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. 

Holding the Hope for each other

From Jimmy Fund Walk in Boston

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

February 16, 2021

Psalm 85:7-13; Jonah 4:1-11;Luke 10:1-12

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 needed some Jonah this week. I love Jonah. I love Jonah because he is so human. I love Jonah because he gives us permission to be frustrated and angry. He gives us permission to get it wrong. To have our moments where our perspective and priorities can get mixed up. And ultimately, I love Jonah because his story reminds us of God’s abiding grace and faithfulness. It reminds us that the whole thing is bigger than we are, and oh right, it is not all about us. 

I especially love our passage for today, where Jonah gets all worked up about the bush. He tethers his emotions and his well-being to the state of the bush. When it is great, he is happy. When it withers, he is angry. That clicked for me this week. I realized I have found myself tethering my emotions to external forces. What are the graphs for CT and NY doing? How’s the vaccine supply? Who has predictions about when we might be able to do this, that, or the other thing in person? What is our government doing to combat injustice? Are the myriad of challenges we face as a nation and a world actually being addressed right now? It is a roller coaster. I am exhausted, and it is not helping my well-being. 

Just like Jonah, I needed a reminder that this whole thing is bigger than me. I needed the reminder that I am not actually in charge. If I tether my well-being to external outcomes, I am going to be stuck on a roller coaster. I don’t want to be stuck on a roller coaster. That sent me looking for a different way of being, and helped me remember the distinction Archbishop Desmond Tutu makes between hope and optimism. It is worth quoting him at length. The Archbishop says:

“Hope is quite different from optimism, which is more superficial and liable to become pessimism when the circumstances change. Hope is something much deeper . . . I say to people that I’m not an optimist, because that, in a sense that depends on feelings more than actual reality. We feel optimistic, or we feel pessimistic. Now hope is different in that it is based not on the ephemerality of feelings but on the firm ground of conviction. I believe with a steadfast faith that there can never be a situation that is utterly, totally hopeless. Hope is deeper and very, very close to unshakeable. It’s in the pit of your tummy. It’s not in your head . . . Resignation and cynicism are easier, more self-soothing postures that do not require the raw vulnerability and tragic risk of hope. To choose hope is to step firmly forward into the howling wind, baring one’s chest to the elements, knowing that, in time the storm will pass.” (Book of Joy, p. 121-2.)

I find that to be a powerful image and distinction. An important reminder to keep ourselves grounded in that which is deeper than circumstances or outcomes. I am also glad that the Archbishop does not end his description there, seeming to imply that to be a person of hope is to be standing alone against the storm.

He goes on to say that “Hope is the antidote to despair . . . Hope is also nurtured by relationship, by community, whether that community is a literal one or one fashioned from the long memory of human striving, whose membership includes Ghandi, King, Mandela, and countless others. Despair turns us inward. Hope sends us into the arms of others.” (Book of Joy, p. 123.)

So if you have had any roller coaster moments this week, or if you feel like Jonah in the coming days, remember the wisdom of the Archbishop, ground yourselves in hope. And on the days where you feel grounded, keep yourself firmly planted so that you may be the arms to receive others. 

There is a very, very long list of why I am grateful for this gathered community and the ways it has sustained me over the course of this year. Perhaps one of the most beautiful gifts you all have given, that we all give each other, is to nurture hope for each other. That is Church at its best, when we can hold the faith for each other, when we can provide sustenance in the midst of spiritual deserts, when we can support and uphold each other. When simply our gathered presence proclaims the beauty of God’s Word, the depth of God’s love and the conviction that the Truth does not change -love and life always triumph -  no matter what the state of the world is. Thank you for that gift, dear friends. Amen. 

A sprinkling of salt

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer

February 9, 2021

Psalm 8; 2 Tim. 1:1-14; Mark 9:42-50

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. 

As many of you know, I love to cook. And one of my favorite things to make is chocolate chip cookies. I alternate between traditional regular chocolate chip cookies and an “everything but the kitchen sink” version that is a chocolate cookie with nuts and three kinds of chips - dark chocolate, white chocolate and peanut butter. I love them both for very different reasons. I recently made a discovery that the dark chocolate cookies were made even better if I sprinkled them with salt as soon as they came out of the oven. 

That’s the thing about salt. Just a little bit of it opens up a whole new set of flavors. But the “little bit” is key. I am sure we have all had the experience of eating something that has been over salted. There is a fine line between flavor enhancement and inedibility. A little bit is amazing. Too much is ruinous. 

Today’s Gospel is all about what gets in the way of us deepening our relationship with God. What are our stumbling blocks? What keeps us from living more fully into who God calls us to be? 

