Author: Rev. Wells

LAKEWOOD UNITED CHURCH OF CHRIST
2601 54th Avenue South  St. Petersburg, FL  33712
On land originally inhabited by the Tocabaga
727-867-7961

lakewooducc.org
lakewooducc@gmail.com

Date:  March 19, 2023
Scripture Lessons:  I Samuel 16:1-13 and John 9: 1-41
Sermon:  Now I See!
Pastor:  Rev. Kim P. Wells

Perhaps the most well-known blind person of my life time is Helen Keller.  Maybe she is the most famous of the modern era.  Yes, there are Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles, but Helen Keller, maybe because she was blind and deaf, certainly is known to many.  Her infirmity occurred as the result of an illness when she was 19 months old.  Perhaps she is also well known because of the beautiful book about her and Anne Sullivan, The Miracle Worker, and the movie made from the book. 

In her autobiography written when she was a student at Radcliffe College, Keller describes her unfolding understanding of language.  Many may remember the scene in which Keller finally begins to understand how words and language and communication work.  It involved water, at a well – an echo of last week’s gospel story of the Samaritan woman at the well.  This happened when Keller was 6 years old.

“We walked down the path to the well-house, attracted by the fragrance of the honeysuckle with which it was covered.  Someone was drawing water and my teacher placed my hand under the spout.  As the cool stream gushed over one hand she spelled into the other the word water, first slowly, then rapidly.  I stood still, my whole attention fixed upon the motions of her fingers.  Suddenly I felt a misty consciousness as of something forgotten — a thrill of returning thought; and somehow the mystery of language was revealed to me.  I knew then that ‘w-a-t-e-r’ meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand.  That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free!  There were barriers still, it is true, but barriers that could in time be swept away.

“I left the well-house eager to learn.  Everything had a name, and each name gave birth to a new thought.  As we returned to the house every object which I touched seemed to quiver with life.  That was because I saw everything with the strange, new sight that had come to me. . . . I learned a great many new words that day.  I do not remember what they all were; but I do know that mother, father, sister, teacher were among them — words that were to make the world blossom for me, ‘like Aaron’s rod, with flowers.’  It would have been difficult to find a happier child than I was as I lay in my crib at the close of that eventful day and lived over the joys it had brought me, and for the first time longed for a new day to come.”  [From Helen Keller, The Story of My life, 1903.]

Keller’s life is transformed by being able to understand and experience reality in a new way.  This new reality especially informs how she was able to relate to others.  In fact, she became a capable writer and public speaker despite being deaf.  She traveled the world.  She advocated for rights for blind people and for pacifism and birth control and women’s suffrage and socialism and anti racism, especially impressive since her family had owned slaves in Alabama.   Keller’s commitments and concerns came from her ability to see/understand the condition and the experience of the people around her.  Blind since she was a toddler, she learned to really see the world as it is.  

In the story we heard from the gospel of Luke what does the blind man see?  He was born blind.  He did not request this healing.  There was no conversation before the healing.  How does the man see this experience?  First the man sees Jesus as a prophet.  Then as a miracle worker from God.  Finally, he affirms the very presence of God in Jesus.  As he examines his experience, that is how he is led to see Jesus.  Ironically, it is the pressure of the interrogation by the religious leaders that pushes the man born blind into seeing the presence of God in Jesus.   He was blind.  Now he can see.  Such a thing must be of God.  Where else would such power come from?  Only God has that kind of power.  So the man born blind eventually comes to see that Jesus is of God.

But the religious leaders do not see the same thing.  They see something different.  What the religious leaders see is someone who has violated the sabbath by doing work on the sabbath.  Healing and certainly mixing dirt and spittle were considered violations of the sabbath.  So Jesus has broken the sabbath law.  A law given by God.  Since he has broken this law of God, he himself cannot be of God.  Period.    

So one thing we can see in this story is that faith is not defined by following certain rules or religious dictates.  It has to do with recognizing the power of God, Divine Love, at work in the world and in our lives.  Do we see the power and presence of Love at work in our lives and the world?  That is the heart of faith.  That is what faith enables us to see.  If we cannot see that, we are blind.  This Lenten season is a time to reflect on what we are seeing.  Are we looking for goodness and the power of Love in our lives and in the world around us?  

What are we looking for?  What do we see?  John Donohue, poet and writer, really delves into this in a section of his book Anam Cara.  He tells us:

“Many of us have made our world so familiar that we do not see it any more.  It is an interesting question to ask yourself at night: what did I really see this day?  You could be surprised at what you did not see.  Maybe your eyes were unconditioned reflexes operating automatically all day without any real mindfulness or recognition; while you looked out from yourself, you never gazed or really attended to anything. . . The human eye is always selecting what it wants to see and also evading what it does not want to see.  The crucial question then is, what criteria do we use to decide what we like to see and to avoid seeing what we do not want to see?  Many limited and negative lives issue directly from this narrowness of vision.”  [p. 87.]

We see what we look for.  We are in the reality we create for ourselves.  The religious leaders in the story of the blind man want to stay focussed on rules and laws.  Authority and control is important to them.  So they see the world through that lens.  They see the power displayed by Jesus and they feel threatened.  So they want to see Jesus as not of God so that they can discredit him.

The man born blind can see.  What does he see?  Someone healed him.  That is his experience.  He sees power in the healing.  Power that he associates with God.  So he sees God in the person who healed him, in Jesus.   

