects to help others, I thought of what Jesus so often said, “The Kingdom of God is at hand”—or as I so often paraphrase:  “This is what the community of God looks like.”  We had women of various ages and all sorts of backgrounds and out of a wide range of political and religious beliefs.  In a different setting, we might not have much to say to each other.  But at Quilt Camp, where we worked on projects to help others, we connected in a way that was even deeper than it would have been if we had just worked on our own projects.

This is what the Kingdom of God looks like:  giving to those who have less, giving what we have, pledging our allegiance to the vision of community that Jesus tells us is possible.

First Full Day at Quilt Camp

 When I go to a quilt retreat, I often get questions about what happens at a quilt retreat.  Yesterday was a fairly typical day at the quilt retreat that Lutheridge offers, so let me make some observations.

--It's held in the main gathering place, the huge Faith Center.  Every quilter gets two tables, which leaves room for quilters to bring other things they might need, like a table for a sewing machine, stackable shelving units, bins of fabrics, and such.  There's a power cord at each work space.  There's lots of wall space and floor space for figuring out patterns.  This photo gives you an idea of the set up.

--The most important aspect of the Lutheridge retreat:  we can make it be what we want it to be.  If we need a nap or a walk, wonderful.  If we want to lose ourselves in a project and be left alone, that's fine.  If we want to walk from table to table and chat, great.  If we need help assembling/figuring out a project, we've got lots of folks who are happy to pitch in.

--We're here for three full days, plus an evening beginning and a morning ending (Wed. afternoon arrival with an evening start through Sunday morning).  It's great to have that much time.  Much of that time is unstructured.

--I have always had online work that had to be done while I was there, and it's fine to sit at my work space with my laptop.  I love doing grading or working on a seminary paper surrounded by my quilt squares and gorgeous fabric.  Sew a little, grade a little, and wow, I can be productive!

--This year, we're taking an afternoon yoga break, a 20 minute session of chair yoga led by a friend of the retreat who is certified.  Wow!  I hope we figure out a way to do this every year.

--Every retreat offers a focused learning opportunity or two.  This retreat, we learned a pillowcase pattern and some techniques for binding.  Some retreats, when there hasn't been a hurricane six weeks ago, we have a local expert come in to lead a workshop.  The learning opportunities are optional.

--We eat our meals in the dining hall.  It's amazing to have camp stuff there to do the cooking and the clean up and to make decisions about the meals and the shopping.  When I'm on a retreat, I realize how much of my time each week goes to food.   Don't get me wrong--I love cooking and shopping and eating.  But it takes more time than I realize until I'm not doing it for a few days.

--Because it's a retreat at a church camp, there are some spiritual aspects.  They are ecumenical, since we come from a variety of faith expressions, and not participating in evening devotion time is an option too.  On the last night, there is a worship service with communion.  To me, it feels very non-proselytizing, and the view of God is an expansive one of a creator full of grace and love for all of creation.  Each quilt retreat has a different Bible passage to focus our devotion and worship time.

--We often do a service project.  This year, we made pillow cases for displaced people, and we brought quilts we had already made.  You can see the quilts in a pile above, and below, spread out across the chairs in our evening space for gathering:

 

--We brought 22 quilts to give away.  We also give money to camp for summer camp scholarships.

--We have show and tell every night, where each quilter is invited to bring a project, either completed or in progress.  At the last night, we have wine, cheese, snacks, and a quilt walk where we display projects at our tables.

--But the most important element of this retreat is the fellowship and support.  In some ways, we are all so different from each other in terms of family, background, career, upbringing, beliefs of all sorts.  But we love fabric and we love quilting and we love each other, even if we've only known each other for a few days.  Many of us return year after year, and it builds a beautiful community--one which leaves me hopeful for the future.