Courage to speak up

 

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

Margaret of Cortona, February 22, 2021

Zephaniah 3:7-13; Psalm 30: 6–13; Luke 7:36–50

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. 

Today we remember Margaret of Cortona. There are many things about her life and faith that are notable - her courage, her fasting, her good works - but it was this line from Lesser Feasts and Fasts that stood out to me: “Twice, following divine command, she challenged the Bishop of Arezzo . . .because he lived and warred like a prince.” A woman in the thirteenth century was decidedly on the margins of society and the Church, and yet she did not hesitate to speak truth to power. She did not hold back. She stood up for what she believed in. She was empowered by God. She did not wait to be asked for her opinion. She spoke her truth with conviction - more than once!

And then in our Gospel for today, we get the story of the woman with the alabaster jar. This is a familiar story and there are a hundred different directions we can go with it. So much food for thought and reflection here. But reading it in light of Margaret’s life story, I am struck by the fact that the woman just goes up to Jesus and starts anointing him. Notice there is no preamble. No exchange. No, “Jesus, would it be okay if I . . .” No, permission given by Jesus, except implicitly by his acceptance of the gesture. Just like Margaret, the woman with the alabaster jar does not hesitate to act on her convictions. To take a risk for what she believed in. To offer care and generosity with no expectation of anything in return. She does not come seeking a transaction. She offers a precious gift - both in terms of monetary value and personal cost - because doing so is deeply meaningful to her. 

So these women have gotten me thinking about the importance of holding to our convictions, of speaking the truth without waiting to be asked. I think how different that is at least from my own life, perhaps much to do with how women and girls are socialized, especially in my own upper class WASP culture. I have been conditioned to wait, not to rock the boat or risk upset. I remember an elementary school teacher telling me how he and other teachers preferred to have a higher girl/boy ratio in the classroom, because girls were so much less disruptive. Or how in so many ways, we female caregivers are told that the mark of a good daughter, wife, mother, is to always put the needs of others before our own. 

But the women whose lives and stories we honor today did not hold back or hesitate. They did not simply follow the societal scripts laid out for them. They had stories to tell and truths to proclaim - about the depth of love and care, about how even the one who was willing to give his life for us all deserved to feel some measure of his impact, to receive the kind of communication that is only possible with the touch of a hand. They had truths to proclaim about the kind of world we are called to create as followers of Jesus and how those of us in positions of power and authority ought not to take that responsibility lightly - how we ought to live exemplary lives that point to the Truth of the Gospel.

Those women did not hesitate. And neither should we, no matter our gender. No doubt all of us have grown up with challenging and problematic scripts of various sorts that can hold us back, keep us from stepping out in faith or saying something important for fear of how it will be received. In the midst of this time, and all the challenges of these days, it can be particularly easy to say, oh I’ll wait until we get through this to say anything. I don’t want to add to anyone’s stress. Well, maybe . . .

And yet if this pandemic has taught us anything, it has been a profound reminder of the fragility and uncertainty of life. A reminder that is so powerfully reinforced in this Lenten season. “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” Life is precious and short. We never know how long we will have.

May this season and the courageous, unhesitating witness of Margaret and the woman with the alabaster jar remind us of the importance of acting and speaking with conviction. Whether it is a truth that needs to be spoken to the powers that be or an expression of how much someone matters to us, may we feel empowered to speak up. There will be no perfect time. And yes, there are risks involved in speaking up, but God has certainly shown me, shown us, over and over again that the risks are well worth it. Far more often than not, speaking up opens the doors to new, more life giving possibilities. 

So in the days ahead, throughout this Lenten season and beyond, I hope we will have the strength and courage we need to proclaim the Truth, to make our voices heard, and to trust that the rewards of doing so far outweigh the risks. Amen. 

Jeremy Taylor and Living a Full Life

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

Jeremy Taylor, August 13, 2020

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 some of you know, Jeremy Taylor, is one of the theologians I wrote about in my dissertation, so today is another day where I feel like I get to visit with an old friend. And like any good friendship, Jeremy is someone from whom I have high regard, deep respect, and with whom I do not always agree. 

I have great sympathy for him. He had 10 children, but only three of them outlived him. He was a prisoner during the English Civil War, and he had a lot of challenges in his diocese. He was not someone who wrote about suffering as a theoretical matter. One of the things I admire most about him is that his experience informs his theology. 

