Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
February 27, 2022

Encountering Radiance
Exodus 34:29-35

When I moved to Boston for seminary, a whole world of possibilities opened up to me. Not just new and challenging academic frontiers, a new city and culture to explore – but also a wide expanse of new outdoor adventures, thanks in part to Dary: the White Mountains and Presidential range in New Hampshire; the foothills of the Catskills out in Western Mass, and of course – endless wilderness in Maine to paddle, camp, and hike through. I was used to well marked, well trodden trails in North Carolina’s Blue Ridge, with clear blazes, relatively safe ascents and gradual descents. So I was surprised to find myself clinging to metal rungs on the side of a mountain, ducking through caves, balancing on a knife’s edge, trying not to look down. New England introduced me to a different kind of hiking. I’m still shocked by how cold and windy it can be above the treeline, on top of a mountain– Dary always packs a fleece, sometimes even a hat and gloves for the summit, even in summer. I remember huddling next to him, buffeted by wind and freezing in shorts on Doubletop mountain in Baxter State Park, looking over at Katahdin, and thinking, without the right gear, this could be dangerous.

As, of course, it is. Any search and rescue team can tell you that – you all probably have a few tales of your own to tell about being caught out in the elements.

I can remember gazing out at the landscape with awe – torn between not wanting the moment to end, but feeling eager to dash back down the mountain to warm up, or at least to the safety of tree cover.

The mountaintop is often a beautiful place, with stunning views – but it is never a fully safe place to be. There’s always a risk up there – you might fall, get lost, or suffer from hypothermia, windburn, sunburn, exposure. Psychological risks, too: it changes you to actually see yourself in proper proportion to the rest of the world – tiny, and maybe even meaningless in the grand scheme of things. It’s magnificent, yes- but it isn’t safe.

Moses certainly discovered this to be true. Peter, John, and James did, too. The mountaintop proved to be a revealing place for all of them. Transformational. A little frightening. Moses met God up there, as he was pleading for guidance and mercy for his wayward people. This wasn’t Moses’ first mountaintop encounter with the deity – and this time, Moses was so changed by his time in God’s presence, he came down glowing. His face was shining with the splendor of the divine, and as you might imagine, it was terrifying. His own brother couldn’t even look at him – maybe because it was so strange, maybe because to look at Moses was to be reminded of their own betrayal, worshipping the idol of the golden calf which is what sent Moses back up to the top of Sinai to bargain with God in the first place.

On the front of the bulletin is Michelangelo’s sculpture of Moses – can you see he has horns? There are several classical images of Moses with horns, and the tradition comes from a fourth century mistranslation of this passage! The word for shining could also mean horn – and so we find these images of a truly terrifying leader. Some scholars wonder if there wasn’t some intention to this wordplay – drawing a parallel to the golden calf, such that to look at Moses was to be reminded of your own disobedience.

So Moses wore a veil, the text tells us, covering his face when he was out and about doing his day-to-day tasks, removing it only when he was praying, or speaking God’s word to the people. Strange, isn’t it. To be able to continue with his daily life, he had to hide his light…for those who were just in the Forum conversation – he had to assimilate.

Radiance is one of the most common descriptions of God – so bright, it’s like looking at the sun. Surely we’ve all seen someone we describe as radiant – people filled with joy, unself-conscious, beaming. A mother holding her newborn baby. A teacher teaching a topic they’re particularly passionate about. A child filled with pride upon learning a new skill, coming alive in a new way. Old friends, laughing out loud together.

Dorothy Day wrote about riding a city bus: a mundane, necessary task but rarely pleasant experience. She remembers suddenly noticing that all of the other riders were shimmering with the light of transcendence, beautiful, precious and beloved children of God. She was filled with love for them, in their ordinary-ness, the mother with the squalling baby, the rowdy teenagers in their awkwardness, the weary workers heading home. Radiance can find us anywhere, if we have eyes to see it.

Today is transfiguration Sunday, the end of the season of Epiphany and turn toward the season of Lent. Today is when we remember the revelation of Christ on the mountaintop, the transformation of Moses, too, and ask – What are we to make of these strange scenes? What do they tell us about God? What do they reveal about us?

One truth these stories show us that the life of faith moves between the mountaintop and the valley. We are always moving between encounters with the radiance and transcendence of God and the hard work to which God calls us, between the broad perspective we get from being high up and the day-to-day work down in the weeds. Between the clarity of vision we have at 9000 feet and the veiled memory of that vision that carries us through each day. Between the certainty of faith and the reality of doubt. It’s a cycle – up, then down, again and again.

In some ways, and maybe for some of us more than others, weekly worship reflects this cycle – we come, seeking God’s presence. Some weeks, in prayer and silence and scripture and song, we find it. Then, we step outside, back to the street…hopefully fortified, refreshed, and ready for the week ahead, confident of who and whose we are, clear about what God is calling us to do. We come back again, to be reminded.

We learn something of God in these passages – Moses’s second trip up Sinai finds God frustrated with the people for their disobedience, but willing to forgive…it’s where we find the language, God is patient and kind, slow to anger and abounding with steadfast love. Through Moses, God gives the Israelites law to live by, to guide them through the wilderness, to govern daily life. And it changes Moses to encounter God’s love and forgiveness, and to then share that with his people.

And so it is for us – when we encounter and experience the love and forgiveness and goodness of God, our hearts, our lives, are transformed, too.

Last night, as I tucked my girls into bed, I couldn’t help but think of Ukrainians huddled in subways and other shelters to sleep, seeking shelter from the Russian missiles that are bombarding their cities. The reality of war has gripped their country, as Putin grasps for power like a madman. I heard a story last week where mothers were stitching labels into their children’s clothing before sending them to school, labels with their child’s name and blood type in case they were to be injured in an attack. Unfathomable. And for what? Control of a piece of land? Access to natural resources? Bragging rights?

I’m reminded of the image of earth taken by the Voyager spacecraft before it left radio contact with us. Before it hurtled out to parts unknown, father than any other man-made object ever, it turned around to take a picture. Earth is just like a speck of dust in a sunbeam, suspended in space. Carl Sagan, the astrophysicist who worked on the project, says, look at that dot:

That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. … Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.  …To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known. (Carl Sagan, The Blue Dot, 1990)

My prayer for us this week is that we remember the perspective granted to us from our mountaintop experiences. That we are called to be peacemakers, to love one another as God has loved us, to resist the powers of evil and violence that threaten to undo us. It begins with us, with the transformation of our hearts, such that we shine with love, and can notice the shimmer of transcendence wherever we go.

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
February 20, 2022

Radical Reciprocity
Luke 6:27-38

On Friday, February 11, there was a women’s lacrosse game in Clinton, South Carolina. The Howard University Bison were up against the Blue Hose of Presbyterian College – that’s H-o-s-e, for the blue stockings their sportsmen used to wear, a nod to PC’s Scottish heritage. This was the first game of Howard’s season and the women were excited – it was their first time to play under the leadership of their new coach.

Now you might not follow women’s collegiate lacrosse, but if you’re connected to Howard or to PC, you may have heard about this particular game – because in the hours before the teams took to the field…before the players put on their safety glasses and helmets, before the girls from Howard, butterflies in their stomachs, nervously slipped on their gloves, grabbed their sticks, and ran out onto the field hoping to impress their new coach…Before all that, as the young women from Howard got off their bus, loaded down with gear, bundled against the brisk February air, and walked across the short green turf, some other young people, presumably students at Presbyterian College, heckled them, shouting hateful, misogynistic, and racist slurs at them – taunting and provoking the athletes, young women they’d never even met.

Howard Athletic Director Kery Davis said, “I am deeply troubled that some of our student-athletes were subjected to slurs and abusive language before the women’s lacrosse match on Friday.” [1]  Yeah, me too.

The school is investigating the incident – which, hopefully, will lead to consequences for the perpetrators, and will include an examination of the campus culture that gave rise to this incident, a culture in which some students thought that such behavior was acceptable in the first place.

But this morning I keep thinking about those young women who had to take the field with racist taunts ringing in their ears. I’m sure they were angry. Did they feel unsafe? Vulnerable? Insulted? Like something precious had been violated, robbing them of the excitement and energy of the first game of the season? Maybe they took the field as an act of defiance – forget those hateful people, we’re going to play anyway.

I’m going to show you a few pictures and I want you to pay attention to how you feel when you see them. How does your body react?  \What do the images evoke in you, or remind you of?

These guys are the Greenville 4: Ezell Blair Jr., David Richmond, Franklin McCain and Joseph McNeil. They started the lunch counter sit-in protests at Woolworths lunch counter in Greenville, South Carolina in February of 1960. The day they began their protest, they tried to buy lunch, but the staff refused to serve them. The police were called, but didn’t take action because the students were just sitting there. As you know, the movement grew from there – here’s a picture of another sit in, that grew a bit more heated.

Here is one that’s more recent – and a little confusing, if you remember the story that swirled around this viral video – a teenager from Kentucky in a MAGA hat grins at a Native American elder at a protest in Washington, DC.

