Waiting for Transformation

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. Alban’s, Simsbury, CT 

Morning Prayer, Advent 1, November 29, 2020

Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18;Isaiah 64:1-9; 1 Corinthians 1:3-9; Mark 13:24-37

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

“And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.” Keep awake. Really? That’s the last word of our Gospel for today? Keep awake? Well, I don’t know about you all, but that is not really what I was hoping for today. An admonition? About staying awake? Dear God, can’t you see how exhausted we all are. We are weary. And the days are short. We need more sleep. There are even days when we would like to just say, “Could someone please wake me up when this is over?” We want a break. We want things to be different and all we are told is to stay awake? Where is the comfort in that? 

Actually, when I pause, when I take a moment to breathe and reflect, I find myself wondering if our text is offering us an invitation rather than an admonition? What if it is not a harsh command to keep going past our breaking point? What if it is an invitation, a gentle reminder to pay attention because God is at work in the world? An invitation to remember that there is light in the darkness. Always. 

It would be easy to see this text as an admonition. It is Advent after all. A season that is not just about waiting for Christmas. It is also a time when we are invited to take the long view, the cosmic view. A time when we are invited to see that there is more to life than the here and now. A time when we are invited to remember that our actions, our choices matter. They matter to God and the matter to the world. How we live our lives matters, because we have the power to make a difference in the world. We have the power, the opportunity to be a part of building up God’s kingdom. We have the opportunity to be a part of transforming the world. 

But we cannot do that if we are asleep. We cannot do that if we fail to pay attention. We cannot do that if we choose to turn away from God. 

And the fact that we can choose to turn away from God, that we have that power, brings me to a description of Hell that I find very compelling. In his book, Tokens of Trust, which is an exposition of the Apostle’s Creed, Rowan Williams describes “Hell” as God eternally knocking on a door we are struggling to hold shut. Oh. That is a bit different than brimstone and lakes of fire. Hell, judgment, separation from God are not some threat looming over our heads. Hell is a choice we make. A place we find, because we have chosen to turn away from God’s ever present love. 

Now, you may be thinking, phew! That’s easy. I mean, why would we turn away from God? But here’s the thing, and why I think we need the invitation from today’s Gospel. We need to be alert. It is not always easy to see the path that leads us toward God. 

Sometimes we get stuck because we are exhausted and we cannot think straight. Sometimes we are full of fear and anxiety and we want to do something quickly, really just do anything to lessen our fear or anxiety. Sometimes we are stuck in a pattern that no longer serves us. Sometimes we are angry, and we just want someone else to feel our pain. For any number of reasons, it is certainly possible, sometimes even seems easier, for us to choose the wrong path. To choose a path that takes us away from God.

So what might it look like for us to stay alert? What might it look like for us to pay attention? I realize this sounds like one more thing to add to an already long to do list in this Advent season. This complicated, confusing, exhausting Advent season that does not look like any we have known before. But here’s the thing. I actually think that figuring out how we “keep awake,” and how we “stay alert” might actually make everything else better. 

We do all know how to do this. We know the practices that help us. We just need reminding. I know I do. I can myself far down a road of anxious what ifs or so wound up in my to do list. I need help. I need those beloved people in my life, who say, “Molly, slow down.” Those voices who remind me to take care of my physical and spiritual well-being. Those people who say, “Wait. How can I help?” Whose wisdom helps me to see the bigger picture or a way forward I had not considered. 

It’s Advent. And we are waiting. We are waiting for Christmas. We are waiting for the transformation of the world. And here’s the thing. This is not, should not, be sitting around twiddling our thumbs kind of waiting. We are not powerless. We have the opportunity each and every day in the choices we make, in how we live our lives - from simple smiles and acts of kindness, to where we spend our money, to how we use our power and influence in decision making, in the connections we make - we have the opportunity to be a part of building up the kingdom. We have the opportunity to make a difference, even on a small scale - it matters. 

There is our hope. Change is possible. Darkness does not last. It will not last because we can bring more light. Together. Each day, by choosing to draw closer to God. Amen. 

 

Pearls and Treasure

Field in Maine

 

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

Commemoration of Margaret of Scotland

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

One of the gifts in the midst of all of the challenges of this pandemic is that I get to hear my friends preach. Even if we both have Sunday morning duties or even if we are hundreds of miles apart, the wonders of online worship means we can be present to each others’ ministry in ways that were not previously possible. I had the opportunity to hear a friend preach on this parable of the treasure and the pearl when  came up in our lectionary this summer. I have long thought of myself, of humanity as the buyer in this story. A good Protestant work ethic, a type A, slightly workaholic personality who is highly driven means that I saw this story as reinforcing the idea that we are supposed to sacrifice. We are the ones who are supposed to give all we have, all we can for the building up of the kingdom. 