So we can ask ourselves, What are we looking for?  Because that is what we will see.  If we are looking for love, we will see it.  If we look for good, that is what we will see.   As Judy Cannatto puts it, “If we are to be the new human, we must begin by embracing love, which always seeks to incarnate itself. Love is enfleshed everywhere. Everywhere the Holy One is shouting and whispering, ‘Let me love you.’” [citation missing]

Following Jesus invites us to see in a new way.  It’s like Helen Keller figuring out what w-a-t-e-r meant when written in her hand.  A whole new world opened up for her.  When we truly seek to follow Jesus, we learn to see a different reality.  A reality of giving, serving, helping, loving, forgiving, and caring.  We see compassion as the glue that holds the community together.   There is so much good, abundance, life, beauty, love, and grace in the world.  When we follow Jesus, we can see it.

When we see with the eyes of Jesus, we see the beauty, the worth, the inherent value of every life.  This makes it harder to take advantage of people.  To abuse their labor.  To inhibit people from getting medical help.   When we see God in every person as Jesus does, it is much harder to treat others in a hurtful, degrading way.  

When we see with the eyes of Jesus, can we pollute the water our neighbors near and far will need to drink?  Can we poison the air which will lead to untold deaths from respiratory problems?  Can we consume and produce and discard in a way that endangers the planet that supports the life of the millions of people created in the image of God and creatures manifesting the love of God?  

It is so much easier, I think, to think of faith as enforcing rules: don’t have an affair, don’t have an abortion, don’t change gender.  Much easier to avoid these so-called evils, than to create a reality in which we are expected to do the good;  to be people of compassion and hope and forgiveness taking care of each other.  You can’t measure that.  And you can’t punish someone for not measuring up.  That is not a satisfying system to many, and certainly it is not a system that makes it easy to control people. 

Seeing as Jesus sees is about love.  Imbued in everything and everyone.  Everything of God.  Can we see that?  

In her book, Becoming Wise, journalist Krista Tippett, talks about seeing the goodness and love in the world around us.  She writes:

“Our world is abundant with quiet, hidden lives of beauty and courage and goodness.  There are millions of people at any given moment, young and old, giving themselves over to service, risking hope, and all the while ennobling us all.  To take such goodness in and let it matter — to let it define our take on reality as much as headlines of violence — is a choice we can make to live by the light in the darkness, to be brave and free. . . . Taking in the good, whenever and wherever we find it, gives us new eyes for seeing and living.”  [From Becoming Wise, Krista Tippett, quoted in Boundless Compassion: Creating a Way of Life, by Joyce Rupp, p. 187.]

Yes, there is so much good in the world around us.  And in us.  To me, our sin is choosing not to see the goodness and the love in ourselves and others.  And that blindness has deadly consequences.  What does the man born blind see?  The power of God’s love made manifest right before his very eyes.  And that is what we are invited to focus on in ourselves, our lives and in the world around us.  

When Helen Keller was young, she was introduced to Christianity.  She famously responded by saying: “I always knew He was there, but I didn’t know His name!”

Her spiritual autobiography, Keller described the core of her belief in these words:  “Since His [God’s] Life cannot be less in one being than another, or His [God’s] Love manifested less fully in one thing than another, His [God’s] Providence must needs be universal … He [God] has provided religion of some kind everywhere, and it does not matter to what race or creed anyone belongs if he [they] is [are] faithful to his [their] ideals of right living.”  [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helen_Keller]  That is what Keller learned to see through the eyes of faith.  Divine Love imbuing her entire reality.  

May we look for the power of love and see the reality of God within us, among us, and around us.  Amen.  

A reasonable effort has been made to appropriately cite materials referenced in this sermon. For additional information, please contact Lakewood United Church of Christ.

LAKEWOOD UNITED CHURCH OF CHRIST
2601 54th Avenue South  St. Petersburg, FL  33712
On land originally inhabited by the Tocabaga
727-867-7961

lakewooducc.org
lakewooducc@gmail.com

Date:  March 26, 2023
Scripture Lessons: Ezekiel 37:1-14 and John 11:1-45
Sermon:  Out of Control
Pastor:  Rev. Kim P. Wells

The fabulous novel, Pigs in Heaven, by Barbara Kingsolver, a sequel to The Bean Trees, features a Cherokee lawyer named Annawake Fourkiller, who represents the Cherokee nation.  At one point in the novel, Annawake describes some of the horrors of the Trail of Tears to a Euro-American character in the story who didn’t learn much about that episode in American history when she was in school. Here’s the conversation between Annawake and Alice:

“Have you ever heard about the Trail of Tears?”

“I heard of it.  I don’t know the story, though.”

“It happened in 1838.  We were forced out of our homelands in the southern Appalachians.  North Carolina, Tennessee, around there.  All our stories are set in those mountains, because we’d lived there since the beginning, until European immigrants decided our prior claim to the land was interfering with their farming.  So the army knocked on our doors one morning, stole the crockery and the food supplies and then burned down the houses and took everybody into detention camps.  Families were split up, nobody knew what was going on.  The idea was to march everybody west to a worthless piece of land nobody else would ever want.”

“They walked?” Alice asks.  “I’d have thought at least they would take them on the train.”

Annawake laughs through her nose. “No, they walked.  Old people, babies, everybody.  It was just a wall of people walking and dying.  The camps had filthy blankets and slit trenches for bathrooms, covered with flies.  The diet was nothing that forest people had ever eaten before, maggoty meal and salted pork, so everybody had diarrhea, and malaria from the mosquitoes along the river, because it was summer.  The tribal elders begged the government to wait a few months until fall, so more people might survive the trip, but they wouldn’t wait.  There was smallpox, and just exhaustion.  The old people and the nursing babies died first.  Mothers would go on carrying dead children for days, out of delirium and loneliness, and because of the wolves following behind. . . . 

