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Getting Involved: Resources for members of the UCC
The following is a sample sermon prepared by Rev. Barbara Gerlach of the United Church of Christ that speaks to the experience of Colombian peacemakers and victims of the armed conflict. Please feel free to adapt it for use in your congregation.
Mark 1:9-15
Sermon by Barbara Gerlach
First Congregational UCC
Washington, DC
March 5, 2006
A Sense of Belonging
In
those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the
Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn
apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven,
"You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." And the
Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness
forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels
waited on him. Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming
the good news of God, and saying, "The time is fulfilled and the kingdom
of God has come near; repent, and believe the good news."
Hush, Hush, Somebody's calling my name.
Hush, Hush, Somebody's calling my name.
Oh, Hush, Hush, Somebody's calling my name.
O my God, O my God, what shall I do? What shall I do?
As many of you know, I went to Colombia three weeks ago for a "Summit of Evangelical Churches for Peace in Colombia." I returned with a meditation by Peter Stucky still echoing in my ears. Peter talked about how important it was for them who felt so small, so powerless, so beaten down by the violence around them to listen for God's dream, God's vision for their lives. He shared his own inferior complex as a Mennonite for being such a small community after 60 years in Colombia. I think he touched on feelings of inadequacy that most of those gathered felt.
Protestants, or Evangelicals as they call themselves in Colombia, are a minority church, about 10% of the population. Not until the 1991 Constitution were their rights to religious freedom even recognized. They have suffered religious persecution. They often feel invisible. Measured against the power and influence, wealth and organization of the Catholic church, Protestants have reason to feel inferior. They come in many varieties. Only about 4% are what we would call mainstream or historical churches. Many are pentecostal. Most are small independent churches in poor rural communities with limited resources and parttime pastors.
But in the last
ten years many of these churches have had a conversion experience into what
they call "the social dimension" of ministry. Almost every person
has lost someone to the violence. They have been displaced in brutal massacres
or have had to figure out how to help the waves of uprooted people pouring into
their communities. As one pastor told me, "Our churches used to be used
only for worship. Now they have become places to shelter and feed people, schools
for children, training ground for women needing to support their families."
Much of the yeast for this change has come through the witness of the Mennonite
church to a non-violent path to peace and the holistic work of people like Ricardo
Esquivia and Peter Stucky, who have gathered with churches very different from
their own, helped them figure how to respond to the overwhelming human need,
reflect theologically, and catch hold of a vision of peace grounded in truth,
social justice, and sustainable economic development. As one pastor said, "
Our theology used to focused on Christ, the King, now we talk about Jesus, the
Prince of Peace."
Flying home from San Andres, Colombia following this Summit of Protestant Churches
for Peace, my mind suddenly quiet after the strain of trying to speak and understand
in Spanish, I felt myself listening for God's dream, God's vision for my life.
I felt the hush of call and questioning: Oh, my God, O my God, what shall I
do? What shall I do?
We are told the same Spirit who descended on Jesus like a dove also drove him into the wilderness. Coming to the Jordan, Jesus must have been a person already in search of a vision and his vocation. He must have been ready to make some changes and commitments. Certainly something life-changing happened by the water as Jesus experienced God calling his name, claiming him, telling him he was loved. But still the path wasn't clear. Jesus needed to go off alone to figure it out, confront things in himself, listen for God's direction, let his vision be expanded by God's vision. He had to learn what his call meant and answer the question: Oh my God, O My God, what shall I do? What shall I do?
Voice, the root word of vocation is a central reality in our Jewish and Christian sacred story. We listen for and try to hear God's voice. We listen to and try to respond lovingly to the voices of others, especially the poor and the suffering. We seek to find our own voice and vocation so we can amplify God's voice and the voices of the voiceless through our own lives and commitments.
Like Jesus and my Colombian friend Peter Stucky, we have to confront our feelings of inadequacy and inferiority. Our fear and doubt of not being good enough, big enough, strong enough, wise enough, loving enough, spiritual enough, courageous enough to fulfill our call.