My friend offered a different interpretation. One that turned my understanding on its head. He invited me to consider the possibility that rather than being the buyer, what if I am the treasure? What if I am the pearl? Oh. That is a very different thing. 

If I am the treasure. If we, each and everyone of us, are the pearl of great price then this is not a parable about how hard we should work or how much we should sacrifice. It is a parable about how beloved we are of God. It is about the joy God finds in us. Oh. That is very different indeed. 

I don’t know about you all, but I needed the reminder of that all important truth this week. The days are full. There is much important and meaningful work to be done. Some of it is easier to do remotely, but much of it is missing the intangible benefits of conversation and collegiality that come from being in the same place as friends and co-workers. The virus is surging again, and many think cases will not peak until January. There are wonderful hopeful signs in terms of treatments and a vaccine, but it is clear that we still have a long road ahead of us. There are divisions in our country, and we have much important and meaningful healing and reconciliation to do. So many bridges need building. Anyone else exhausted yet? 

That is why I needed that reminder. That all important beautiful reminder that we - each and everyone of us - is beloved of God. We bring God joy. Our “worth” is that of treasure and the most magnificent of pearls. Our worth is beyond measure. We do not earn that worth. We are beloved. We bring God joy just by being. Just by who we are. God loves us because we belong to God, because we are of God. 

What a gift. What a blessing. Let us rest a moment in that truth. Let it sink into your heart, into your bones.

I don’t think this interpretation is giving us permission to just stop and do nothing. All the other truths of our faith still apply. We are followers of Jesus. We are called to bear God’s reconciling, redeeming Love to the world. We are called to do good works and care for people’s needs like Margaret of Scotland who we remember today. 

This interpretation of the parable just invites us to start differently. It invites us to be gentle with ourselves and with all those we meet. Perhaps this parable can help us in the moments when we find ourselves getting aggravated or annoyed with those with whom we disagree. What if instead of focusing on everything that is frustrating us, we remember that this person is also a pearl of great price, that they too are beloved of God? What if we try to see them as God does and to see what about that person brings God joy? Of course this does not mean we compromise our own morals or principles, it just means that we have compassion for people. 

The world needs more compassion. And it can begin with us. We can do our part each and every day by having more compassion for ourselves and for each other. We can see the world with God’s eyes. With eyes that seek out beauty, joy, and goodness wherever it can be found. AMEN. 

Lessons about tradition and companionship from Seabury

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

Commemoration of Samuel Seabury

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

As I think most of you know, I am a priest in the Diocese of Connecticut.  While I was ordained by the Diocese of Maine, I have lived in Connecticut for all of my ordained ministry. This means Samuel Seabury is an almost mythical figure. His portrait has a prominent spot in our diocesan offices, artifacts from his life and ministry abound. Our diocesan archives has his mitre, and I think some of his hair! His desk is the altar at Berkeley Divinity School. I think his chalice has been used at the consecration of all his successors. And so on . . .

We could focus on the life of Seabury and his significance in the history of our Church, but there are lots of texts that have already done that far more thoroughly than I could do in a homily. Rather I would like to focus on what his consecration as the first American bishop might mean for us now, as the staff and volunteers of the DFMS and as individual people of faith. 

I think there are two profound and important lessons that his consecration can offer us. The first is that being connected to and in relationship with our tradition matters. Think about it. At the end of the Revolutionary War, our Church could have done the same thing the new national government did. It could have severed all ties with United Kingdom. It could have struck out on its own and said it was going to do its own thing. That might have been easier. No transatlantic travel involved. Leaders could have just written their own Prayer Book with whatever they wanted in it. Even when Seabury got to England and discovered that he couldn’t be ordained a bishop there without swearing an oath to the crown, he could have decided to just get on a boat and go home. He did not. He went to Scotland. He sought out another branch of the Church that had been ordained in historic succession, where he would not be required to swear an oath to the crown. 

Seabury sought to stay in line with, in relationship with, the tradition he loved. He did not want to sever all the ties with the past. Our history matters. There is so much wisdom to be carried forward. We cannot do that if we ignore or toss out all that we have inherited. And Seabury’s venture to Scotland even ended up enriching our tradition. Our American Prayer Book is one that draws on the linguistic riches of both the English and the Scottish books. 