Alice uncrosses and crosses her arms over her chest, understanding more than she wants to.   She know she is hearing the story Annawake has carried around her whole life long.  . . . 

“They figure about two thousand died in the detention camps.”  Annawake says quietly.  “And a lot more than that on the trail.  Nobody knows.” .  .  . 

“When I was a kid, I read every account ever written about the Trail of Tears.  It was my permanent project.  In high school Civics I read the class what President Van Buren said to Congress about the removal, and asked our teacher why he didn’t have us memorize that, instead of the Gettysburg Address.  He said I was jaded and sarcastic. . . .

“Well.  What did President Van Buren say?”

“He said: ‘It affords me sincere pleasure to be able to apprise you of the removal of the Cherokee Nation of Indians to their new homes west of the Mississippi.  The measures have had the happiest effect, and they have emigrated without any apparent resistance.’” [Barbara Kingsolver, Pigs in Heaven, pp. 358-359]

As a side bar, let me point out that we can share this quote from this book because we are a church and the state can’t tell us what we can and can’t read or teach.  We still have some semblance of separation of church and state.

So, when I heard this description of the Trail of Tears, I had to turn off the audio book for a while just to let it sink in.  I had to recover from the recounting of such trauma; to process the horrors that we have the capacity to inflict upon one another as human beings.  And then I had to find out some more about the Trail of Tears.  In fact, it is thought that some 60,000 people died.  Wilma Mankiller, the first woman chief of the Cherokee, reflects, “Although it is so crucial for us to focus on the good things — our tenacity, our language and culture, the revitalization of tribal communities — it is also important that we never forget what happened to our people on the Trail of Tears.  It was indeed our holocaust.”  [Essential Native Wisdom, edited by Carol Kelly-Gangi, p. 95.]     

When I was younger, I used to be able to just pass over something like Kingsolver’s description of the Trail of Tears, slightly disturbed but also feeling a remove from such a story because in 1838 all of my relatives were in Europe.  We were not here in this country, so I would reason, it wasn’t our fault.  We had nothing to do with it.  But now, thanks to things like critical race theory, I know that I, as a person defined by my culture as white, have benefitted from what was done to the Cherokee and other tribes.  And from slavery and its legacy, which, again, I used to see as something that did not involve me because our people were in Germany and Italy, thank you very much.  

But now I see that as a human being, the Cherokee and those who were forced to walk the Trail of Tears, are my people because we are all one people, one race.  And the people who forced the Trail of Tears to proceed are also my people.  So, I had to stop when I heard that part of the book.

And, yes, the Trail of Tears is horrific.  And so is the Holocaust. And that did involve my relatives. And slavery and the Middle Passage and its continuing aftermath – these are also horrific.  And there are many other terrible things that we have done to each other, and are still doing to each other, as a human family.  

But a message of the Bible, and certainly of the two stories that we heard this morning, is that God is more powerful than all of the havoc and evil we can dish out.  There is a power, Divine Love, present in the world working for life, for justice, for healing, and for good, that is stronger than the worst we can imagine.  It is the power of love and life.  And it cannot ultimately be thwarted.  

Now, if there are 30 people in this sanctuary, then there are probably many more than 30 images and metaphors for God among us.  There are many ways of thinking about and describing that which is eternal and fundamental and inviolable.  Maybe we associate the letters g-o-d with a divine spirit somewhere working for our good.  Maybe we think of God as a benevolent dictator somewhere.  Maybe we think of God as a light within us; a light of love.  Maybe we associate God with the life force.  Maybe we think of God as a genie waiting to help us.  Maybe we think of God as a human construct created to give us a way of talking about things that are ultimate and universal.  However we may think about God and envision and imagine God, the stories we heard today remind us that God is about the perpetuation of a primary reality of life and love and goodness.  

In Ezekiel, we hear of the prophet speaking words of hope to a people who, like the bones,  are devastated, torn apart, separated – from one another, from their purpose, and from their God.  But the story tells of God’s plan for the community to be restored to life, a re-creation of the people who will bless all the people of the world as they embody the justice and compassion of their God.  

And the story of Lazarus tells us that the reality of God embodied in the life of Jesus, a reality of justice and compassion, is stronger than death.  The reality of God is a story of life and wholeness, and it cannot be eliminated or eradicated.  Hard as we may try.

In describing the aftermath of the Trail of Tears, William Hensley, a Cherokee of the 20th century tells of the challenges of creating a new society:  “For Cherokee families moved helter-skelter by government edict in the 1830s from their original homelands east of the Mississippi to the raw, wooded rolling hills and grass-covered plains of Indian Territory (now Oklahoma), it was a scramble for survival.  Everyone had been forced to start over from scratch, accumulating enough tools and equipment for clearing the lands to construct new homes, start subsistence gardens, acquire and raise food for family and animals.  But more difficult was the re-establishment of a sense of community, the restructuring of a shattered culture, and the invention of new ways of being — social, economic, and spiritual.”  [Essential Native Wisdom, edited by Carol Kelly-Gangi, p. 23.]

New beginnings are daunting but they also hold promise.  And the Bible conveys that promise:  The possibility of a new reality that is a more true reflection of the nature of a God of universal, unconditional, eternal love.   