This is evident in a 1665 letter Taylor wrote to his friend John Evelyn. He wrote: “It hath please God to send the small poxe and fevers among my children; and I have, since I received your last, buried two sweet, and hopeful boyes; and have now but one sonne left whom I intend, if it please God, to bring up to London before Easter; and then I hope to wait upon you, and by your sweet conversation and other divertisements, if not to alleviate my sorrows, yet at least to entertain myself and keep me from too intense and actual thinkings of my troubles . . . But for myself, I bless God I have observed and felt so much mercy in this angry dispensation of God, that I am almost transported, I am sure highly pleased with thinking how infinitely sweet His mercies are when His judgments are so gracious.” One could focus in on Taylor’s statement about God “sending” the small pox to his children. There is a long and possibly problematic history in the Christian tradition of blaming God for all one’s suffering or as seeing it as always a form of punishment. 

I don’t believe Taylor was being punished, and a harsh view of God as angry and spiteful does not actually fit with the whole of Taylor’s theology. In fact Taylor, believed that God is present with us in the midst of suffering. God is where our hope is to be found.  In Holy Living, Holy Dying he wrote: “To rejoice in the midst of a misfortune or seeming sadness, knowing that this may work for good. . . This is a direct act of hope, to look through the cloud, and look for a beam of the light from God.” Taylor knew from personal experience that we need to seek out the hope and the joy - the blessing of friends to keep our perspective wide. 

It might seem ironic or counter-intuitive, but for Taylor, the way forward, the path to thriving in the midst of suffering is to have an awareness of death. As he wrote in a funeral sermon: “Go home and think to die, and what you would choose to be doing when you die, that do daily.” Taylor’s admonition invites us to live with purpose, with intention. It invites us to remember that life is fragile and precious. He knew full well that there are no guarantees how long any of us has. As our Gospel reading today reminds us, we do not know the day or the hour. The question is not about quantity; it is about quality. Taylor lamented that if we “spend in waste what God hath given us in plenty, when we sacrifice our youth to folly, our manhood to lust and rage, our old age to covetousness and irreligion, not beginning to live till we are to die . . . then we make our lives short.”

Ultimately Taylor is offering us a holy invitation. It is an invitation to focus our priorities, to ensure that we do not waste the precious gift of time that God has given us. In this time when our world has been turned upside down, and we are having to reimagine how we do all sorts of things in our professional and personal lives, it is a good opportunity to pause, to reflect. To ask ourselves what really matters? What is essential? Are we able to invest sufficient time in the relationships and the activities that give our life meaning? Or as Taylor might frame it, if we die tomorrow what are we going to wish we had done? How about we start doing that now? 

This is a time where it could be easy to give into fear. Taylor does not do that. He confronted the reality of mortality and took it as an invitation to live more fully. May each of us feel empowered to do the same. AMEN. 

Footnoted version here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_4HJH8oUjGhZKqGLTsQr0knGuV3bfwnxvctDJTlkj0U/edit?usp=sharing

John Donne, Death, and the Path of Life

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Rev. Molly F. James, PhD
DFMS Noonday Prayer, via Zoom
John Donne, March 31, 2020

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.

Today is the feast day of John Donne. A 17th century priest and poet. He is probably best known for his Sonnet “Death be not proud.” A fitting poem for today. One that reminds us of that all important truth that Death is not the end. Death should not be proud because it does not last. As Donne closes his sonnet, death too shall die.

Our Gospel reading for today closes with the line: “Very truly, I tell you, anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life, and does not come under judgement, but has passed from death to life.”

Passing from death to life. Indeed we are. The hard part is that there is no time frame attached to that. We are indeed in the midst of death. We have lost and will lose those who are near and dear to us. We have lost and will lose friends. Through our wider communities and circles we know others who have died, perhaps of the virus or of some other cause. It can feel like a compounded loss in the midst of all the suffering and challenges of the present moment to be reminded that people will also still die of cancer, of heart attacks, of old age and in accidents. There will be still gun violence, natural disasters, and tragedy in the midst of a pandemic. And yet we are passing from death to life. From death to life.

The challenge, the pain, the heartache, the loss, the grief of this present moment is real. It can fill our hearts and our minds. It can weigh heavily on us. And it will likely still be there tomorrow, possibly even for days to come. And yet. It is also still true that we are passing from death to life. Death does not and will not ever have the last word. We are an Easter people.

Love and life have the last word. Today and always. This is the truth we need to hold on to even in the midst of news that breaks our hearts, even in the midst of an infection rate and a death toll that just continues to go up. Even as we worry for ourselves, as we fear for the lives and the livelihoods of those we love.