Here is Dr. William Barber, and Jesse Jackson being arrested during a poor people’s campaign protest in DC.

This is from the Dakota Access Pipeline protest at Standing Rock.

Here’s Capitol Police officer Eugene Goodman on January 6.

And here is an image of a Black Lives Matter protestor in Baton Rouge, Louisiana – in 2018.

Many (but not all) of these photos show civil disobedience, nonviolent direct action that seeks to create change by drawing attention to a problem, or to protest something that is wrong. These actions often bring people into conflict with others who oppose them, or with police who have been charged with to keep peace or protect property. These images are often what comes to mind for me when I hear Jesus call us to love and turn the other cheek.

The power of nonviolent resistance has transformed our world. It brought the British colonial empire to its knees in India. It ended Jim Crow segregation in the South. It stopped the pipeline. It’s drawn attention to police brutality and systemic racism.

Its power comes from collective action to form a movement – from many people acting as one to say together – there is a better way. But even movements come down to individual choices – one person committing to love instead of hate. One person and then another, and another choosing to work for restoration instead of seeking retribution. One person, in the face of violence, in the grip of fear or the red flash of anger, standing firm, sitting calmly, breathing peace, and turning the other cheek.

Our passage this morning may be Jesus’ most famous teaching. It may be one of his hardest teachings, too. So hard, many find it impossible. Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you…turn the other cheek…Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

This passage is the continuation of the blessings and woes we heard last week, the sermon on the plain from the Gospel of Luke. Christ is teaching his disciples, and many more who would like to be – a big crowd of folks who’ve gathered seeking healing, and power.

The path of discipleship is not an easy one. Discipleship led Christ into conflict with the authorities, to Jerusalem and Golgotha, to crucifixion and death. With this teaching, I believe Jesus is preparing his followers to navigate the difficult road ahead, where they will encounter conflict, opposition, even hatred. But not only that. He’s helping us find our way into heaven, here and now – the reign of God present in the world around us. He’s teaching us how to liberate ourselves from the burdens of hate, bile and bitterness. Let it go, he says. Give freely to others without expecting anything in return. Forgive, as you have been forgiven. Love, as you have been loved – as God has given to you, forgiven you, and loved you without expecting anything in return. This is radical reciprocity, rooted in and stemming not from other people but from the goodness and mercy and love of God.

You know, the Golden Rule is found in every major world religion, in some form or another. And so there is wisdom we can draw from other religions to help us put Christ’s call to love and forgiveness into action. Buddhist scholars Robert Thurman and Sharon Salzburg wrote a book called Love your Enemy. In conversation with Krista Tippett of NPR’s On Being, they explain that loving your enemy isn’t the weak choice. It’s not choosing to be a doormat or pushover. Loving your enemies is a way to show powerful compassion for yourself. In Krista’s words, loving your enemies “is actually the most rational and pragmatic move, an antidote to a consuming culture of anger that is not a way most of us want to live.”[2] It takes so much energy, so much negative energy to be angry! It makes us feel terrible. Sure, anger, and hatred can motivate us, they can drive us to take action. But at what cost? Anger and hatred allow others to control how we feel – they can eat us up inside, send our thoughts racing in the same harmful loops, recounting the same litany of failures over and over again. That’s no way to live.

In living with the text this week, I realized that so often I think of this call in a big picture way, envisioning THE ENEMY out there – a Big “E” enemy, the looming faceless other: Russia amassing troops on the border of Ukraine, or the white supremacist nationalists who stormed the US Capitol last year. But the enemy we confront far more often is smaller, closer, more intimate than that. A small “e” enemy – the neighbor that annoys, the sibling who disappoints, the friend who borrows and doesn’t repay. This enemy is sometimes even within us – my own shortcomings, my impatience and anger with my children, my husband, those I know and love best. Finding a way to show compassion – for ourselves, and for others despite our many faults – is a pathway to healing, wholeness, and reconciliation. If Christ is to be believed, it’s how we find our way back to God.

In that conversation with Krista Tippett, Thurman observes that Jesus only had four years to teach before he was killed, whereas the Buddha had 46 years after his enlightenment, which means he had a lot more time to help his students find methodologies to adopt and practice his teachings! Buddhism offers two ways to practice this. One way we can cultivate love of our enemies big and small is through mindfulness – a Buddhist would do this through meditation practice – to build an awareness and presence of mind to disrupt patterns of thinking and waves of emotion. To be aware of our bodies, how we are feeling and to recognize that our emotions pass. Just because our hearts beat faster, our faces flush, and our bodies tense with the heat of anger doesn’t mean we have to let it dictate our actions. We can notice it, and change the channel, let it go.

Another way we can cultivate love of our enemies is through a specific kind of meditation called Loving-kindness practice. I actually did this as part of a psychological study when I was in seminary at Boston University. It’s a practice where you take a few minutes each day to think of someone who irks you. Notice how thinking of that person makes you feel. And then actively try to disrupt that feeling, and to not jump to loving them immediately, but at least to feel neutrally toward them. Then, as time goes on, move toward loving them – which is to say, to wish for them to be happy. And notice how that makes you feel, what comes up in you when you try to do that. Over time, your ability to re-route your anger, and your capacity for love will grow. And that is the path to healing. The path to forgiveness, the path to wholeness. The path, ultimately, that will save us all.

I charge you to try one of these practices this week. Maybe just commit to being a bit more present. Or maybe you can try to cultivate love toward yourself, toward a small-e enemy. Maybe you can practice loving-kindness toward someone who is a big-E Enemy; someone who has harmed you or threatened you in some way. See if it loosens something inside of you, opens up a space for love. I believe Christ knew that the only way to change everything was to first transform ourselves. So that when it comes time to hit the field, we can step out with courage, and compassion, and play with joy no matter what they throw at us. May it be so.

[1] Bonesteel, Matt, “Howard Women’s Lacrosse Team Subject to Racist Incident Before Game at Presbyterian,” The Washington Post, 2/14/22, https://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/2022/02/14/howard-womens-lacrosse-presbyterian/

[2] Tippett, Krista, with Sharon Salzberg and Robert Thurman, “Love Your Enemies?  (Really)” On Being with Krista Tippett, NPR, 10/31/13, aired again 2/17/22, https://onbeing.org/programs/sharon-salzberg-robert-thurman-love-your-enemies-really/#transcript

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
February 13, 2022

Blessed?
Luke 6:17-26

In my house, we love to read.

Reading has always been one of my hobbies – I can remember sitting sideways in a wingback chair in my living room as a child, curled in the sun like a cat, getting lost for hours in a book. I have less time for deep reading like that these days, and I miss it. It was a great relief and delight to see Maddie become a proficient reader over the past couple of years – for her to begin to carry books to the breakfast table, unable to tear herself away.

Books transport us; they ignite our imaginations, enable us to see the world and our place in it differently. During the pandemic, books provided the perfect escape – allowing us to encounter and explore other cultures and travel to far-off places from the comfort of our living rooms. Reading has taken me to Nigeria and South Africa and Italy, to 16^th century England, even to Mars! Through books, we understand first-hand what it might be like to live through plague, poverty, war, a zombie apocalypse. Books helped open my eyes to the experiences of first and second generation immigrants, the struggles and triumphs of people whose lives are very different than my own.

And reading isn’t just an enjoyable pastime. Research has proven that reading makes us better people – more compassionate, more empathetic, and altruistic. Readers are better able to put themselves in someone else’s shoes, to imagine how other people might be feeling, what others are thinking, and act accordingly. Readers understand others and themselves better – reading builds emotional intelligence and intuition.

And this truth about reading makes me think about how we read scripture, and how it changes us for the better. Are you an observer, on the outside looking in, or do you try to find yourself in the story? I wonder where you found yourself in this passage from Luke, as Jesus shares these blessings.

It’s a bit of a puzzling passage, isn’t it? Troubling, even. Because it doesn’t sound so good for folks who are comfortable, who are content and pleased with their lives and in good standing with their communities. I don’t know about you, but more often than not, that’s where I find myself. With the ones he says “woe” to. Not whoa… woe, as in woe is you. Woe you who are rich, who are full, who laugh.

In this passage, Jesus turns our understanding of blessing upside down.

Because the people he says God blesses, well, they’re not the ones we expect! Blessed are the poor, the hungry, grieving, the reviled.

This is particularly challenging for us as North American Christians, because we probably hear people talk about blessing with some frequency. People claim to be blessed all the time. But a quick search on social media of the #Blessed will show you that our culture does not see blessings the way that Christ does. #blessed reveals photos of smiling families, beautiful homes, designer sneakers, exotic beaches. #blessed reveals the extent to which a lot of American Christian have bought into the prosperity gospel – the idea that abundance, good health, wealth, and power are a sign of God’s favor and blessing.