But we must also see that life in God, the reality of God which cannot be vanquished, is always a threat to those who covet their human power and authority.  To those who are benefitting from the way things are.  To those who think they have some say so in defining reality.  The wild, unpredictable, uncontrollable love of God can be threatening to those who prize their human power and control like the religious authorities in the story of Lazarus.  

Now some of us are utterly disgusted and discouraged by what we see going on around us today.  I attended an event this weekend where I had the opportunity to talk with a recently retired psychiatrist.  And he said, life is more distressing now than it has been, certainly in our life times.   Well, we see our values and our assumptions and our rights not just dying but being outright killed.   And we are seeing hope dry up as alienation inundates us.  

But we know that the power of Divine Love, the love we see in the images offered by Ezekiel and the legacy of Jesus, the power of that love is ultimate and infinite.  That love can overcome the worst horrors humanity can concoct.  Love will prevail.  Not religious authority.  Not theological tenets.  Not a creed.  Not the economy.  Not the culture.  Not the ‘enemy,’ however defined.  Not political dogma.  Those things will not prevail.  They are fleeting.  The reality of God, the eternal manifestation of Divine Love, that is what will prevail.  That reality is stronger than greed, selfishness, violence, vengeance, hatred, and even death.  

Notice in Ezekiel, we are told that the bones were very dry.  Scattered on the battlefield.  Then we are told of the presence of the spirit of God.  And there is a rattling.  And the skeletons come together.  Then the sinews connect the bones.  Then flesh clothes the bones.  And finally breath, ruah, the divine spirit, blows life into the nostrils and lungs of the reconstructed earthlings.  It is a process.  It takes time.  From the horror of devastation to the re-creation of sustainable life.  But life prevails.  And it is beyond our control.  And, yes,  it takes time, and transformation, and change, and we don’t like to be patient.  It can be so much easier to sit in self pity and blame.  And to be victims of those who think they have the power of life and death over us.  Those who are benefiting from power arrangements that damage and degrade and harm others.  But our faith story tells of love that frees new life.  Where we are no longer held in bondage to fear or the tyranny of the self.  Where we are no longer captive to hopelessness, greed, hunger, poverty, and degradation.  

Lisa Pivec, Director of Public Health for the Cherokee Nation, explained the outlook of the Cherokee nation which it has sought to maintain in its new configurations since the Trail of Tears.  This description of the nature of the Cherokee was offered in 2020 as the Cherokee faced the threat of covid:  “We have to come together as one people.  We have to think about others.  And that’s something that Cherokees do.  And that’s how we live is collectively and understanding that what we do and how we live impacts others.  Don’t ask, what are my rights? Ask, what are my responsibilities?” [Essential Native Wisdom, edited by Carol Kelly-Gangi, p. 110.]  How beautiful that the Cherokee are able to try to maintain that fundamental core underpinning in this society of extreme individualism and self absorption.  It is another testimony to the power of Divine Love:  New life is possible.  And life and love will prevail.  

Our faith is about life, full and free.  A life of joy and abundance and community.  Compassion and commitment to the common good.  Despite what we do to each other, the problems we make for ourselves, and the way we may treat each other, our God is a God of life and love with power greater than the worst we can dish up.  And the image of that God is indelibly imprinted within each one of us.   We need to be reminded of this as we come to the ending of the Lenten season and approach Holy Week where we remember the stories of the end of Jesus’ earthly life.  

We close with a Cherokee prayer particularly fitting for Lent as we seek to re-turn our lives to God:  

“O Great Spirit, who made all races, look kindly upon the whole human family and take away the arrogance and hatred which separates us from our brothers [and sisters].” 

 [Essential Native Wisdom, edited by Carol Kelly-Gangi, p. 60.]

Amen.

A reasonable effort has been made to appropriately cite materials referenced in this sermon. For additional information, please contact Lakewood United Church of Christ.

LAKEWOOD UNITED CHURCH OF CHRIST
2601 54th Avenue South  St. Petersburg, FL  33712
On land originally inhabited by the Tocabaga
727-867-7961

lakewooducc.org
lakewooducc@gmail.com

Date: April 9, 2023 Easter Sunday
Scripture Lesson: John 20:1-18
Sermon: Don’t Hold On
Pastor:  Rev. Kim P. Wells

When we see our two little grandsons, ages 2 and 3, the first thing we want to do is scoop the little darlings up in our arms and hug and kiss them.  But their wonderful parents are teaching them about consensual touch.  You need to consult with someone before you touch them.  Ask if it is ok.  Get permission.  So, when we see our grandsons, the older, verbal one, Soren, will ask, “Can I give you a hug, Grandma?”  “Can I hug you, Baba?”  It is so dear.  We went through these negotiations with the boys numerous times to help re-enforce what the parents are trying to teach, which we completely agree with.  Then we let the boys know that we are always receptive to hugs from them.  They can always hug us.  They don’t need to ask every time.  Of course we want to hug those little munchkins!

This morning we heard the unfolding story of Mary visiting the tomb of Jesus and becoming aware that he was not in the tomb, and then that she was having an encounter with him in the garden.  When Jesus addresses her by name, Mary, and she realizes who this is that she is conversing with, she, naturally, wants to embrace him.  Her dear friend and mentor, whom she thought was dead, is talking with her.  Yes, she was stunned and confused and at sea, but here is her loved one and she reaches out to hold him.  It was a natural impulse.  A reflex.   Completely and fully human.  Too instinctual, emotionally charged, impassioned, desperate, to think about asking, “May I give you a hug?”   