But it is that last part about salt. About having salt. About being salt. About finding peace that really caught my attention. It gave me pause, because I will admit that first portion about stumbling blocks felt like an admonition. Stumbling blocks, God? You want to talk about stumbling blocks, okay. No problem. I have a long list for you. There is a global pandemic. We are all working from home. We are utterly exhausted, and while there is a light at the end of this tunnel it is still too far away. Not enough people are getting vaccines fast enough. We miss being together - in person! We are weighed down by the enormous challenges facing our nation and our world right now. Poverty, Racism, Sexism, Environmental Degradation, name your issue. See God, we have plenty of stumbling blocks! 

But then I pause. Then I think about what some of the wisest voices I know might say to me. . . Molly, take a deep breath. Think about that list for a moment. What is notable about it? Oh. You mean the part where I have conveniently named only external stumbling blocks and failed to take responsibility for what I might do differently. You mean that might be part of the problem? Oh and externalizing everything might also cut me off from the gift of being able to connect more deeply with God and those around me? Oh, yeah, that’s not very helpful. 

And I go back to the salt. I think about how just a little bit makes a difference. What if that were true here too? What if I don’t in fact have to fix all the world’s problems today. What if I don’t have to make a seismic shift in my spiritual practices? What if, at least for today, it is not about transforming everything? What if, at least for today, it was just about the small steps, the sprinkling of salt that might be life giving? That might move us one step closer to the depth we crave, to the coming of the kingdom?

In my current state of pandemic overwhelm, coupled with my task oriented, achievement driven personality, I needed that reminder that it does not (and probably cannot nor should not) all be done today. Small steps are okay. For today, for now, they are enough. As the Carrie Nicewander song we listened to last week says, every small kindness shifts the balance toward the light. 

I hope that resonates for you. I hope that you feel your burdens lightened. I hope that you feel more glimmers of hope and possibility. I hope that you feel inspired to seek out the small ways that you might deepen your connection to God. A few more deep breaths. A little more quiet. A little more time outside. Choosing relationship over task a little more often. Reaching out just to say “hi.” A little more time for prayer. A little more time to feed our souls. 

I trust that all those sprinkles of salt, all those small steps, all those moments will enrich us and nourish us so that we might have what we need to be a part of the transformation of the world, together. Amen. 

Candlemas

                                             

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom 

Feast of the Presentation and Candlemas

Psalm 84; Malachi 3:1-4; Luke 2:22-40

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 of the Presentation also known as Candlemas. It is a centerpiece of this Epiphany season, where we celebrate the way the truth about who Jesus is revealed to the world. The infant Jesus is brought to the Temple and his status as the Messiah, the Holy One of God, the Son of God, is recognized by the prophets Simeon and Anna. It is a day that has often been marked by candlelight processions, hence the name Candlemas. It is a day that continues the beautiful and important theme of the Christmas and Epiphany seasons. The light is coming into the world. 

Indeed it is. There is light. There is hope. In declining numbers of virus cases. In more vaccines getting to those who need them. In the resiliency and adaptability of children. In their smiles and their laughter. In community. In shared gifts. There is light and hope in each other. Ah, there it is. The all important reminder that in this season we do not just celebrate the light coming into the world as something that we watch happen. We are not mere spectators. We are participants. We can ensure that the beautiful, holy light of which God is the source is made more and more visible in our world. 

This theme of light is such an important one in our faith in this time, particularly as we seek to repent of and transform the systemic realities of racism and injustice in our society and our Church. I recently read the book, Rebirthing God, by John Philip Newell. In it he tells a story from his own ministry that I have found particularly inspiring and thought provoking as I reflect on this theme of light.

He writes: “Many years ago I was delivering a talk in Ottawa, Ontario, on some of the main themes of the prologue to St. John’s Gospel, and especially the words “the Light that enlightens every person coming into the world” (John 1:9, adapted). In attendance that evening was a Canadian Mohawk elder. He had been invited to be there to make observations about the parallels between his First Nations spirituality and the spirituality of the Celtic world. At the end of my talk he stood with tears in his eyes and said, “As I have been listening to these themes, I have been wondering where I would be tonight. I have been wondering where my people would be tonight. And I have been wondering where we would be as a Western world tonight if the mission that had come to us from Europe centuries ago had come expecting to find light in us.” We cannot undo the tragic wrongs that have been done in the name of Christianity to the First Nations people of Canada and to the indigenous peoples of many nations throughout the world. We cannot undo the unspeakable acts of cruelty and arrogance, perhaps unparalleled in the history of world religion, annihilating and conquering in the name of the truly humble one, Jesus. We can, however, be part of a new beginning. We can allow the true essence of our Christian heritage to be born anew.”  [p. 67-8]

As a white person whose ancestors have been in this country since before the American Revolution, this quote brings me up short. It calls me to account. It reminds me of how much deep, important, challenging work there is to do. And this quote also fills me with hope. Because it reminds me that we do in fact have the power to change things. We are not condemned to repeat the sins of the past. 