Kate Bowler is a Professor at Duke Divinity School, who studies the prosperity gospel and is living with cancer. Shortly after she learned she has stage four colon cancer, she wrote an op-ed in the NYTimes connecting her research to her life, grappling with her diagnosis in light of the prosperity gospel. She writes: “The prosperity gospel popularized a Christian explanation for why some people make it and some do not. They revolutionized prayer as an instrument for getting God always to say ‘yes.’ It offers people a guarantee: Follow these rules, and God will reward you, heal you, restore you.”[1]

But we know this is not how God operates. Good people, faithful people get sick. Faith does not prevent suffering. It doesn’t guarantee long life. Bowler says friends, family, and colleagues struggled to make sense of her devastating diagnosis. “There has to be a reason,” she writes, “because without one we are left as helpless and possibly as unlucky as everyone else…The most I can say about why I have cancer, medically speaking, is that bodies are delicate and prone to error. As a Christian, I can say that the Kingdom of God is not yet fully here, and so we get sick and die…”[2]

In our reading this morning, we hear Jesus preaching to a crowd of people, and a lot of them were sick. Scripture tells us the crowds that followed him were people seeking healing, trying to touch him to receive the power that emanated from his being. In the midst of this crowd of hurting people, he offers a promise of blessing. Blessing to the poor, the hungry, grieving, the reviled. I take this to mean that precisely when we feel most isolated, troubled, and alone; when grief sucks the color from life or pain threatens to split us in two, God is most present to, and most concerned for us…in and through the care of our community.

Rick Ufford-Chase, peace activist and former co-moderator of the PCUSA, says he struggled with this passage until he realized that “blessed” can also be translated as “greatly honored.”[3]  God honors those who suffer, are poor, and marginalized, and we who seek to follow Christ must do the same.

We see this in the life and work of Jesus, who came to serve and teach and heal the poor people of Galilee, far from the halls of power. He walked with peasants and prostitutes, people struggling to get by in an occupied land. And everywhere he went, crowds of sick and suffering people followed him, seeking his presence and power. With these blessings and woes, Rick says, “Jesus was making it clear that his notion of community was a total re-orientation – a conscious move to bring those on the margins into the center of community life.”

In our Bible study this week, and in trying to find ourselves in this passage, we realized that the states of being Jesus describes aren’t permanent. We could be blessed one day and woe-begone the next! Grief gives way to joy, and then reemerges. Our hearts are big enough to hold both hope and pain at once. Wealth can be lost, and with inflation these days it feels like is quickly eroded by rising prices. So he might also be helping us see the impermanence and fragility of our existence, even as he calls us to center those who are most in need in our communities of faith and practice. With these blessings and woes, Jesus is building our empathy, our compassion for one another.

Yesterday morning, a group of us gathered in the fellowship hall. Jack Nesbitt has been hard at work, building cedar stands for a story walk that will be installed on our property. A Story Walk is a path that displays a book, page by page, for people to read as they walk. You can find one at the Ivy Bookshop, and at Lake Roland, and many other places if you’re not sure what I’m talking about. For our work day yesterday, Jack and Pat set up wood stain and sealant, paintbrushes and dropcloths. And folks came to pitch in: to sand, stain, and seal the posts and stands. Bill Curtis, Maddie, and I mapped out the walk, driving stakes into the ground where we hope the kiosks will go. It’s exciting, because it feels like our dream is so much closer to becoming reality.

The idea grew out of our concern for learning loss during the pandemic, kids falling behind in reading and literacy during the year of virtual school. One-on-one tutoring through our partner school wasn’t possible last year, but we felt if we could provide an engaging way for students and their families to read – by donating books, offering a little free library, and soon a story walk – with seasonal and other beloved books displayed page by page around the property – it would be a good thing. Good for Faith, and good for our neighbors – after all, reading’s not just an essential skill for academic success. We know it builds compassion, empathy, and altruism. It makes us better humans. And if that isn’t a blessing, I don’t know what is. Thanks be to God.

[1] Bowler, Kate, “Death, the Prosperity Gospel, and Me,” The New York Times, 2/13/16, https://www.nytimes.com/2016/02/14/opinion/sunday/death-the-prosperity-gospel-and-me.html

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ufford-Chase, Rick, qtd. In a facebook post from the Center and Library for the Bible and Social Justice, 2/8/21,

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
February 6, 2022

All the Fish in the Sea
Luke 5:1-11; Isaiah 6:1-6

He was exhausted, and his back ached as he crouched on the sandy lakeshore. The nets were a mess, filled with grit and reeds to be picked through, washed out, and cleaned. Another hour’s work at least. The fact that they had not caught any fish that night had one upside – at least they could go straight home to sleep instead of heading to market once the nets were clean.

His calloused hands worked quickly to tie and tighten the knots, mending holes in the nets that were his livelihood. Bending over the ropes, he strained to hear his friend’s voice ring out over the crowd that had gathered to hear him teach on the water’s edge.

It never ceased to amaze him how quickly word spread when Jesus showed up – people would appear out of nowhere, just to catch a glimpse of him, or would bring their old ones or their sick ones, hopeful for a healing. Children flocked to him, too. Luckily, his patience was endless. Peter looked up and shook his head – the villagers were crowding so close, it looked like they might push him into the lake! Another step back and he’d be in the water.

Jesus raised his arm and waved to him – and pointed to the boat. Could he teach from there? Inwardly groaning, Peter stood and shaded his eyes from the morning sun with his hand – hm. The boat might actually work – it would put some distance between him and the crowd, at least, practically the whole village was there. It was worth a try anyway – Simon shrugged and trudged over, whistling to his hired men to come help push the boat back into the water.

They’d already been fishing all night, so what was another couple of hours? The day was fair, and they’d be able to hear Jesus better this way – a front row seat. Simon had heard it before, of course, over dinner the night before, and in the synagogue before that. He’d seen demons cast out, and his own mother-in-law healed of a fever, and the crowds grew more and more each day. He understood their eagerness to hear him, because Simon never tired of hearing him either. Jesus shared good news, talking about the kingdom of God here and now, and promising liberation for the poor, for fishermen and farmers and their families. Simon couldn’t quite explain it, but the teaching filled him up, made his heart swell with something like hope, helped him forget the taxes he had to pay, and that he hadn’t made a good catch in a while.

When Jesus grew tired, he bid goodbye to the crowd and asked Peter to take the boat farther out, into the deep water. When they were far from shore, the men rested on their oars. “Cast your nets here,” he said. Peter laughed, ‘Did you forget you’re a carpenter, man? We fished all night and caught nothing.” Jesus pointed to the water, dark and deep, and again – here, he said. Peter and his men wearily gathered the net, and together heaved it out over the water, watching it splash and slowly sink beneath the waves. As they began to crank it back into the boat, the shining mass of fish startled them, practically leaping out of the water and into their boat, flashing silver, flopping against the wet wood, more than they’d ever seen in one place before. The men were dumbfounded, How could this be? Was it a trick? Their nets were breaking from the sheer weight of them!

They stood and turned back to shore, waving their arms. They cried out to their partners, James and John and their crew, waving, shouting, come, help us!

And when the other boat finally came, and they too were loaded with more fish than they should safely carry, when the wet nets were slung, dripping at the edge of the boat, and rough hands picked up the oars once more to return to shore. The work gave way to wariness. Simon looked at his friend Jesus and not for the first time, felt afraid – fearful for Jesus, for what would the authorities do to him when they knew what he could do? Afraid for himself, too, because surely this man was touched by God, and Simon was unclean – not fit for his presence. Simon couldn’t even remember the last time he’d made the trek to Jerusalem to sacrifice at the temple. Filled with fear, Simon flopped down on the bottom of the boat and cried – leave me be, Lord, I am a sinful man! I do not deserve this miracle! I never asked for it!

I’ve never witnessed a miracle like this, but I certainly know how he was feeling. It’s the feeling of inadequacy, of not being good enough, or skilled enough for the job at hand. It’s being asked to complete a task you’ve only just heard about, with not enough time, experience and resources to get it done. Or, it’s meeting the person you’ve looked up to your whole life, and feeling completely unworthy to be in their presence.

The prophet Isaiah, when called by Almighty God to speak truth to power, is overwhelmed by his own inadequacy. In the presence of God, Isaiah says, oh no, woe is me! I am a man of unclean lips! Choose somebody else!

Richard Rohr says that one of the earliest insights in the Christian tradition is the truth that we are saved by grace. There is nothing we do to earn God’s love. Rohr writes, “Not because you are so bright and light and have purged out all the darkness does God accept you, but as you are. Not by doing something, not by your works…”. There is nothing we can do or fail to do. God simply loves us, and embraces us completely – with all our imperfections, shortcomings, mistakes, and misgivings. By grace, we are good enough, just as we are.[1]

And here we see it, in the bottom of a sinking, stinking fishing boat, in the middle of the sea of Galilee, when Jesus smiles and stretches out his hand to his friend and says, don’t be afraid. Come with me, and we’ll fish for people.

Peter has every reason to feel inadequate. I imagine we all would feel unworthy to be in the presence of the one true God. His religion required regular sacrifices, visits to the temple in Jerusalem that would have been four day’s journey on foot, difficult and expensive for a poor fisherman to make to worship properly. He wasn’t lying, he was ritually unclean – and after fishing all night and hauling in more fish than two boats could hold, I’m guessing he was literally unclean, too. But Christ still chooses him.