And then in the story there is the perhaps surprising response from Jesus, “Don’t hold on to me. . .”   Don’t hold on?  To the loved one you thought was dead.  Don’t hold on to me.  To the one who has freed you from 7 demons and given you a new life.  Don’t hold on to me.  To the one who has brought you closer to God.  Don’t hold on to me.  To the one who has embodied unconditional love to you and everyone else.  Don’t hold on to me.  

From one so loving this cannot be a rebuff but only an invitation.  Don’t hold on to me because I have more to do, more to give you, more to show you.  We’re not done.  We must move on to greater things.  

So we are shown that the power of the resurrection involves letting go; not holding on but moving on to greater things.  Mary must let go of her preconceptions and views about what is possible.  She must let go of her image of Jesus as a capable, insightful, deeply spiritual rabbi and healer so that he can be more than that to her and to the world.  

The story of the resurrection is a story inviting us to new life and hope beyond our wildest imaginings.  Regardless of our circumstances.  And, perhaps the worse our situation, the more powerful the resurrection can be.  The resurrection is about more than we could ask for or imagine.  And experiencing that power and hope can involve letting go of what we are holding on to that may be anchoring us when the winds of the spirit want to fill our sails and send us onward.   If we hold on to the past, to our preconceptions, we might miss out on what Divine Love is offering us.  Easter is definitely about ‘out of the box’ thinking.  Don’t hold on because that just might hold you back from experiencing the joy, wholeness, and love that Jesus is trying to give to us.  

So what might we be clinging to that is holding us back from experiencing the full force of new life, hope, and grace?  What are we holding on to?   Oh, so many things! 

Like Mary wanting to hold on to Jesus, and linger, and grieve, maybe we want to hold on to our limited conceptions of Jesus and to our image of what the church should be.  Maybe we want to hold on to our traditional understandings of faith.  Maybe we want to hold on to Easter as being all about the after life, being in heaven with God and with our loved ones for eternity.  But there is more, if we will open up to it. 

Maybe we are clinging to safety, certainty, and nostalgia when it comes not only to faith but to life in general.  Maybe we are holding on to a grudge or some kind of umbrage in a relationship.  Maybe we are holding on to stereotypes and that is keeping us from seeing real people.  Maybe were are holding on to the security of a power structure that excludes and privileges.  Maybe we are clinging to an economic system that needs to be transformed.  Maybe we are tied to a conception of the past that is not only incomplete but inaccurate.  What about those Confederate statues?  Maybe we are holding on to societal mores that diminish women  –  including expected toleration of unwanted touch.  I am in a book club with several lawyers and they try to avoid going into the law library at the courthouse because they are always getting groped by another lawyer or a judge.  Time for that consensual touch conversation.  So much to let go of!   

I read recently about a retired Episcopal priest who found a box of her papers and memorabilia from when she was in high school.  She remembers that she was distracted and not a very good student.  But she looked at her report cards and the grades were impressive.  All these years she has carried an image of who she was that is not accurate.  She had to come to terms with the damage that she had done to herself.  There can be a lot to let go of.    

Growing up, my grandmother lived with us.  It was the 60’s.  And she was enthralled with the singer Engelbert Humperdinck.  We had his records and she would play them over and over.  We even went to hear him at a concert at the Merriweather Post Pavilion outside Washington, D. C.  My parents and I went with my grandmother.  At one point in the concert, a middle aged woman sitting next to us whom we did not know, turned to my father and begged him to throw her up onto the stage.  We were sitting about midway back in the audience.  Apparently Humperdinck was quite the heart throb for a certain demographic.  The one song of his that I remember, and maybe you know it, too, is “Please Release Me.”  

Please release me, let me go

For I don’t love you anymore.

To waste our lives would be a sin.

Release me and let me love again.

It’s a croon about letting go of a past love and being freed to embrace someone new.  It’s about as sappy as you can get, but there is a message there.  We need to let go of the past, and its hold on us, to embrace a new future.   

Don’t hold on to me, Jesus tells Mary.  Jesus needs to be free to move on with his mission of loving all of creation for all time.  He has to spread his message that love is stronger than death.  He has to let us know that he is with us empowering us to be agents of love in the world – love of ourselves, love of others, love of enemies, and love of the Earth.  Don’t hold on to me – don’t hold me back, don’t hold me down, I am not finished.  I have more love to spread.  More light to shed. 

The story of the resurrection that we celebrate today is about God’s love being so powerful that it is able to overcome whatever is in the way.  It is about love that is stronger than even death itself.  Certainly love is stronger than our faults and grudges and small mindedness.   And greater even than the evil and the terror and the pain we cause ourselves and each other. 
And greater than the injustice and inequality that we perpetuate.  The Divine Love that we see in the resurrection is greater than all of that.  Don’t cling, don’t embrace, don’t hold on.  Especially to what is holding us back from life, full and free.  

Don’t hold on.  Especially to the fears that are holding you back.  Like some of you, I’m sure, I’m afraid of heights.  This condition developed for me when I was in my 30’s and it is still with me.  So, the last thing I would ever want to do is go sky-diving.  But in reading about an account by someone who has done it, I am so impressed by the transforming power of the experience –  of letting go.  

Leah Alissa Bayer tells of her first sky dive:

“First few seconds: Terrifying and full of panic. When I was pushed out of the plane I thought I had committed suicide. I was frantic and felt unbelievable regret. I’ve never felt more scared in my life.