The fear is real. The loss is real. The death of our mortal bodies is real. The way forward does not come from denying the truths of our world nor the fullness of emotions in our hearts. The way forward comes from facing those realities and still choosing life. As our psalm for today says, “You will show me the path of life; * in your presence there is fullness of joy.” God indeed is showing us the path of life. It is the path of Easter. The path of life and love. The path to joy.

I hope that each and every one of us has people in our lives who help us to know where the path of life is, in whose presence we find joy. Hopefully for many of us those are people who are also stuck at home with us (although in the current circumstances of being confined together in small spaces, trying to do work and manage children and life, and everything, they may also be the people who can most grate on our nerves at the present moment!). Home life may very well be chaos currently or perhaps home is far too quiet right now, missing the hustle and bustle of friends and neighbors. Or for many of us, just being home this much is taking another sort of adjustment, as we have become accustomed to life on the road. However it may be that we find ourselves situated in these days, we are all being invited to follow the path of life. We are being invited to seek out those relationships, those connections, those activities that bring us the fullness of joy.

So make full use of the gifts of technology - of pen and paper, of phone calls and text messages, and even multi-time zone video calls with those far and near. Make full use of a few moments for quiet meditation or the opportunity to go for a walk. Whatever it is that will help to ground us in the truths of our faith, to more deeply connect us with God and with each other.

Indeed we are passing from death to life. Let us choose life. Let us choose joy. Let us choose hope. Today and each day ahead. AMEN.

Reflections on Joy and Bishop Hobart

Bishop John Henry Hobart

Rev. Molly F. James
John Henry Hobart, September 12, 2019
Chapel of our Lord, Episcopal Church Center
Psalm 78:3-7; Titus 1:7-9; John 17: 11b-19

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.

“I speak these things in the world so that they may have my joy made complete in themselves.” Joy made complete. That warms my heart and brings a smile to my face. Something I need this week. Yesterday was 9/11, always a hard day in our family. Our cousin Ben worked in the South Tower and died in the attacks. It is a day that simultaneously reminds me of what horrors and evil humanity is capable of, as well as what grace, goodness, and self-sacrifice. And as some of you know, this anniversary comes on the heels of losing an uncle and a dear family friend. In the midst of the grief and loss, it could be easy for me to give into the fear and anxiety, particularly since so many of our news headlines just seem to add to a culture of division and cruelty. A culture that chooses to believe there is never enough and that invites us to focus on what is lacking rather than the abundance and possibility that surround us.


Given that temptation, it is a good day to celebrate the life and ministry of John Henry Hobart. Our lessons today remind us that God is with us, and that God desires our joy to be complete. This emphasis on joy and possibility is also found in the life of Bishop Hobart. He was in leadership at a time when the Church was in decline, and its future and stability in the wake of the American Revolution was a real question. He had a choice, he could have given into a mindset of fear and scarcity. He could have been inwardly focused and bemoaned the losses. He was not. He chose hope and possibility. He trained more clergy, he planted churches, and engaged in mission. Now, Hobart was not perfect, we may not like his tactics, and we should acknowledge the imperialist manner in which he ministered to the Oneida Indians. I am not advocating for a wholesale imitation of Hobart. I do think his spiritual mindset and focus on hope is worth noting.


Hobart admonished one of his congregations to be: “Humble, submissive, penitent, and obedient, let us seek, by fervent prayer, that divine illumination and grace by which our faith will daily become more strong and triumphant, and our obedience daily more sincere and holy, until our faith shall terminate in the vision of the transcendent brightness of the divine glory, and our obedience in the rewards of perfect and eternal bliss.”*


This sermon reminds us of the daily challenge we face as followers of Jesus. It is the choice to keep striving, keep seeking after God or to give into fear. Hobart reminds us that it is not about our accomplishments, it is about our mindset. How do we see the world? Where is our focus?


My father-in-law was fond of quoting Abraham Lincoln, who said that people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. Of course, our lives and emotions are more complicated and nuanced than that saying. And there is also some truth to it. What our mindset is matters. Are we convicted in our faith, are we seeking for our joy to be made more complete? Are we looking for possibility? Are we holding on to hope, even when fear is knocking at our door?


Remember that passage in Deuteronomy 30:15-20 where the people of Israel are given the choice been life and death? “See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity. . . I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life . . .” We have the same invitation, each and every day. The question is, will we choose fear and death? Will we choose to focus our energy and attention on that which brings us pain and sorrow? Or will we choose life? Will we chose hope and possibility? Will we choose to move forward in faith, trusting in the abundant, abiding love of God, and seeking out that which brings us joy? 