There is hope on a global level. There is hope on an individual level. The Mohawk elder asks, “What if they had come expecting to find light in us?” Ah. It is not just about looking for the light. It is not just about waiting to see if we might find it. It is about expecting the light. I don’t know about you, but the emphasis on expecting invites me to reorient my perspective. It invites me to see the world differently. I am not just wondering if I will find light. I am expecting to find light. That means I am seeking out and looking for all that is good and holy even in the midst of the most challenging, frustrating or heart wrenching circumstances. That means I am seeking out and looking for the face of God in everyone I meet. That means I am expecting to find grace and joy each day. 

So on this feast day, as we celebrate God’s light coming into the world, I invite you to reorient yourself to the light. I invite you to seek it out in the midst of daily life. And I invite you to expect to find it everywhere. No doubt we will be surprised by what we find. Amen.  

Meaningful, Abundant Life

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

Commemoration of Elizabeth Seton

January 4, 2021

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. 

It is four days into the New Year, Verse 18 of our Scripture says: “But they all alike began to make excuses.” I am not sure whether to laugh or cry. Does the lectionary committee or the Holy Spirit really know human nature that well? That four days into the New Year we might already be making excuses for why we are not following through on our new year’s resolutions? 

Actually, I think this Scripture points to an important truth about human nature, about how we live our lives, about how we live out our faith that is applicable on any day of the year whether we made a new year’s resolution or not. The truth that is at the heart of today’s Gospel reading is that it is far too easy to make excuses, far too easy to get distracted, and far too easy to lose sight of what really matters. 

We can puff ourselves up. We can think we are different. We can think, if we were invited to a banquet with Jesus, we could not possibly think anything was more important than that. We would not possibly miss God’s message to us. But if we are honest, we easily could. We could think our possessions or our human relationships are more important than God. Or we could just think that we will do that tomorrow. We can go next week when we have more time. 

Of course this is not to say our possessions or our human relationships are inherently problematic. The issue is only when our possessions or our relationships become a barrier rather than a conduit for deeper relationship with God. 

We are reminded again and again in our Scriptures, and in the life story of Elizabeth Seton, who we remember today that we are called to lives that are rich, that are deep, that are meaningful, and fulfilling. That meaning is not found in simply accumulating more stuff or more superficial relationships. 

It is found in connecting with others, with God. It is found in caring for others. It is found when we expand our vision and reach out our hands in love. It is found when we keep our focus on God, first and foremost. 

That’s the thing. When we can do that, when we can keep our focus on God, when we are focused on what really matters - on the actions, the relationships that give life meaning, on the practices that draw us closer to God and lead us to live more fully into who God created us to be - when we do that, all the other stuff just seems to sort itself out. 

So as we live into this new year, this year that is filled with hope and promise, and most assuredly a few more challenges too, may we take a moment to pause. A moment to remember that God invites us to the abundant life - not the frantic life, not the disordered life, not the carefree life - the abundant life. We are invited to live well. To connect deeply. To give generously. To seek out joy and laughter. 

So whatever other disciplines we may be taking on in this new year, may we also find more ways to live well, to live abundantly, to live with meaning and purpose. In so doing, no doubt we will find our hearts filled and our souls refreshed. Amen. 

Holding Fast To Joy

Grand Central Terminal

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. Matthew's, Wilton

Advent 3, December 13, 2020

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Psalm 126; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8,19-28

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. 

Paul writes to the Thessalonians, “hold fast to what is good.” He even tells us to “rejoice always.” Really? I want to say. Really, God? Is this the message you have for us today? Don’t you know how many things we are missing right now? Don’t you know how many reasons there are for us to be frustrated and sad right now? It is about to be Christmas, and we are deprived of holding people we love. For most of us it has been weeks or months since we held onto a handle in a subway car or the top of a Metro North seat. We have not held an elevator door for a colleague hurrying to their office or the door of a restaurant for the next patron. Medical professionals and first responders have held the hands of far too many who have died. We feel surrounded by loss and grief, and our Scriptures are telling us to rejoice? 

If you want to rail and argue and rage back against this text you are not alone. There is much to grieve in this time. We need to acknowledge the truth and the reality of the loss. It hurts. This is hard. Really hard. Especially for those of us who are used to having the power, the privilege, the resources to make things happen as we want them to, when we want them to happen. 