I had a colleague in Atlanta who liked to remind elders and deacons that God promises us grace sufficient for our calling[2] – which means, I think, that whenever God calls us to a task, God also equips us to do it. Sometimes the work is overwhelming. It may feel as if our nets are breaking! Sometimes, the boat begins to sink. That is when, like Peter, we must look to shore, to find partners to come meet us and help. Because the silver flash of a miracle compels us to push onward, to push back against the inner voices that say we aren’t good enough, and the powers beyond us that would keep us in our place…God calls us to share good news with the poor, to practice forgiveness, and to work together for liberation. And God gives us to one another, to help make it happen.

I don’t know what it is for you. But I am sure that you all can think of a time when you felt inadequate for the task at hand. Exhausted, overwhelmed. Probably too many times to count over the past few years, we’ve faced fear, illness, and uncertainty. Our way of life has been completely upended. The future is still a bit foggy. But of this I am certain: God is calling us to share the good news of love and liberation with a world in desperate need of it. And God’s grace is sufficient for our calling. I wonder: will we have the wisdom to ask for help when we need it? And when we make it back to shore, will we have the courage to leave our nets behind? I pray that we will. Because when we do, God will surprise us with life abundant over and over again.

[1] Richard Rohr’s daily email, 6/16/21 “Shadow in Christianity”

[2] Rev. Sallie Ann McKenzie-Sisk

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
December 5, 2021

Prepare the Way
Luke 3:1-6

Advent is a season of waiting.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to wait.

There are places where a wait is inevitable…in line at the grocery. The doctor’s office. The airport. And there are times when it feels impossible to wait – waiting for a baby to be born. Waiting for news from a pathologist or oncologist. Waiting for test scores to be posted or admissions letters to arrive.

But I believe few waits are as interminable as the wait at a bus stop. Waiting for the train is one thing – there’s usually a countdown clock or board to tell you when the next train is coming. But a bus – a bus is another thing entirely. You don’t know when it’s coming. You’ve committed to taking the bus, so you’re not going to hail a cab or call an uber. It could be five minutes, it could be fifteen, it could be fifty – who knows. In my twenties, I was lucky to live in cities that had reliable public transportation – so I was able to do what far too many folks here in Baltimore struggle to do – I got by without a car. But that meant I spent a lot of time waiting for the bus.

I can still picture the gritty corner of Washington Street and Huntington Ave, where I’d wait for what seemed like hours each week to catch the 39 bus into Jamaica Plain where I lived. Does this happen in Baltimore – you wait for forever for the bus, and then three come right in a row, one after another? Who else has felt the frantic frustration of missing the bus – seeing it pull away down the street in a puff of exhaust…I can remember hightailing down the street to try to beat it to the next stop on more than one occasion.

That was all fine and good in my twenties, when I had time and energy to spare. But Lord, have mercy. Each day busses fill with mammas pushing strollers with their cranky preschoolers in tow, weary PA’s in scrubs carrying groceries in rush hour. Elderly men and women carefully navigating the crowds to get wedged in to the last available seat. Each weekday, a city bus pulls up to Maddie’s school to drop crew of rowdy Middle Schoolers off – kids who had to pull on their blue shirts and khaki pants in the dark and leave home way too early to get to school on time. Travel by public transit can be such a hassle. And what you save in money, you pay in time.

We have been to the moon. Surely we can figure out how to get people safely across town in a timely manner.

Well, in the second year of the rule of President Biden

When Lawrence Hogan was Governor of Maryland and Brandon Scott was Mayor of Baltimore, and Virginia was governed by Ralph Northam, and a crazy man named Rick de Santis was Governor of Florida, during the high priesthood of Jorge Borgoglio as Pope Francis, and J. Herbert Nelson as Stated Clerk of the PCUSA, the word of God came to the people of Faith in Baltimore: prepare the way of the Lord! Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill be made low; the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth.

Sounds a little funny, doesn’t it? It’s interesting that Luke frames the prophetic work of John the Baptist in this way. With this list of political rulers and religious leaders, Luke sets the stage for the start of Jesus’s public ministry. He also establishes himself as the historian, situating John and Jesus as historical figures, and preparing us for the religious and political conflicts to come in Christ’s ministry. After all, four of the leaders named are familiar to us not because of their achievements, or their compassion.  They’re familiar to us because of their roles in the arrests and executions of both John and Jesus.

It’s important that the Word of God doesn’t come to those guys. It doesn’t come to the Emperor, not to the governors, not even to the high priests. It doesn’t show up in the palace, or even in the city. No, the Word of God comes to John, son of Zechariah, out in the wilderness. John is a wild-eyed prophet, a locust-eating madman, far from the halls of power. Outside the temple. Out of the religious hierarchy completely. John is in the wilderness – where God met Moses in the burning bush, where the wandering tribes were guided by smoke and fire, fed by manna and quail, and formed into a people. It is not in the center of civilization, but on the edges, out in the wilderness where God shows up and starts turning the world around.

Get ready, John says.  God is coming, so we better make way.

How do we do that? Repent, John says. He’s in the wilderness offering a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins – washing people in the River Jordan as a sign that they have left their old lives behind and are starting something new. To repent is to turn around, to turn away from one thing and to another. To repent in the wilderness is to step out of the world as we know it and to start making the world into how it should be. It is to acknowledge our part in systems that oppress and politics that perpetuate the same old thing. And it is to be bathed in God’s promise that peace is coming: to mend our broken hearts, to heal our broken world.

God knows we need to name and claim this promise now. In a country so enamored with violence that kids get guns for Christmas, and too many families grieve the senseless deaths of their children. Where women aren’t trusted to make decisions about our own bodies. Where too many cannot access the care they need. What can we do to prepare the way?

John quotes the first lines from the book of consolation from the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah is promising a way home for Israelites in exile – a road that is smooth, a path that is straight and level.  Easy and swift to travel.

What if our waiting this Advent wasn’t the interminable wait like at a bus stop. What if it was active waiting, a season of and time to prepare. Not just to prepare our homes for Christmas with tinsel and trees, but our hearts. Our lives. We’re called to prepare just as John did – by looking back to the prophets of Israel and remembering God’s promises made known to us through them. Then, looking around, analyzing our current context in light of God’s promises. And repenting of that which is wrong.  And wondering, how can we make a new way, a clear path, easy and swift to travel all the way home?

Did you know that Maryland’s public transit system’s light rail and trains have the most breakdowns of any other system in the country?[1] That means our system is unreliable, difficult to use – especially for daily commutes to work. And six years ago, the Governor vetoed a bill to fund the MTA. But when the legislature meets in special session this week, they’ll take up the chance to override Hogan’s veto, to fully fund the MTA. If you believe we are, indeed, called to prepare the way, to lift up the lowly, to fill in the valleys, bring down the mountains and make the rough places smooth, surely that means helping people get from here to there, from home to work, from East Baltimore and West Baltimore to downtown quickly, affordably, safely, and with ease. If you want to write a postcard to your legislator, there will be a table downstairs in the Fellowship Hall.

Maybe our waiting this Advent, we can think about actual roads, and how to make them safer and easier to travel – for everyone, not just those who own cars and can afford to insure them, fuel them, and repair them.

Can you hear him? A voice cries out in the wilderness, prepare the way of the Lord. The prophet brings news of our God made flesh – God entering into human life, to redeem it, all of it. Let’s get ready.  Let’s make a way.

Thanks be to God.

[1] “Fully Fund Maryland Transit,” Save Maryland Transit, https://savemdtransit.org

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD

November 28, 2021
Begin at the End
Luke 21: 25-36

One of the bleakest books I’ve read in a long time is Octavia Butler’s famed Parable of the Sower. Echoing Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, The Parable of the Sower depicts an apocalyptic California in the not-too-distant future. Poverty, addiction, and inflation push people to the brink. The only sure jobs come by selling yourself to a corporation. Fires burn wide paths of destruction across the state and nobody leaves home without a gun. It’s a troubling read. And I can’t help but think of the main character, Lauren, as I read this passage from Luke.

Lauren lives with her family in a walled-in neighborhood outside of LA. They live in relative safety, but the world outside the walls is falling apart. She can see that their way of life, their community, will not hold out forever, that eventually the forces outside will spill over the walls and tear them apart. So, she begins to prepare, getting ready to face whatever it is that’s coming. She stores food. She saves money. She practices her aim. And she stashes a bag of essentials to grab in case she has to run. When the walls that surround her neighborhood crumble and the chaos comes home, she is ready for it. She escapes and survives the brutal landscape. She survives because she was watching and noticed the signs; she survives because she was ready.

This passage from Luke is an apocalyptic prophesy, where Jesus predicts the destruction of Jerusalem and the terror and tumult that will come at that time. There are plenty of people who respond to apocalyptic prophesies like Lauren does in the Parable of the Sower. After all, Christ himself is calling us to be alert, to be ready – ready to stand and meet him when he returns. The Mormon church advises all of its members to store three months to a year’s supply of food and other necessities – just in case of adversity, their website says. I can remember in the first scary weeks of the pandemic, empty grocery store shelves, people hoarding toilet paper. Living through the supply chain disruptions of the past year and a half has certainly changed how my family shops – we do keep more dry goods on hand than we used to. But is that really what Jesus is saying here? What kind of readiness is he calling us to? How do we prepare? And what are we even preparing for?