This is the first Sunday of Lent and the first Sunday of our Lenten Series Conflict, Communication, Community. Suggested by Anne Griffis, it was quickly adopted by both Social Aciton and Worship Commissions as a topic that might help us with the stresses and strains of site development and our multiracial multicultural music exploration. We don't want to lose people. We don't want our community to fragment or fracture. We know that what one person loves, another hates. How do we maintain community, build community, grow and bond as a community in the face of diversity and change? We all agreed that communication was key.
Most of us do not like conflict. We will sit on our own thoughts and feeling, stifle our own voice to avoid it. Or we will talk too much or too loudly that so we don't have to be disturbed by the reality of those who are different. We want people to be able to read our minds and our hearts without our ever having to tell them. We want community, closeness, a sense of connection without the risk and hard work of sharing - without deeply knowing ourselves, truly listening to others, and listening for truths that transcend our individual realities.
I hope everyone will read very carefully the piece that Faye wrote for this week's Horn about the importance of naming and claiming her reality, the way her family history is attached to this building, her grief at it coming down. Yet in the process of understanding and communicating this to others, she could stay in community, vote for site development. and trust that sacred space could be created again.
We have to take responsibility for ourselves, know our truth, name our reality. It not always pretty what we find inside of us. Have you ever notice how hard and helpful it can be when we speak in "I" statements. Say simply, "This is what I think or feel, this is what I want and need," rather than attributing thoughts and feeling, motives and power to others.
I have to be able to reveal myself, be vulnerable, come "just as I am." I have to speak my truth in love in ways that you can hear, and lovingly listen to your truth. I have to listen for truths that are larger than my individual reality. This is what Jesus found in the wilderness, beyond his worries about himself or others, a place of love where we are all God's children, brothers and sisters. This is what he announced when he said, "the kingdom of God - God's kin-dom - has come near; ... believe the good news."
Communication is the way we negotiate our relationships, forge community, find out where we fit in and how we belong together, in our local church and in the midst of the armed conflict in Colombia. Our anger can often be a clue to when we are not being true to ourselves or not being truly seen and heard by others. Friday I attended the Sabeel Conference on Peace and Justice in Palestine and Israel. Jean Zaru, a Palestinian Quaker said., "We have to be truthtellers...speak our truth in love... use our rage without adopting the ways of violence and hate. We have to expose the false symmetry between the occupier and the occupied, the oppressor and the oppressed."
Unlike Matthew
and Luke, who spell out Jesus temptations, his desire for food, power and recognition.
Mark simply says Jesus was tempted by Satan and was with wild beasts. We sense
Jesus' physical and spiritual vulnerability in the face of the largeness of
nature, the mystery of God, the power of inner doubts and conflicts. But we
are told that "the angels waited on him." Something came to comfort,
help, and guide him. A sense of belonging overcame his loneliness.
Sometimes going into oneself leads to a deeper sense of connection, a capacity
to move beyond self and put ourselves in another's shoes. We learn we are not
alone. We are not our own. We belong to God and to one another. After walking
the lonesome valley, Jesus re-engages, announces the good new, heals the sick
and possessed, reaches out to poor and the dispossessed. In the words of our
last hymn, "We Are Not Our Own," his life becomes a "liturgy
of care."
Communion is the deepest kind of communication. God searches and knows us. We search and know ourselves. We search and know one another and take into ourselves the love of God and the sorrow of our world. We discover we are not alone, We are not our own. We discover how we belong together and what we are called to do.
Hush, Hush, Somebody's
calling my name.
Hush, Hush, Somebody's calling my name.
Oh, Hush, Hush, Somebody's calling my name.
O my God, O my God, what shall I do? What shall I do?
Benediction:
Therefore, let
us make thanksgiving,
and with justice willing and aware,
give to earth and all things living,
liturgies of care. (From "We Are Not Our Own" by Fred Pratt Green)
May God preserve
in us a burning love of life
and a great gentleness
and keep us to the end in the fullness of humanity. Amen
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