Staying connected to tradition is as important for us as it was for Seabury and his compatriots. One of the many things I love about our Prayer Book is that it contains prayers and promises   that have been prayed by the faithful for centuries. This gift grounds me and widens my perspective. Especially in these challenging times, it reminds me that I am not the only one who has faced hard times. Our ancestors in the faith have struggled. And they also found comfort and sustenance to carry on in the midst of it all. They have found inspiration and perspective. 

in these beloved, familiar words. We can all be reminded that there is more to life than whatever is troubling us in this particular moment. 

Which brings us to the second lesson from Seabury’s consecration, a reminder that we cannot go it alone. Seabury could not become a bishop without three other bishops participating in his ordination service, a requirement we still hold to today. Again, Seabury could have gone off on his own. The men (yes, all men) who elected him could have decided to establish a new church with singular leadership. They did not. They honored our connection to tradition. They chose a path that says even the most senior leadership in our Church is not a solo activity. In this time when we are all working in our own spaces, quite literally separated from our neighbors and our colleagues, it is all the more important for us to remember that we are a part of a team. We cannot, and we should not go it alone. Isolation can be lonely and troubling for our souls. It is also likely to make us less generative, less creative, less adaptive - all the things we need to be in the midst of our current challenges. 

So on this day let us give thanks for the thread, the connection that traces back from us to Seabury, all the way back to the birth of our Church. May we give thanks for a polity (a Church structure) that does not let us do it all on our own. In whatever challenges we are facing today and in the days ahead, may we not forget all spiritual riches which we have inherited. Remember that we are not alone. We stand in a long line of faithful who have overcome great challenges, and we are blessed, deeply blessed to walk our journey with colleagues and friends who enrich us daily. AMEN.

Hope as we run the race

 

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Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. Alban’s, Simsbury, CT 

Morning Prayer via Zoom

November 8, 2020

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Matthew 25:1-13

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

When I was in preschool my mom ran a marathon. It was a big deal. She had taken up running in adulthood and had done small races here and there. But nothing close to this length. She trained for months in advance. My dad, brother, and I went along to be there at the finish line, of course. It turned out that we were not the only ones who came to support my mom that day. 

One of her dear friends, Martha, who had never run more than a mile in her life, had a surprise in store. She planned to join my mom at Mile 25 and run the final mile with my mom. It was a beautiful gesture, and my mom was incredibly honored and surprised to see her. Particularly since it turned out Martha had miscalculated where to join my mom, and she met her at Mile 21. Not Mile 25. She had planned to run with my mom for a mile. She ended up running with my mom for five miles. They kept each other going and my mom met her goal of finishing in under four hours. 

I don’t know about you all, but I feel like Martha this week. The map is mixed up and the finish line is much further away than I thought it was. It is not just that it took (or in some races is still taking) a long time to count votes and decide races. I realized this week that I naively thought we were more united as a country. I thought our map would be different. 

No matter how we may individually be feeling about the results of the recent election. No matter how you do the analysis. No matter how you do the math. The conclusion is clear; our country is strongly divided about the best path forward. In the face of this division, I find myself grieving, because the pain and the fear are so evident. Because I have not done enough. We have not done enough. 

I grieve because the road ahead is longer and more challenging than what I was wishing for in my optimism and my privilege. I grieve because I naively thought it would be easier than this. I thought somehow we could more quickly realize God’s kingdom. That our good intentions were enough to set us up to become the Beloved Community that Martin Luther King, Jr. preached about. 

Like most things in life, it turns out that the situation is more complicated. And it turns out that change cannot just be something we hope happens out there. It has to be in here too. In fact it has to start here, in our own hearts and minds, in our houses and our communities. 

It is easy to put the blame or responsibility out there. To hear the story of my mom’s friend and say, “Well, too bad she didn’t plan better. I would have double checked the map and not made that mistake.” It is easy to look at our Gospel lesson about the foolish bridesmaids and say, “How silly were they? Don’t they know that they should have planned ahead?” Really. Just a little planning and everyone would have had lamps for the night. It is so simple. 

Or so it seems. So we might wish. But the work of healing, of reconciliation, of caring for those in need, of being agents of transformation in the world, the work of building up God’s kingdom is not simple or easy.