This is the first Sunday of Advent, the first day of the church year. Advent is a season of preparation as we await the birth of the Christ child. But we don’t start by looking back to his beginnings.  We don’t read the early prophesies of one who will bring salvation to Israel, we don’t hear the angel Gabriel say to Mary, “Greetings favored one, the Lord is with you.” Instead, we begin at the end. Here, at the beginning of Advent, we hear predictions of fear and foreboding, signs in the sun, moon and stars, and distress among nations. Advent begins with an apocalypse.

Why apocalypse now, at the beginning of Advent? An apocalypse is a revelation, it shows us something that has been hidden, allowing us to understand the world and God’s work in it in a new way. The Advent season starts with a chance for us to lament and repent, and then to remember the promises of God, to reignite our hope for the future. Starting with an apocalypse gives us a chance to name the pain of our community, and to receive the promise of transformation: A new heaven and a new earth. God present and at work in the midst of the terror and tumult. God with us until the end of time.

These short, cold days of winter are when we prepare ourselves to welcome and embrace God’s presence in the world. There are signs of desolation all around – in headlines, on our streets, in our hearts. And I don’t need to tell you, there are plenty of reasons to feel hopeless. Migrants and refugees are freezing to death on the border between Belarus and Poland right now…they come from Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria, victims of war and who are now pawns in a game between Belarus and the EU – Belarus is using desperate men, women, and children to taunt the governments of Europe for imposing sanctions following a sham of an election last year.[1] Twenty-seven people drowned in the English Channel this week, trying to reach England in a flimsy inflatable raft, willing to try anything to get to the UKE after being pushed out of camps near Calais – through a policy of “enforced misery.”[2] Not to mention those many tens of thousands of people from Haiti and Central America trying to make their way northward to the US as we speak. People in search of safety.  Stability.  Enough food to eat, meaningful work, a roof overhead.  A chance to start a new life.  All while bullets continue to fly in Baltimore, and the Omicron variant threatens further travel bans and lockdowns as the world seeks to contain its transmission. These are difficult days.

Luke is writing in difficult days, too. He writes after the Roman armies have laid siege to Jerusalem, after the temple has been destroyed, after years of starvation and suffering. The things Luke’s Jesus describes have already come to pass. And so Jesus doesn’t make his predictions to scare his disciples into submission. Instead, he seeks to reassure his disciples that though it may seem unlikely, justice is coming. Their job is to be vigilant – faithful – even in the face of desolation.  Even when they feel hopeless.  Be on guard, be alert, he tells them.  Trust that God is hard at work, transforming this broken old world into something new. Stay true to the path and work of discipleship, Jesus says, and watch closely for what God is doing.  Look for the signs of new life springing forth. Even now, they’re all around us.

Winter brings short days and long nights. Green, growing things go dormant, to store up energy for the unfurling of spring. Anne Lamott writes, “as the days grow shorter,…we ask ourselves, “Where is the spring? Will it actually come again this year, to break through the quagmire, the terror, the cluelessness?…Meanwhile, in Advent, we show up when we are needed, with grit and kindness; we try to help, we prepare for an end to the despair.”[3] We prepare for an end to the despair. Beginning at the end helps us do this: it reminds us, we are not forgotten. Christ is coming. Lamott remembers a friend teaching her, “the promise of Advent is:…God has set up a tent among us and will help us work together on our stuff.”[4]

This is the good news: God has come to us. God will come again. By entering this world in the person of Jesus, by becoming embodied, God shows us that bodies matter, that we matter. In Christ, God reveals to us the power of love, solidarity, and service. And so in this time of year, we don’t just look back to the birth of Jesus. We look forward to the time when God’s plan for justice and peace is realized – as we do when we pray, ‘your Kingdom Come,’ in the Lord’s prayer each week.

As people of faith, we are analog people in a digital world. We read old books and light candles and sing songs. We have a long memory – remembering what God has done in the past, and gathering here in this place to remind each other when we start to forget, and shore up our faith and our hope for the future. We don’t prepare for the end by hoarding stockpiles of food, with stashes of cash. We prepare by doing the work of loving our neighbor here and now. We prepare by looking expectantly around us, to notice God’s presence in and among us even now. We welcome Christ coming to us again and again in the poor, the hungry, the sick, the suffering. Sparking compassion.  Building community. Igniting hope for what is possible. Helping us expect transformation. Thanks be to God.

 

[1] Ibrahim, Arwa, “What Next for the Migrants Stranded Between Belarus and Poland?” Al Jazeera, 11/24/21, https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/11/24/as-belarus-eu-tussle-edges-toward-war-migrant-crisis-deepens

[2] Breeden, Aurelien, Constant Mehuit, and Norimitsu Onishi, “At Least 27 Dead After Migrant Boat Capsizes in English Channel,” The New York Times, 11/24/21, https://www.nytimes.com/2021/11/24/world/europe/migrants-boat-capsize-calais.html

[3] Lamott, Anne, “Advent 2003,” Salon, 12/5/03, https://www.salon.com/2003/12/05/advent/

[4] Lamott, Anne, “I am cuckoo, but hope is coming,” Salon, 12/12/12,  https://www.salon.com/2012/12/12/i_am_cuckoo_but_hope_is_coming/

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
November 14, 2021

Bargaining with God
1 Samuel 1:4-20

The church I served in Birmingham had a big, Gothic sanctuary, with stained glass windows, and old dark wooden pews. There was a center aisle, with maroon carpet that matched the velvet pew cushions. It was the first church to be built in the city, on land deeded as part of the city charter. Like most city churches, they were locked up tight as a drum every day except Sunday. We began to wonder what might happen if we opened the doors, making it possible for people to come spend time in the sanctuary for even just a few hours during the week.

And so we did.

The occasional curious passerby or businessman would stop in from time to time, but our most frequent visitor was actually a church member, a young woman about my age. She would come to write and pray at least one or two days a week, working out all kinds of questions with God. When she would ask me to, I would sit with her and pray with her, asking for God’s care and protection. This woman had mental illness, she vacillated between being okay and – not okay, between times of lucidity and delusion. She had a son who was in protective custody, and her prayers were filled with whispered pleas for him. For his safety. For his health. And most often, she would pray, Lord let me see him again. Help me find an apartment I can afford, so I can get my son back. Please, God.

I picture her when I read the story of Hannah. Her anguish. Her grief. Her fervent whispered prayers, begging God for her child.

This is a delicate story, a difficult one. I almost don’t know what to make of it – it raises so many questions for me: why does the text say that God closed her womb? And what happened to make God change their mind, to bless her with a baby? What are we to make of that? And what is up with the men in this story, why are they so clueless?

This story is difficult. It’s not easy to look back to a time when upstanding men had multiple wives to prove their wealth and power. A woman’s value lay in her ability to have babies, and not just any babies – boy babies. Hannah was childless, but she is, luckily, loved by her husband, and he provides for her even though she is barren. But – he’s also a little oblivious. He doesn’t understand the depths of her grief over her infertility. I’m guessing most women who have longed for a child can identify with Hannah: her pain. Her grief and disappointment.

Insulted by Elkanah’s other wife, Hannah is miserable, desperate. But still she does not give up. She persists in prayer, going to her peoples’ most holy sanctuary at Shiloh, home of the ark of the covenant, to ask God for a child. Yet even there, as she pours her heart out on the altar, the priest is rude to her, accusing her of drunkenness! But not even a bumbling priest will thwart Hannah. She defends herself, and Eli blesses her and sends her on her way. And she becomes pregnant.

The story of Hannah seems like a personal one: a barren woman longs for a child, and prays until she gets one. But commentators are clear – this is a political story, the origin story for a great hero of Israel – Hannah’s child, the one for whom she prayed, is Samuel, who God calls in the night and lifts to power; Samuel, chosen by God to be the priest who paves the way for monarchy in Israel; Samuel, the priest to anoint Kings Saul and David. Samuel’s miraculous birth is the beginning of the larger myth of three heroes of ancient Israel, one piece of the arc of our salvation history.

When we read Hannah’s story as a political story, it tells us that God is present in history. Opening wombs. Listening to the pleas of the people, hearing our prayers.  Raising up leaders. Making miracles happen. God is deeply invested and engaged in what happens here on earth.

If that’s the case, I wonder: what did Hannah do that got God’s attention? How was she different from the millions of other nameless, faceless couples who have longed for a child, but did not become pregnant? The countless other women who surely suffered, who cried out and were cast out, mistreated and maligned because of their inability to give birth? We can’t know. What is clear is that despite her situation, Hannah had faith. Hannah believed that if she cried out, if she prayed, if she bargained, if she humbled herself, God would listen, and what’s more, God would grant her request. Hannah was not resigned to the status quo, she was relentless. No matter what her husband said, she would not be satisfied with Elkanah. He tried to silence her, tried to get her to be satisfied with him alone. Nevertheless, she persisted, praying and pleading with God for more, asking God for what she wanted, what she knew she deserved, praying for what she knew in her bones was possible. And God delivered.