“But a few seconds later things leveled out and I felt a rush of endorphins, exhilaration, and unparalleled excitement. Free fall is intense and I flipped from thinking I was dead to feeling like a rockstar.

“Then the chute hit, and everything was peaceful as we fell gently back down to the sand. I landed on Pismo Beach where a handful of friends cheered and welcomed me home.

“During that fall I had a tremendous personal breakthrough. I had been suffering extraordinary depression for many years with periodic suicidal thoughts. When I left that plane I felt like I had crossed that threshold and thrown my life away. But really, I was putting it in the hands of someone else, letting go, and it turns out everything was ok. More than ok. I realized I really do want to live. As I fell down to the shore I knew I belonged to the Earth below me – I wanted to be there. I have many more jumps to make before my time is done.”

Bayer concludes:

“I highly recommended skydiving as therapy to anyone that has suffered severe depression or suicidal thoughts/actions. It played a big role in changing my life.” [https://www.quora.com/What-does-it-feel-like-to-skydive]

Don’t hold on, Jesus tells Mary.  When we let go, there is more awaiting us than we could ever imagine.  Healing.  Hope.  Identity.  Unconditional love.  Even for ourselves.  New life.  Don’t hold on especially to what is holding you back.  Let the love flow!

Divine Love is begging to set us free.  Even from the power of death.  Pleading.  To release us into a reality of joy and peace.  Don’t hold on.  Let go.  Consent!   Amen.

A reasonable effort has been made to appropriately cite materials referenced in this sermon. For additional information, please contact Lakewood United Church of Christ.

LAKEWOOD UNITED CHURCH OF CHRIST
2601 54th Avenue South  St. Petersburg, FL  33712
On land originally inhabited by the Tocabaga
727-867-7961

lakewooducc.org
lakewooducc@gmail.com

Date:  April 2, 2023  Palm Sunday
Scripture Lesson: Matthew 21:1-11
Sermon: On Earth as It Is in Heaven
Pastor:  Rev. Kim P. Wells

There’s a well known folk tale, shared in several religious traditions as well as many cultures, about the difference between heaven and hell.  Here’s a version of the story:

Long ago there lived an old woman who had a wish. She wished more than anything to see for herself the difference between heaven and hell.  Her request was granted.  She saw before her two doors.   

She opened the first door and immediately the aroma of delicious food filled her nostrils.  Before her there was a great dining room and a large dining table and in the middle of the table was a large pot of steaming stew that smelled delicious!

There were people seated around the table.  Their bodies were thin and their faces were gaunt and creased with frustration. The atmosphere was angry and hostile.  The people were muttering and lashing out at each other.  Each person held a spoon. The spoons were very long.  Maybe three feet long.  They were so long that the people could reach the spoon into the stew in the pot but they could not get the food into their mouths because the spoons were so long.  As the woman watched, she heard their hungry desperate cries. They were miserable.  

”I’ve seen enough,” she cried. “Please let me see heaven.”

She opened the second door and immediately the aroma of delicious food filled her nostrils.  Before her there was a great dining room and a large dining table and in the middle of the table was a large pot of steaming stew that smelled delicious just like in the room before!  She was confused.

She looked more closely.  There were people seated around the table.  But they were plump, well fed, they were smiling and happy, busy talking and laughing.  Each person had the same very long spoon.  Maybe three feet long!  They could not feed themselves with that long spoon.  But the people around the table were dipping their spoons into the pot of delicious stew and feeding each other!

Now the woman understood the difference between heaven and hell.  

This classic story gives us an image of heaven in which everyone takes care of each other.  Everyone is compassionate.  Everyone is provided for.  Everyone gives and receives.  To me it echoes the beautiful verses from the gospel of John:  “Do not let your hearts be troubled.  Believe in God, believe also in me.  In my Abba’s house there are many dwelling places.  If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you.” [John 14:1-2]

We think of heaven as a place where everyone is provided for and cared for.  No one is belittled or left out or struggling to make it.  It is a place of peace and harmony.  No cares and no worries.

And in the prayer that we repeat at least weekly in church, the Savior’s prayer, there is the line, ‘on Earth as it is in heaven.’  We envision the reality of God extended from the realm of heaven, however we may imagine that, to the realm of our earthly lives.  And that is what Jesus’ life and ministry is about.  As above, so below, as it is said in indigenous traditions.  Jesus is about making life on earth as it is in heaven, a construct of reality completely consistent with the love of God.  

In our faith tradition, we remember Jesus declaring, the realm of God is among you.  The reality of God is within you.  

Jesus brings heaven to earth.  He closes the gap between the reality of God in heaven and the reality of God here on earth creating a reality on earth where everyone is loved and cared for. So the reality of God isn’t just about some distant meta-verse in the sweet bye and bye, but about life here on earth, now.

And so Jesus feeds.  Everyone.  Jesus forgives.  Everyone.  Jesus heals.  Everyone.  And, maybe most importantly, Jesus befriends.  Everyone.  Including the nasty, despicable, outcasts and disreputable people; the poor and rejected ones.  It wasn’t just about a hand out to them.  He hung out with them.  Jesus creates inclusive, egalitarian community.   Everyone a precious beloved child of God.  Each one a unique expression of the image of an infinitely loving God.  

You see, in the story we began with, everyone has a spoon.  And they decide what to do with it.  And behind the second door they feed each other.  And everyone has enough.  And no one goes without.  As in heaven, so on earth.  With Jesus.  