And I think it is important to note that joy is more than happiness. I wonder if Abraham Lincoln really meant to say joyful. Happiness can be superficial. Joy is happiness and more. It is deep and profound. It is a feeling in our bones, in our whole bodies. Not just a smile on our face.


I hope that we will stay strong in our faith, and that all of us have the support and encouragement to choose each and every day that which gives life to us and to the world. AMEN.

*(from Sermon 1, “The Illuminating Power of the Gospel“, Parochial Sermons in The Posthumous Works of the Late Right Reverend John Henry Hobart, D.D., Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the State of New-York, 1832.)

Palm Sunday 2019

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Simsbury, CT

Palm Sunday, April 14, 2019

Luke 19:28-40; Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Philippians 2:5-11; Psalm 31:9-16; Luke 22:14-23:56

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.

I love Palm Sunday. That may seem a funny thing to say, and yet it is true. I love Palm Sunday because it is so real, so like actual life. The happiness and the pain are right next to each other.

We start our service with shouts of Hosanna, celebrating Jesus’ triumphal entrance into Jerusalem. We are joyfully celebrating that so many people are recognizing a truth that has such power in our own lives. They see that there is something special, something profound, something life changing about the manon the donkey. He is different. He is offering a way of living, a way of understanding that is different. He is bringing people hope and joy. He is not settling for the status quo. The atmosphere is electric. People want to join him. You can feel the excitement.

Then before we leave here, we will have taken ourselves all the way to Golgotha. We will be left standing with the women at the foot of the Cross trying to figure out how in a such a short period of time, we went from triumph to tragedy.

If we acknowledge our own feelings, there is probably a little bit of us that would like to just pause at the happy part. We would like to just end the story with Jesus’ triumphal entry. Couldn’t we just add “And Jesus and his disciples lived happily ever after” instead?

The fairy tale ending is tempting, really tempting. And yet there is something ultimately unsatisfying in just leaving our story there. And not just because we know intellectually that the Gospel of Luke goes on for a few more chapters.

It is unsatisfying because our lives are much more complicated. Fairy tales are not real. Part of what enables us to connect to Jesus, at least a large part of what helps me connect to Jesus, is the fact that he is human, fully human. He knows the fullness of the human experience, and that includes the fullness of what it means to grieve, to suffer, to feel pain.

Suffering is a part of our lives. It is a part of what it means to be human. And there can be great meaning and value that come out of suffering. There is something about the reality of loss, or even the possibility of loss, that makes us sit up and pay attention. It is like the shadow in a painting; it helps us to see things more clearly. We experience joy and success more deeply when we see them in full perspective of the times when we have known loss and failure. Because we have known pain, grief, and seemingly insurmountable challenges, our joy just a bit fuller.

Now, I think you all know by now that I do not subscribe to the theory that just because suffering has meaning and offers us valuable learning experiences that we should seek it out. Life has certainly taught me that suffering comes all by itself. We do not need to go looking for it. The question is, when it comes, how do we respond? Do we allow it to be our teacher and to help us widen our perspective? Do we learn from it so that we might use our knowledge and experience to build up the kingdom of God, that we might care more fully for all of God’s people?

We have chosen to follow Jesus. And following Jesus means that we will have wonderful moments of celebration - those Hosanna moments. It also means we will have our moments of seemingly unbearable pain. But the marvelous truth of of the fullness of Palm Sunday, with its “Hosannas” and with its story of the crucifixion, is that we are given the reminder that we are not alone. Jesus knows the fullness of our experience - our joys and our sufferings.

And in all of this there is also an invitation for us to remember that suffering does not have the last word. We don’t get a “happily ever after,” but neither are we left to suffer without hope. Today reminds as that suffering and joy are inextricably connected. We will not have one without the other. The question is how do we frame it?

Do we let the suffering dominate and define our experience? Or are we able to hold onto the reminder that we are not alone in our suffering? Do we “look for the helpers” as Mr. Rogers advises? Do we turn our focus to those who are helping, those who are seeking to bring comfort and hope? Do we look for the blessings and the gifts that are present? And they are there. Always. In the smiles and the love of those who care for us and walk with us. In the gifts of perspective and gratitude that come when we are reminded of the fragility and preciousness of life. In the way our focus is narrowed and our awareness of beauty is heightened when we don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

That is the truth that Palm Sunday shows us so clearly. Joy and suffering are inextricably linked. They will come together in our lives. Sometimes back to back. Sometimes all at once. That is okay. There are great blessings to be found, even in the midst of our challenges. And we can always hold fast to the beautiful and life changing truth that this Holy Week proclaims so boldly. Do not fear. God’s Love, made manifest in so many ways in our own lives, is stronger than anything we humans can come up with. God’s Love always has the last word. Thanks be to God for that.