I would imagine I am not the only one who is grieving this week, and while there may be some differences in what we are grieving, I think it would be fair to say that we are all grieving because the state of the world is not as we would like it to be. We would like the pandemic to end. We grieve for those who have died, for those who are suffering now. We grieve for those who have lost jobs and who are on the brink of (or already experiencing) homelessness. We grieve for those who do not have enough to eat. We grieve for the ways that systemic racism has divided us and caused long lasting harm. We grieve for the fact that the bodies of so many on the margins, of those who do not share my heritage, my class, my privilege, those bodies, have been sacrificed. We grieve that we do not seem to be able to talk in a civil and compassionate way across difference. The list goes on. The chasms seem so enormous. 

But then I turn to our text from Thessalonians that reminds us not to grieve as though we have no hope. Ah yes. I needed that reminder. Actually, I think there are two important facts for us here in this text. First, that it is okay to grieve. When loss happens, whether that is the loss of a person, a relationship, or just a dream that did not come to fruition, we need to grieve. We need to acknowledge the depth of our pain, the ache we feel. Something is missing. We cannot ignore or gloss over that fact. It is okay. Our grief is a sign of who and what matters to us. We do not grieve over something unimportant and superfluous. We grieve over the loss of that which gives our life meaning. 

Second, our text from Thessalonians reminds us that we have hope. Indeed we do. We have a beautiful hope, a hope founded in faith. A hope that is not contingent on news headlines or on our own actions. A hope that stands at the heart of our tradition. A belief that God is always at work in the world. Even in the midst of our deepest, darkest moments of fear and sadness. God is at work bringing about new life, new possibility. It is the story at the heart of our Scriptures, at the heart of our faith. God’s healing, transforming, reconciling love is stronger than anything in this world, even death. 

Sometimes the hope can be hard to see, hard to find, and it is there. Always. May you glimpse it in the midst of daily life. In the warmth of the sunshine, even as the weather turns cooler. In the splendor of creation. In reading or hearing something that offers you a new insight or a new perspective. In a conversation with a dear friend. In smiles. In laughter. In the tenacity and joy of children. In all the ways that we are adapting and staying connected even in the midst of all the current challenges. 

Oh, my friends, there is much to grieve these days. Be gentle with yourselves in this time. Be gentle with each other. Ground yourself in faith. We have hope. A deep and real hope. A hope that speaks of the depth and breadth of God’s love. A love that we can make manifest, a kingdom we can help build, through our words and our actions each and every day. AMEN. 

Beloved Sheep

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

November 5, 2020

Phil. 3:3-8a; Psalm 105:1-7; Luke 15:1-10

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

“Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?”

Okay, so my first thought on this passage was, really, God? Don’t you understand we are weary. We are anxious. We do not yet know how things will go. There is much to be fearful about and most of us have not had anything that would qualify as a true vacation since 2019. Now you want us to do more? You want us to go off searching for someone. Isn’t 99 enough? I mean on most grading scales that is still at least an A if not an A+. 

But then I took a deep breath. I turned the text over in my mind. I thought, Oh. I think I might have it all backwards . . . What if in this story we are not the shepherd? What if we are the sheep? Things look very different then. 

If I am the one who is lost, then, yes, please God, seek me out. Please forget everything I said about 99 being good enough. 

I feel like I needed this passage this week. I needed to be reminded that I matter that much to God. I needed to be reminded that God is indeed our shepherd. I needed to be reminded that I belong to a flock. 

It would be so easy to get ourselves down any number of roads, possibly very scary roads of what ifs about what could happen tomorrow or next week or next month. We could tie ourselves up in knots and skyrocket our blood pressure. That does not serve us or our communities right now. 

What we need today is to breathe a little more deeply. We need to be present. We need to rest in the truth that we are beloved of God. Really. So beloved that God would seek us out. We are that beloved. 

We need to remember that we are in a flock. We do not travel this journey alone. We are safer together. We are happier together. We can do more because we have each other. 

And then we also need to remember that God is not partisan. We are all one flock. We are one people. One human race. Even those people with whom we might vehemently disagree on issues of policy or on who the best candidate is. They too are beloved of God. 

My friends, this election has put in stark relief the divisions that are present in our nation right now. There is much work ahead of us. We have not yet realized the Beloved Community. God’s Kingdom has not come. But it is coming. It is our daily prayer. And we - all of us together, the whole flock - are part of making that happen. 

I am convinced that it is possible for us to journey together into a different future. It is possible because we are beloved of God. It is possible because we do not journey alone. 

May we hold fast to the love God has for each one of us, and may that love flow through our words and actions into our communities and the world. Today and everyday. Amen.