Also notice in the folk story, no one sold the people the spoons.  There aren’t silver spoons.  There aren’t spoons to rent.  There aren’t spoons of different sizes and lengths.  Everyone is given a spoon.  The spoons are all the same.  And there is only one pot of delicious, nutritious stew.  Everything that is needed is provided.  

As above, so below.  This is an image of a reality in which people no longer take advantage of each other.  No longer benefit from the abuse of others.  No longer over power others for their own advantage.  No longer determine the station of others or the value of others.  There is no living at the expense of someone else.  Period.  There is no undermining the dignity and self determination of others.  There is no more taking advantage of labor.  No more easy manipulation of the masses.  

And people with power and wealth and privilege don’t like that reality because it does not favor them.  They do not come out on top because there is no ‘on top.’  In the reality of God, everyone gets what they need and it is enough.  And all are expected to serve as well as be served.  That reality was not generally accepted by those in power in Jesus day.  And it is not accepted by those in positions of power today.  Including those who claim to be religious authorities.  

Part of what upset people of the first century about the way of Jesus was that he was giving all the power to God, and that was taking power away from the people who were controlling the social and religious and economic systems that were holding sway.  The  systems that determined who got to make decisions.  And how life would be organized.  And what you had to do to keep your place in society.  And who would be the haves and who would be the have nots.  And in the first century, religious officials were holding a lot of that power and control.  Supposedly in the name of God.  And they did not like Jesus upsetting the hierarchy, patriarchy, and economy from which they were benefitting.  

And that’s why the authorities wanted Jesus killed.  He wasn’t killed because he was promising something in the next life.  He was killed because he was embodying the reality of God right here and now in this life.  As above so below.  

This week as we remember the last week of Jesus’ life we heard the story of how Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey.  This processional was a purposeful mockery of the traditional parade of imperial conquest led by a military leader astride a steed.  In the story from the gospel of Matthew that we read today, not only does Jesus ride a donkey, a beast of burden, hardly a strapping steed, but we are told it is a female donkey with a colt.  It is a donkey of lower status, female.  And she has a colt.  She is vulnerable.  So the story features not only a donkey, but the least and lowest of the donkeys, a mother and baby.  So like Jesus.  Always about reaching out to lift up the least and the lost.  Those cast aside, ignored, expendable.  

When Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated, British writer George Bernard Shaw commented, “It shows how dangerous it is to be too good.”  [Quoted in Listening at Golgotha, Peter Storey, p. 31.]

This week, we will retell the stories around Jesus’ death.  This is the week to remember that Jesus was killed because he gave himself to making life ‘on Earth as it is in heaven.’  Amen.

A reasonable effort has been made to appropriately cite materials referenced in this sermon. For additional information, please contact Lakewood United Church of Christ.

LAKEWOOD UNITED CHURCH OF CHRIST
2601 54th Avenue South  St. Petersburg, FL  33712
On land originally inhabited by the Tocabaga
727-867-7961

lakewooducc.org
lakewooducc@gmail.com

Date: Feb. 19, 2023
Scripture Lessons: Leviticus 19:1-2, 9-18 and Matthew 5: 38-48
Sermon:  Glory!
Pastor:  Rev. Kim P. Wells

I would like to tell you about September 18, 2022.  For me, this was day 18 of walking the Camino de Santiago in Spain.  The Camino is a pilgrimage that has numerous routes that converge at the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain.  It is said that the bones of Sant Iago, James, the brother of John, of the sons of Zebedee, disciple of Jesus, are buried in the cathedral.  The pilgrimage to Santiago was one of the three great pilgrimages of the middle ages.  The others were Rome and Jerusalem.  Today, well over 300,000 people a year make a pilgrimage to Santiago though for most it is no longer done as penance.  

This was our third Camino.  We were on the Del Norte route which follows the coast of northern Spain.  First a few generalities about walking the Camino, then I will tell you about September 18.  You follow yellow arrows or scallop shell signs that mark the route.  The path is through the forest, along the beach, through the fields, along the roads, through cities and towns.  There are all kinds of walking surfaces and terrain.  There is a lot of up and down on this route.  You determine your pace and the distance you will go each day.  You carry everything in a backpack.  We stay mostly in hostels with bunkbeds that are open only to peregrinos, pilgrims walking the camino, and cost 5-10 euros a night.  

So, to September 18.  We woke up in Columbres in the hostel.   I had been assigned a top bunk, doable but not preferable.  But Katie, a young woman from England, who had been assigned to the bottom bunk, insisted on switching.  I think there were 4 bunk beds in the room.  Eight people.  The hostel had several such rooms and a nice grassy yard.  There were the usual shared bathrooms.  So, we woke up ready for another day of walking.  

We headed through the town.  Then the fields.  Then another town.  And along a paved road.  Then into the forest and down to a rock strewn beach.  I stopped there for lunch and watched an older couple swim in the frigid water.   From the beach, it was up a steep embankment through the woods to the fields.  Then the path veered across a road and into a pasture along the cliffs bordering the sea.  The grass was a vibrant green.  We walked on narrow dirt paths encrusted with rocks that had been created by the cows traversing the pastures.  We were probably 150 feet above the sea which was crashing against the rocky coast below.  We had to climb over turnstiles in the fences that kept the cattle enclosed.  I had fallen into walking with a man named Dan from Michigan whom we had met a couple of weeks before.  He helped me over the gates.  We went through another small town.  And down a road.  Dan went on ahead. 