If we read the story of Hannah not as a personal story, but as a political story, I wonder what it might mean for us. For our prayer. For our activism. For our organizing and agitating here in Woodbourne McCabe. For our engagement here on Loch Raven, and here at Walter P, and here in the city of Baltimore. What do we see that is not as it should be? What do we dare ask God to do because we know it’s what we deserve, what we know in our bones is possible?

For the past two weeks, negotiators and delegates from countries around the world have been in Glasgow, for the COP 26 climate summit. Many world leaders called the meeting the last best hope for humankind in the face of the coming climate disaster. And in the streets, activists have gathered – to call for urgent action to limit warming, to end our reliance on fossil fuels. One young activist said she wants to ask them if they understand how urgent limiting climate change is for the next generation.

She said, “In my mind, it’s like: do these people have children?”[1]

Many journalists observed the dramatic differences between the leaders and diplomats negotiating the deal in the summit and those gathered outside, crying out for immediate and drastic changes to save the earth. Those in the summit were mostly white men, older, with longer timelines for change.  ]Those outside were mostly women, younger, led by indigenous and other activists of color.

The activists are furious at the 20-30 year goals being set by world leaders. They cry out: not only do we need to stop using fossil fuels immediately, we need to work to repair the damage that is already being done, particularly to women and children in the global South, where flooding, drought, and fires have become increasingly commonplace. As one young activist proclaimed, “Now is the time. Yesterday was the time…We need action right now.”[2]

Criticizing the summit, an activist with Power Shift Africa said, “The needs of the world’s vulnerable people have been sacrificed on the altar of the rich world’s selfishness.”[3]

These stories are personal. A home lost to flooding. A farmer’s crops dried up from lack of rain. A family fleeing to the city because a fire took everything they had. But we know they are also political. And that it will take faith, deep faith, persistent prayer and courageous action to create change. But the pain of that struggle – is the pain of labor, the suffering of bringing a new world into being. That is the work to which we are called.

And thinking back to my parishioner in Birmingham – her story was personal. But it was also political. Her whispered prayers were not just calling God, they were also calling me and my congregation to work for affordable housing, better mental health care for the poor, changes to the foster care system.

We lift our community’s needs, laments, and hopes in prayer each week, is because I believe God hears our prayers. When we cry out, God listens. So we should not be resigned to the status quo; no, we must be relentless. Asking, praying for not just what we need, but for what we know in our bones is possible. Because when we do, miracles might just happen.

[1] “Clean up your mess, young activists tell leaders at the COP 26 climate summit,” Nov 5, 2021, NPR, https://www.npr.org/2021/11/05/1052707018/clean-up-your-mess-young-activists-tell-leaders-at-cop26-climate-summit

[2] “The Summit is led by older men.  The protests are guided by younger women”  https://www.nytimes.com/live/2021/11/06/world/cop26-glasgow-climate-summit-protests

[3] https://www.nytimes.com/2021/11/13/climate/cop26-glasgow-climate-agreement.html

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
October 31, 2021

What the World Needs Now…
Mark 12:28-34 and Ruth 1:1-18

The man is tall and lanky.  His hair is cut close to the scalp, buzzed short and spiky.  He’s wearing black sweatpants, black face mask, a maroon hoodie.  He sits hunched over in an airport chair, hands in his pockets.  The headline: “Assault on Flight Attendant one of the Worst in Airline’s History.”  It’s a little unclear what caused the fight – but it meant the plane made an emergency landing in Denver, and the man was taken into custody, the flight attendant went to the hospital, and the rest of the passengers and really the nation were left scratching our heads, wondering – what the heck is wrong with us?

There have been more than 4000 reports of unruly passengers on flights so far this year, ¾ of which relate to masks and the refusal to wear them.[1]  Our own Patrick has endured abuse and anger from passengers, simply for doing his job as a flight attendant for Spirit airlines.  And this isn’t just on airplanes – restaurant workers, nurses and hospital staff, teachers, school administrators, and school board members have all seen a rise in bad behavior.  It seems our common life has been struck by an epidemic of rudeness! Disagreements are devolving into physical altercations more often, and arguments are escalating more quickly.  What is going on???

A flurry of articles point to the stress of the pandemic, saying that it’s pushed us into perpetual fight or flight mode.[2] Time alone at home through the mess of the past year and a half has made us more selfish, warped our view of the world.  A steady diet of Facebook and other propaganda has sown division, turned neighbors into enemies, and made us quick to assume the worst of each other.

This is, of course, the opposite of what we are called to do and be as people of faith, as Christ followers.

In this morning’s passage, Jesus and the scribes have been debating for a long while.  The scribes are trying to trap him, to get him to say something for which they can bring him to trial.  But then, something amazing happens: Jesus and a scribe find common ground!  They agree that the Shma – Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord alone.  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and strength – this is the first and greatest commandment.  And when Jesus proclaims the primacy of the second, “you shall love your neighbor as yourself,” the scribe agrees with that, too!  You’re right, he says.  Love is primary; it takes precedence over all else.  Love is more important than the law.  More important than temple worship and sacrifices.  Our love for God is to be embodied: in our care for one another, our service, and our common struggle for justice.  We love God because God first loved us; We show our love for God by loving one another.

This is not easy.  Former moderator of the PCUSA Bruce Reyes-Chow often ends worship services with this charge: “Go forth to love God and love your neighbor.  It’s just that easy, and it’s just that difficult.” And he’s right: Love requires reorientation: focusing away from ourselves, looking instead toward others, and seeking their well-being.

But you know what?  I think if we look closely, we will see this kind of love played out every day, all around us – if we only have eyes to see it.  It’s not the kind of story that makes headlines.  It’s often much smaller and quieter than that.  But it’s worth noticing, embracing, holding on to.

When I lived in Guatemala, my family’s land had a few adjacent neighbors.  They weren’t very friendly with the people that lived closest to them.  I can remember one day walking home after running errands with my host mother, Graciela, and my sister Yadira.  Public buses would drop you on the highway, and there was a long walk up the mountain to get home.  A neighbor was walking towards us with a big bucket of corn, on her way to the mill to grind the corn into nixtamal, so that she could use it to make tortillas.  The road was rocky, and something caused the woman to drop the bucket.

Corn went everywhere.

Guatemalans are called people of maize because corn is the cornerstone of their diet.  Their creation story has God creating humans out of an ear of corn.  The corn that this woman dropped was surely going to make tortillas and tamales to feed her family.  Now it was spread out across the road, ruined.

Graciela sat down her basket.  Yadira put down her parcels.  And without a word they stooped down in the dirt and began to help their neighbor pick up her corn.  Every. last. kernel.  Graciela had a fish in the pocket of her apron that she’d intended to fix for supper, and I remember thinking – she needs to get that fish into the refrigerator if I’m going to eat it!  It took a long time.  But they wouldn’t leave her until all of the corn was back in the bucket.  Because that is what they would have wanted someone else to do for them.

Love your neighbor as you love yourself.  This is easy enough to figure out interpersonally, with your actual neighbors.  I see it on my block, with the care we show for one another.  I see it in the nurses and the teachers who keep showing up for work, even though they are exhausted, and overwhelmed by the demands of the past year.  I see it in free community fridges and food deliveries established during the pandemic, neighbors helping neighbors so no one goes hungry.  We’ll see it tonight, as we open our doors to our neighbors again and again, to share treats and celebrate as a community! In their theology of Halloween, the people of The Salt Project proclaim that the holiday shows us “what ‘neighborhood’ actually looks like… what better way to honor the dead, prepare to celebrate the saints, and enter together the darkest time of the year than to embody” love for one another[3] with creative costumes, by opening our doors to everyone and offering and fun size Kit-kats for all?

Love your neighbor as you love yourself.  In some ways it’s easy.  But in our globalized world, it can be a lot harder to figure out how to truly love your neighbor when our neighbors are half a world away, connected through our economic choices, our energy use and its impact on the changing climate, our government’s policies, our shared humanity.

The Christian realist Rienhold Neibuhr, acknowledged this problem, observing that true love of neighbor is virtually impossible, given the complex relationships of modern life.[4]

The TV show The Good Place riffs on this theme, offering a hilarious portrayal of the afterlife where as you might imagine, people end up in the Good Place or the Bad Place.  One of the main characters, Chidi, is an ethicist who is convinced he ended up in the Bad Place because of his love for almond milk.  He knew about the terrible environmental impact of growing almonds, yet he continued to drink it.  Spoiler alert: the main characters discover that these days no one ends up in The Good Place because of how complicated our economic, political, and interpersonal relationships are.