AMEN.

Bread of Life

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

Christ Church Cathedral, Hartford, CT

August 19, 2018, Proper 15B

Proverbs 9:1-6; Psalm 34:9-14; Ephesians 5:15-20; John 6:51-58

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.

I don’t know about you all, but I often get highly suspicious that the Holy Spirit is trying to tell me something when I begin to hear the same message from multiple sources. First off I think we are supposed to be learning something about bread, right? I mean it has been occurring over and over again in our Gospel readings for the past few weeks.

Again and again Jesus tells us that he is the bread of life. What does that mean? What is the bread of life? Well, in today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us that the bread of life is the stuff of eternal life. It is the stuff that lasts. It is not flimsy or lacking substance. And this is where the message gets real and important for me. This is where it is no longer just about literal bread (although that is important too, and there will be more on that later), it is also about metaphorical bread. It is about that which sustains our souls. That which inspires us and gives us joy.

And this is where I think the Holy Spirit has been up to something. Two weeks ago, I spent a remarkable week at Yale Divinity School at a conference on the Theology of Joy and the Pedagogy of the Good Life. This conference is connected with work the Yale Center for Faith and Culture has been doing on the Theology of Joy, as well as a course they have been teaching, particularly to Yale undergrads on what makes a “Life Worth Living.” As you might imagine, there were lots of excellent presentations and conversations at a conference on Joy and the Good Life. I left that week feeling renewed and inspired. I also left reminded of how very important it is for each of us to be regularly asking ourselves, “What is it that makes life worth living for me, and am I living that life now? What do I need to do differently to be living a life that is more inline with my own values?”

In our American Society, land of rugged individualism and manifest destiny, it can be tempting to think this question of a life worth living is about what each of us desires as individuals. If we listen to the images and sound bytes of Madison Avenue, we can think that the life worth living is something that can be purchased at our nearest car dealer or big box retailer. But we know better than that. We know that a life worth living is not something you can find on a shelf or that will arrive on your front steps in a cardboard box. Our reading from Ephesians reminds that we can be easily tempted to waste our precious life: “Be careful then how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil.”

Temptations abound, and yet we seek to be wise and faithful followers of Jesus, we seek the bread of life. We seek that which is eternal and everlasting. We seek that which is real. We seek that which transforms. The question for us is not just about what makes a life worth living, as in “What do I desire?” No, for us, as followers of Jesus it is about how we are living a life that is worthy of who God calls us to be. We know it is not just about us. It is about relationship, about relationship with God and with each other. It is about a living a life of love. A life that feels rooted and connected. A life that inspires others to seek out the eternal Bread of Life.

So back to the bread. In a few minutes, when we celebrate communion, you will notice something a little different. Today we are having real bread. I want to share a bit with you about the recipe and why I chose to make it. I think it might help provide a tangible connection to our readings and the call we have to live more deeply into our faith lives.

As I think you all know by now, I am someone who likes to get things done. Efficiently and to a high standard, of course, being my preferred combination. Funny thing about making bread, especially this bread recipe. Efficiency is not possible. This bread cannot be hurried or made more efficiently. It requires time and investment, if I want to have delicious bread that is a joy to eat. This bread recipe is from Chef Mark Bittman, and it is his no knead bread. It does not require constant attention. It requires time. You mix the dough and then you let it rise for 18 - 24 hours. Then you bake it in a hot Dutch Oven. The result is a crusty boule with a soft and chewy middle. It has quickly become a favorite bread in our house, as long as we can remember far enough in advance to make the dough. And I have found a profound spiritual lesson in the act of making it. This bread recipe invites me to slow down, to pay attention, and to savor the present. I would guess that I am not the only one who could occasionally benefit from the gift of slowing down, of taking time for reflection, time to invest in something worth doing well, because the result nourishes body and soul.

So, I hope that in our readings today, and particularly in the bite of bread you receive at communion, you find an invitation to reflect on what gives you sustenance, what feeds your soul, what is that bread of life that gives meaning to you? What is God’s invitation to you to live more fully into who you are called to be? I hope you find that reflection fruitful, and I hope that you continue to find more ways to live a life more deeply connected to our Lord, who gives us the bread of eternal life. AMEN.