It was late in the afternoon.  We usually walk 6 hours or so and are done by 2 or 3.  It had been about 8 hours.  I was ready to be done for the day.  We had planned to stay in a hostel in a small city called Llanes.  By now, I figured Jeff, my husband, and my brother, Mark, were there.  I am always the slowest!   

Then a town came into view on the right.  Ah, Llanes at last, I thought.  Not much farther.  But the path veered off to the left.  Across a road.  And the town was off to the right.  Hm.  Then the path went farther to the left.  And there was a huge hill/mountain.  And the path did not circumnavigate the base of this mountain.  It went up the mountain.  Huh?  Wasn’t that Llanes, over there, on the right?

Evidently not.  So, I headed up.  A dirt path.  And up.  And up.  Late in the day.   And no sign of Llanes which was supposed to be pretty big.  Through the woods.  Onward and upward.   Tired.  Knees aching.  And light fading.

Then, after cresting the mount, there was a vista of farms and fields below.  And there in the distance was Llanes.  Finally.  So, I walked all the way down the far side of the mountain on the winding path.  Then across the fields.  And into the outskirts of Llanes.  And through the city streets.  And across a bridge over a river.  And through more of the city.  Where was the hostel?  How much farther?   The street lights were coming on.  It was after 7.  I had been walking for 11 hours.  And then I got a message from my brother.   “I’m at the albergue [hostel].  It’s okay.  A little farther down the street than you might expect.  Look for a building that looks like it might be a school on your right and the Hotel Don Paco one building into the block.  Turn right and you will see the albergue on your left.”  My response:  “Coming.”  So, after everything else, the place was on the far side of the city, past the residential neighborhood, the working class area, over the river through the chi chi downtown with restaurants and boutiques, past the government buildings, and a hotel, and finally, the hostel.  

And, of course, we were assigned to a room on the second floor, which in Europe means the third floor, and there was no elevator.  Ah, my poor knees!  But I got there.  And up I went.  No sooner had I laid down on the bed to regroup when my brother informed us, “I’m hungry.  Come on.  Let’s go out to eat.”  So, back down the stairs.  Out the door.  And through the city, across the bridge, to a little restaurant with outdoor tables.  I had walked past the place about an hour before.  And after dinner we walked back to the hostel.  

Now, when I hear this, I think, that was horrible.  Grueling.  How did I do it?  It must have been awful.  

But that is not how I remember that day.  Even at the time, let alone thinking back on it, I thought the day was glorious.  The stunning views of the sea.  The secluded pebbled beach.  The water spraying up into the air through the crevices in the cliffs called bufones.  Fantastic!  The gorgeous views from the top of the mountain – with the sea off to one side and the mountains off to the other, with verdant farms and fields in between.  Llanes nestled along the coast.  And a clean bed, good food, and amicable companions waiting at the end of the day.  It was glorious!  Strenuous?  Yes.  Painful?  Yes.  Arduous?  Yup.  Long and drawn out?  Exhausting?  Uh huh.  But also magnificent.   And for me, every day of walking was a miracle considering what I had been through with my heel surgeries in the year before.  Colombres to Llanes.  25 kilometers.  Over 15 miles.  Glorious.  Bring it on!

So we heard those two scriptures today with all those guidelines and rules for how to live including but not limited to: 

Do not steal.  

Do not lie.  

Do not cheat your neighbor.

Do not show partiality to the poor or give honor to the great.

Do not nurse hatred for a neighbor.

Never seek revenge or hold a grudge toward your relatives.

You must love your neighbor as yourself.

When someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn and offer the other. 

Should anyone press you into service for one mile, go two miles.  

Give to those who beg from you.

Love your enemies and pray for your persecutors.

And we think, I could never do all of that.  I could never adhere to all of that.  It’s just too hard.  We can’t do it.  

But then you try.  And it is hard.  And it takes its toll.  But you see the view.  You get a vista.  Laid out before you.  Of what you are capable of.  Of the beauty of love.  Of the power of compassion.  And the strength of justice.  You see the blessing of generosity.  You experience these things along the way, even when it is hard.  Especially when it is hard.  And it is glorious.  And you realize that you can do it.  

This is what I see in the story of the transfiguration.  Jesus heads to the mountain.  So we know there will be an encounter with holiness.  And there is a vision of the vista ahead.  To Jerusalem.  And the death that awaits him.  And he can do it.  He will do it.  Not easy.  Not fast.  Not efficient.  Not without pain.  But he will do it.  And it will be right and good.  And it will be glorious.

We, too, are on a journey.  Each of us.  As individuals.  And we are on a journey as a society, a culture.  And the way is long.  And it is strenuous.  It is not easy.  We are making our way to an antiracist society.  We are making our way toward healing of body and spirit and the healthcare system.  We are making our way toward economic justice and financial stability for all.  We are making our way toward reconciliation and forgiveness in difficult relationships.  We are making our way toward environmental healing.  The way is long and it is not easy.  It is arduous.  Even defeating at times.  But we see the vista.  We catch a glimpse of the beauty of a world free of abuse and harm and violence.  We see a bubbling up of mercy and love.  We catch a glimmer of equality.  We see a torrent of compassion or outrage.  And there is the ever present beacon of the light and love of Christ.  And we can keep going.  And it is glorious.  Amen.

A reasonable effort has been made to appropriately cite materials referenced in this sermon. For additional information, please contact Lakewood United Church of Christ.