This ethical conundrum means we must rely on God.  Neibuhr says God enters in between the ideal of loving our neighbors and the reality of “clashing wills” that are part of human life.[5]  We need God’s help… to first inspire us see others as beautiful and beloved…made in the image of God.  Then, to enable us to love others as we ourselves want to be loved –those who are different, who are strangers, who are sick, who are sinners – just like you and me.

We see this kind of love in the devotion of Ruth to her mother-in-law, Naomi – commitment which saves both of their lives.  Without a husband or sons to provide for them, widows were vulnerable in the ancient world.  Naomi tries to send Ruth away, back to her people, to unburden Ruth of her ties to an old woman.  And besides, Ruth was a Moabite, her people were despised by Israelites like Naomi.  They shouldn’t even have been in the same family at all.  Yet – Ruth clings to Naomi, and ends up saving her – saving all of us, because Ruth is an ancestor of Christ.

Love your neighbor as you love yourself… it’s just that easy, and it’s just that difficult.  It would be easy enough to retreat, to let the bad news rule the day, to succumb to the epidemic of rudeness and division.  But Christ calls us to love.  And when we risk relying on God to help us love one another… miracles happen.  When we see God in others, we realize everybody is worthy of love and connection – we find healing and reconciliation.  There is suffering and pain and longing for connection all around us.  If we answer God’s call to show up with an open heart, and eyes open to see our neighbors with love, God will make all the rest possible.  It could be the very thing that saves us.

MAY IT BE SO!

Amen.

[1] Muntean, Pete, “Assault on Flight Attendant ‘One of the Worst’ in Airline’s History, American Airlines CEO says,” CNN, 10/28/21, https://www.cnn.com/travel/article/american-airlines-flight-diverted-denver/index.html

[2] Luscombe, Melinda, “Why Everyone Is So Rude Right Now,” Time Magazine, 10/15/21, https://time.com/6099906/rude-customers-pandemic/

[3] A Brief Theology of Halloween, Salt blog from The Salt Project, 10/18/21, https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/theology-of-halloween

[4] Bartlett, David and Barbara Brown Taylor, ed. Feasting on the Word, year B, Volume 4.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, p. 264.

[5] Ibid.

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
October 3, 2021

Created to Love
Mark 10:2-16

Poet Miller Williams wrote a poem called compassion.  It goes something like this:

Have compassion for everyone you meet,
even if they don’t want it. What seems conceit,
bad manners, or cynicism is always a sign
of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen.
You do not know what wars are going on,
down there where the spirit meets the bone.[1]

Yes.  Lovely isn’t it.  Difficult task.  But if Williams is right, and I think he is, what is Jesus doing here? Why does he say this?

Because I’m fairly confident that whoever you are, wherever you are on life’s journey, you can probably find something wrong with this text.  Something provocative or offensive.  If you’ve lived through a divorce, or love someone who has – you know Jesus is off the mark here.  If you believe in a spectrum of gender expression and identity, and believe that two people who love each other should have the right to marry whatever their gender identity, because love is love is love is love is love, and God is love, then you probably cringed a bit to hear this scripture refer to marriage between a man and a woman.

Why, you may be wondering, would I choose to preach this text at all?  Paula Burger, in Bible study this week, suggested we consider starting the reading at verse 13 – people were bringing children to Jesus so he could bless them, that part, because surely we can all agree on welcoming children.

But you know what?

I reckon this passage has done some damage over the years.  Damage to people who were trapped in loveless or abusive marriages because the church would not permit them to divorce.

Damage to people who escaped broken marriages but carried the weight of guilt or shame with them, in part because of this verse.

Damage to people who didn’t think they could ever marry the person they loved because they couldn’t imagine a day when their family, their community, their church would not just allow it, but bless it.

Damage to far too many.  And I believe God calls us to attend to pain where we find it.  To pay attention.  To listen, to learn.  To share love, to speak life.  At the very least, to do no harm.

I had a theology professor who suggested that our task as students was to mine the tradition in search of gold – those truths that are timeless.  Sometimes, though, that meant we had to blow up tradition completely, if there was nothing useful or true in it anymore.  And I believe this is a passage still worth mining – though some of you may want to borrow some dynamite later on, or a pair of scissors to cut it out of your NRSV.

We have a few mining tools at our disposal.  We can examine the literary context in which the story itself is told.  We can look at the socio-historical context in which Christ was speaking.  So to find some good news in this passage, we must first remember the time when Jesus was teaching.  In the ancient world, women and children had virtually no rights outside of the household.  They were considered property, belonging to the man who was the head of their family, and therefore they were completely reliant upon him for their livelihood.  In our own country, women could not hold a credit card until the 1970’s, some people still don’t trust women to make decisions about our bodies and our health even today.  Still, it’s hard to comprehend just how vulnerable women were in the ancient world – how vulnerable they still are in certain patriarchal cultures today.

Divorce was practiced in the Roman Empire and in Jewish communities in occupied Israel.  But clearly, it was a disputed practice… the Pharisees are trying to trap him with this question.  There is no good answer.  People didn’t agree if it was okay to do or not, or what grounds were sufficient reason for divorce.  There was no “conscious uncoupling.”  Wives could not divorce their husbands – that right belonged only to men.  And in many cases, if the husband found his wife displeasing in some way – if he no longer liked the look of her, or she burned his toast – he could divorce her.  Turn her and her children out on the street, leaving them destitute.  This is the practice that Jesus is opposing.  That cruelty is what he’s condemning.

The passage comes in a series of teachings about serving all people, where he says the last is first in the Kindom of God.  This is just another example of Christ’s concern for vulnerable people!  He also flips the script, shifting the conversation from divorce to marriage.  The Pharisees try to trap him with narrow legalism, asking what the law permits – he responds by uplifting God’s gift of love in creation, and marriage as an expression of that love.  Christ came that we might have life, and have it abundantly!  So a marriage that creates more harm than good is rightly ended![2]

He also talks about divorce in egalitarian terms – something that both partners can initiate.  So maybe he’s being subversive here, suggesting that the more vulnerable partner, the wife in this case, should have a voice.

There was a family in a church that I served, two moms, several high-school aged kids from their previous marriages.  These women and their former spouses and kids had survived much heartache and pain as they came to themselves and to each other. They had not walked an easy road – their courage, and love for themselves and each other was a thing to behold.  They had been married for several years when a younger cousin had a child that she couldn’t care for.  And so these women opened their hearts and their home to him.  When they agreed to be his foster family, they thought it would just be for a few months. It soon became clear that they would adopt him, and so they did.

The boy was precious, precocious, he wore his mamas out with his constant questions and won everyone over with his antics and hilarious commentary on the world. When he was about three, we baptized him.  He was wearing a little sailor suit that had belonged to his big brother.  When I proclaimed that he was baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, he shouted out, YEAH!!! Then he leaned over the font, and splashed in the water, and scooping some up, he baptized himself, and then he baptized me, too.  As the water dripped down my cheeks, and dried on his forehead, we were both blessed: blessed with the knowledge that we are children of God.  Blessed to belong to a community of loving welcome, blessed to be part of God’s family.  The church was blessed with joy and laughter.

The second part of this passage, where Jesus rebukes the disciples for turning away children who come seeking his blessing, and tells his disciples that the kingdom of God belongs to children… that story isn’t separate from his comments about divorce.  And it isn’t telling us to have a simple faith, a faith that accepts things without question.  I mean, have you ever known a child who didn’t ask a thousand questions, who didn’t go through a phase of wondering why, and how, and when, and why again?

No, I believe he is telling us something about God’s presence with and in the least, the lost, and the last.  When we open our arms to care for and protect the vulnerable -children, women in this case – and when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable – to rely on one another, to be honest about our own troubles, what we think and feel and wonder – when we do that, we draw near to the holy within and around us.  So children, in their honesty, their openness, their reliance on others, their vulnerability – children being children, splashing in the baptismal font and shouting with joy when they receive a blessing, children help all of us find our way into the kindom of God.

Which leads me to the PRAYground.

A lot of research has been done by church folks to determine what experiences enable young people build a durable faith, faith that lasts a lifetime and can bear up under the weight of the questions that come from grief, injustice, the pain and wonder of living.

One of the things that makes a difference is regular presence in a worshipping community that not only welcomes them, but also supports their participation and leadership.  By creating a space in our sanctuary especially for children… for kids who might be a little wiggly and need to move around, with chairs and a table that’s just their size, with quiet activities to keep hands busy while ears listen, in a space right up front where little ones can see and hear and be close to what’s happening – we’re saying that children and their grownups are welcome here.  They are not an afterthought.  They are a central part of who we are as a family of Faith!

I know this is going to be a learning process.  We’ll find that some activities work better here than others.  Some kids will be more comfortable here than others – and some parents will too.  There might be a little more movement and noise than we’re used to.  But I trust that the Spirit will be present here, breathing life into this space – as older children mentor younger ones.  As kids feel more welcome in our church.  As we glimpse the kingdom here, breaking forth, right here on Loch Raven.

So will you join me in blessing this space?

Three responses when I raise my hand – please repeat and respond Bless this space, O God; Bless our children, O God; Bless our church, O God.