But here is the thing. Grief is not all there is. Yes, the challenges are great. The losses are probably more than most of us have ever experienced or ever thought we would experience. We need to be gentle with our hearts in this time. We need to be gentle with each other. The grief is real, but we cannot allow it to blind us to the beauty and the grace. Even in the midst of grief, there is cause to rejoice. 

That is what Paul means. The statement to “rejoice always” does not gloss over the reality of suffering. It is not meant for us to pretend that everything is okay even when it is not. It means that even in the midst of suffering there is cause for rejoicing. Always. It is Advent. It is the season where we are reminded that no matter how short the days are, no matter how dark it gets - literally or metaphorically - the darkness does not win. John the Baptist came to testify to the light. To announce to the world that the light shines in the darkness. 

It may be hard to see. On some days it may seem nearly impossible, but I promise that the light is there. Paul tells us to hold fast to what is good. Indeed we can hold fast to much, even in the midst of challenges. 

We may be struggling with all the people, all the things that we cannot literally “hold” in this season. But even if we cannot literally touch them, the love we have for them does not depend on being in the same room. In fact not being in the same room with them might be the most loving thing we can do for them right now.

There is the light. In acts of kindness and generosity. In a smile, even if it is on a screen. In the gifts of technology and modern life that allow us to work from home, to gather for worship in a way that keeps everyone safe, and to order delicious food to our doorsteps. Celebrating with family and friends in cyberspace even across great distances and time zones - possibly even a gathering of people who have not been in the same room for years, if ever. 

What we can “hold fast” to in this time may not always be tangible. It is the truths of our faith. The beauty of this world. The sunlight on the trees. The sky filled with stars. The myriad of ways we have to show each other how much we care - acts of grace and compassion, large and small. 

Even in the midst of stress and struggle, there is cause to rejoice. There is hope. Always. Things will not always be this way. We will again be able to gather in person. We will be able to travel, to ride airplanes and trains. To linger over a long meal with a dear friend in the corner of our favorite restaurant. It will all be possible again. And in the meantime, we can keep our spirits strong - to seek out all that feeds our souls and connects us to God and each other. To take more time for prayer. More time to care for our bodies. Time for sleep. Time for play. We can make more calls, send more letters. We can give generously. We can be more willing to accept help when it is offered. Indeed love and beauty will sustain us in this time. 

God is always present, always inviting us into deeper relationship. We need only keep our hearts open to receive that invitation. May we have the courage and the grace to do so this Advent and always. AMEN. 

Seek God, Beloved

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

Ambrose, December 7, 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. 

Our saint for today only became a bishop because everyone was fighting. Our Scriptures are full of stories of people being beaten and cut into pieces. Blood. Abominations. Gah. Enough already God. Don’t you know we are in the middle of a pandemic? Don’t you know that we have plenty of terrifying news headlines, without needing to read about gruesome horrors in our sacred texts. We are not currently in need of reminding that humanity is capable of terrible things or how fragile and uncertain life is. We are surrounded by that truth. 

We need solace. We need comfort. We need hope. There is a long road ahead of us out of our current crisis. It may even get worse before it gets better. We need the joy, the sense of possibility, the light that will sustain us through the present darkness. And that seems hard to find today. Until I go back to our Psalm. 

Our portion for today closes with the line, “You speak in my heart and say, "Seek my face." *

Your face, Lord, will I seek.” Ah there it is. The reminder to connect with God. To connect with our heart. To see God. 

I am reminded of the closing song of Les Miserables, when Jean Valjean is dying. The line that has stayed with me, perhaps more than any other line from that musical: “And remember the truth that once was spoken, To love another person is to see the face of God!” Yes. Indeed. That is where we meet God. In each other. To seek the face of God is to seek out Love. It is to seek out connection. It is to be present with one another. 

The griefs are many in this time. They are personal. They are communal. They are global. But we do not bear them alone. It is Advent. It is the time we are reminded that God is with us. Emmanuel. God with us. And we know this truth because we can see God in the faces of those we love. We can bear these challenges, because burdens become so much lighter when they are shared. 

Take heart my friends. Even in the midst of all the challenges. Even in the midst of the grief that weighs heavily on our hearts these days. Even when we cannot be physically present with one another. The connection remains. The truth remains. The Love is there. We can see each other. We can see God. We can know, in a smile. In a laugh. In a kind word. In a gaze. That we are beloved. We are beloved of God. No trial or tribulation can change that fact. 

Be present to your own heart in these days. Listen for God’s voice. Seek God out. Reach out. Connect with those you love, so that you may show them God’s face. And be present to them, so that you too may see God. And God’s presence will carry us today and always. Amen.