Bless this space: May it be a place of welcome for our children, where wiggles and giggles are at home and the pencils are always sharp and the crayons exactly the right color. May it inspire deep faith and help us glimpse your kindom.  Bless this space, Bless this space O God.

Bless our children: may they know they are loved, and may they always find welcome here.  Keep them safe, and healthy, enable them to grow in wisdom and stature and joy.  Bless our children: bless our children, O God.

Bless our church: may we be a vibrant witness to the good news of your love to all we meet, and may all people find welcome and be welcome here.  Bless this church, bless this church, O God.

And let all God’s people say: Amen, and amen.

[1] Williams, Miller, “Compassion” in Some Jazz a While, University of Illinois Press: Chicago, 1999, p. 254.

[2] Meyer-Boulton, Matthew, “One Flesh: Salt’s Lectionary Commentary for the Nineteenth Week After Pentecost” The Salt Project blog, 9/28/21, https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/2018/10/3/one-flesh-salts-lectionary-commentary-for-twentieth-week-after-pentecost.

Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
September 19, 2021

Welcome!
Mark 9:30-37

The girl is dressed simply, in a pink and white flounced skirt.  Her shirt is checkered, dirty.  Her long, dark hair is tied back with a single red ribbon.  Her face is stoic, blank, her eyes wide.  Her name is Amal, and she is nine years old, a Syrian refugee who lost both her parents and is making her way from the Turkish-Syrian border to find family in the UK.  Oh, and one more detail: Amal is also over 10 feet tall.

See, Amal is a puppet.  Right now, with the help of four puppeteers and their support team, she is on The Walk: walking across Europe to raise awareness about children who are refugees.[1]  Her name, Amal, means Hope in Arabic.  According to her creators, the Walk is part performance piece, part endurance event, as so called little Amal will walk almost 5000 miles to reach her destination in Manchester.  According to the project’s producer, her message is simple: Don’t forget us.  Remember the millions of children who have been displaced by war and violence, forced to undertake difficult and life-threatening journeys in search of safety.  Along the way, as Amal travels through 8 countries, and countless cities, towns, and villages, people are being asked: how will you welcome her?  With the help of local partners: artists, performers, dancers and musicians, and ordinary folks like you and me – Amal is being welcomed along the way – raising awareness and raising money to support people seeking refuge in Europe and beyond.

What does welcome look like?  What does it smell like, feel like?  Who was the last person you truly welcomed?  Who has welcomed you?

Dary, my husband, manages the chocolate products for Equal Exchange, a fair-trade coffee tea and chocolate company.  He once visited a cocoa co-op in a rural village in the Peruvian jungle.  He had to take a plane within the country, then a boat down a river.  When he and his colleagues disembarked, they hopped into little motorbike taxis called tuktuks, and were zipped down a bumpy dirt road to the regional coop headquarters.  Farmers and their families lined the road, and they were accompanied by a marching band.  When they got to the headquarters, they were welcomed with a program put on by the co-op, with kids doing a choreographed dance to the classic reggaeton hit, Gasolina.

I don’t think I’ve ever received a welcome like that.

In a church in New Haven, Connecticut, a family slept in a library last night.  Their small beds were snug up against the shelves of books, lamps brought in to make it feel homey.  This morning, they got cleaned up with a newly installed shower, the bathroom renovated to accommodate them.  They are just a few of the tens of thousands of Afghan allies who will be making a new home here in the states in the weeks and months ahead.  In hotels around DC.  In Air B&B’s across the country.  Men and women who have in many cases left family members and friends behind, in danger, to make a new way here – some, with only the clothes on their backs.

I can’t imagine it.  But thank God, the outpouring of support has been incredible, and crosses the political spectrum.  Local Lutheran Immigrant and Refugee Services here in Baltimore has received more donations than they have room for.   And that’s a good thing, because as a country, the withdrawal from Afghanistan poses the largest refugee crisis since the Vietnam War.  The last administration worked hard to defund and dismantle our country’s robust refugee resettlement programs, and so to rise to the challenge of the present moment, agencies will be forced to rely more than ever before on nonprofit and volunteer support networks.  Families and communities are opening their homes.  Volunteers are setting up apartments and raising money and donating diapers and clothing and canned goods.  And faith communities are opening their doors… living out God’s welcome for us by opening our arms to welcome others.

Our children started a new curriculum for Christian formation this morning, a series that looks at essential practices of our faith.   The first four weeks, they are learning about Welcome – the Christian practice of hospitality; Welcoming one another and particularly welcoming those who are other is fundamental to who we are as disciples of Christ.  Throughout scripture, we hear a resounding call to welcome one another.  In Exodus, we read, “remember that you were once strangers in the land of Egypt, so you are not to oppress those who are strangers among you.”  In the letter to the Hebrews, “do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some have entertained angels unawares.”  And here, in the gospel of Mark, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.’

Welcome a child, and you’re welcoming GOD HERSELF!  Now I feel I should remind you that in the ancient world, children did not hold a central place in the household like they do in many families today.  In Biblical times, children were an afterthought, the bottom of the totem pole.  They were to work, to help in the household, and they had no rights, they were subject to the whims and commands of the patriarch – especially girls.

Now picture Jesus, crowded into a house or a family compound with his disciples and other followers, the members of that household, and kids running around with the goats and chickens and whatever else – picture him taking a child, as he is teaching, with tenderness and care, and focusing his attention on the child – saying, welcome this child, the last and the least of the household, and you welcome me, you welcome God.

There have been a few viral stories over the past couple of years about college and graduate students who, in a moment of crisis, find themselves without childcare and have to bring their babies to class.  Instead of barring the babies from their lecture, the professors helped by holding the babies while they taught.  Making room for kids in their classrooms.  Making it okay for students to be human.  Offering what support they can for their learning.

Jesus’ disciples have been quarrelling, trying to best each other arguing about who is the greatest.  But over and over Jesus has taught them, and will show them, that the last will be first in the kingdom of God.  Under God’s reign, the path to greatness lies not with wealth and power but through humility, service, and love.  It is not an easy path.  He is seeking to overturn and flatten the hierarchy that rules the ancient world, to bring outsiders into the fold, to share power, and to find everyone a seat at God’s table.  It is the path that for him leads first to conflict with the priests and scribes, confrontation with the power of Rome, and then to his humiliation, crucifixion, and death.  But still, even in the stunning silence of holy Saturday, even from the darkness of the tomb, God is present, in and through the power of the resurrection, planting hope in our hearts that there is another way.  A way of love.  A way of peace.  A way of Welcome.

We begin each service of worship here at Faith with some pretty specific words of welcome.  I believe it’s important to be clear in our welcome because the church universal’s track record of hospitality is not great.  Too often churches have defined themselves by what they are not, by exclusion, instead of affirming the truth that we are all reflections of God’s image, each person worthy of belonging in God’s house.  How do we make our welcome known?  By knowing each other and greeting each other by name.  By making space for newcomers, inviting all into leadership and having a session, committees, and deacons who reflect the beautiful diversity of the congregation. By sharing one another’s burdens, and by sharing food and drink together.

Little Amal set off from Gazientep, Turkey in July, with a parade of handmade lanterns lighting her way through the dark city.  She has been welcomed by children waving giant flowers, by choirs and marching bands.  In Chios, Greece, an orchestra played as she made her way off the boat, a drum line danced her through the city, and she was given gifts in the town center.

In the aftermath of civil war in Syria, the US wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, and violence in Central America, Myanmar, Ethiopia, and elsewhere, there are more displaced people in the world than ever before in human history.  Over half of refugees are children, and over half of child refugees do not have access to any kind of formal lessons or schooling.  This is the tragedy on which Little Amal is seeking to shine a spotlight.  Her journey has not been without controversy – in Greece, there were protests.  A town council voted to bar her from passing through, out of fear that the performance would draw even more refugees to their overburdened community.[2]  But for the most part, people have delighted in welcoming her.  In Italy, marimbas played and young people danced in the street, there was a huge parade through Vatican City.  The Cardinal in charge of the Catholic church’s office of migrants and refugees came out for the festivities, saying, “we have to meet each other.”[3]  It is part of our faith, part of being human: To welcome one another as we have been welcomed.

Our patterns of hospitality have been upended by the pandemic – we may never shake hands freely again.  Sharing food and drink has become something we do cautiously, carefully.  Forget hugging and kissing cheeks!  But the global health crisis makes the calling to welcome others, the work of hospitality more important than ever.  As we leave this place, I wonder – where and in whom will we encounter God in the days ahead?  I pray that we when we do, we will make them welcome.

[1] https://www.walkwithamal.org/the-journey/

[2] Kitsantonis, Nikki, and Alex Marshall, “Giant Puppet Ruffles Some Feathers on Long Walk Through Greece,” The New York Times, 8/27/21, https://www.nytimes.com/2021/08/27/world/europe/greece-syria-refugees-puppet.html

[3] Bloomberg Quicktake: Now on YouTube, “Giant Refugee Puppet ‘Little Amal’ Visits Vatican on Journey to U.K.” 9/10/21, https://youtu.be/UQAbwxR958Y