Surprising Prophets

Surprising Prophets

July 03, 2016
Written by Kathryn Matthews

Sunday, July 3
Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Focus Theme
Surprising Prophets

Weekly Prayer
God of fresh beginnings, you make all things new in the wisdom of Jesus Christ. Make us agents of your transforming power and heralds of your reign of justice and peace, that all may share in the healing Christ brings. Amen.

Focus Reading
2 Kings 5:1-14

Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the Lord had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy. Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman's wife. She said to her mistress, "If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy." So Naaman went in and told his lord just what the girl from the land of Israel had said. And the king of Aram said, "Go then, and I will send along a letter to the king of Israel."

He went, taking with him ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten sets of garments. He brought the letter to the king of Israel, which read, "When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman, that you may cure him of his leprosy." When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, "Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? Just look and see how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me."

But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes, he sent a message to the king, "Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come to me, that he may learn that there is a prophet in Israel." So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha's house. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, "Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean." But Naaman became angry and went away, saying, "I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?" He turned and went away in a rage. But his servants approached and said to him, "Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, 'Wash, and be clean'?" So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.

All Readings for this Sunday
2 Kings 5:1-14 with Psalm 30 or
Isaiah 66:10-14, with Psalm 66:1-9 and
Galatians 6:(1-6), 7-16 and
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

Focus Questions

1. When have you transformed a situation by a simple observation or suggestion?

2. Who are the ones who exercise power in your community in quiet but important ways?

3. What miracles do you dare to hope for in your own life?

4. When have you felt powerless but then received help from the most unlikely source?

5. How is God calling you to be a source of healing for others?

Reflection by Kate Matthews

Like so many stories in the Bible, the story of Naaman is about power. But it's also about the "little" people, the ones who are so often missed in the larger scheme of things, especially in the way history is written. (Barbara Brown Taylor, in her beautiful sermon on this text, "The Cheap Cure," says that it's also about freedom, an apt subject on this Fourth of July weekend.) The little people in this story make it move along, make things happen, so, in some interesting way, they have their own great power. Or, if they don't have the power, they at least don't stand in its way, as Naaman and the kings seem to do.

The movers and shakers in this story, Naaman the great general, two kings, and one prophet, are all men, and they all have names. They are Big Men in the eyes of the world; even Elisha, who mostly just sends messages here, is a "man of God." But the dramatic story of healing wouldn't happen if the "little people," the unnamed ones, didn't move things along.

Seeing the story through their eyes

Wouldn't it be interesting to see the story through the eyes of these "surprising prophets"? They live their lives in the shadow of the king's power and magnificence, but Naaman is the star general of the king, a celebrity, if you will, even if he does have an excruciatingly painful flaw, his skin disease. Of all physical ailments, a skin disease is one of the hardest to hide, and it makes Naaman, the mighty warrior, strangely vulnerable. Barbara Brown Taylor's re-telling of this story explores what the great general must have felt like in the simplest of everyday encounters, when his success and fame and power meant very little before the awkward discomfort of someone who might not want to shake his hand or stare too long at his disfigurement.

Walter Brueggemann calls the mighty general, ironically, "an invisible nobody" whose commanding presence could not betray his inner struggles and heartache. Still, this humiliation doesn't prevent Naaman from having a certain sense of his own place that puts him above ordinary people, and ordinary rivers. He walks and talks with kings, he rides at the head of an army, and he has the wherewithal to assemble a great treasure to offer in return for a cure he thinks he can buy, "the best available health care, no doubt anticipating a private, luxurious room for his period of confinement," Brueggemann writes. Everything can be bought, after all, when you live on top of the world.

Powerlessness among the powerful

That's how the king of Aram approaches it. He, too, is above working with a foreign prophet (probably not too well-groomed and definitely uneducated), even to get what he wants for his favorite general. So he does what comes naturally: he talks to his "own kind," his peer, and sends a message to the king of Israel; Brueggemann notes that this kind of letter from a king is unusual in the Bible, and he calls this "healing on demand, by royal memo." Power talks to Power ñ for what it's worth, in a situation like this one. So far, however, there is a whole lot of powerlessness on the part of such powerful men!

James Newsome notes "the hollowness of such arrogance," no matter how impressive the general and the king might appear in all their trappings. Frank Anthony Spina calls this story's two different kinds of power "conventional and unconventional." In the life of nations, powerlessness and power are related to politics and fear, so the king of Israel immediately goes to the place of thinking that Aram's king is trying to find a reason to attack him. He rips his robe and cries out, and Naaman is left without help.

Expecting world-class care from a humble prophet

Of course, Naaman wouldn't even be standing before the king of Israel if an unnamed little girl hadn't ventured to suggest that he consult "the prophet who is in Samaria." She is undoubtedly a captive, one of the countless victims of war between the powerful, and she must have some memory of what Elisha could do and what he represented. People without power have to work between the lines and behind the scenes, and this little girl gets things started with her observation.

However, when Naaman finally finds his way to the prophet and "gets stood up," or at least left standing outside, waiting, we hear him talking out of his pride and sense of place when he takes offense at not being received more respectfully by the prophet and not being provided with a more impressive, dramatic cure, something that would reinforce his stature in the eyes of all who would witness such a miracle. Brueggemann's account is amusing: "Obviously, he has been watching too much televisionÖ.The prophetÖ.only sends an LPN out with a prescription," but it's not a prescription Naaman finds worthy of his standing. (Brueggemann's study of this text is particularly engaging.)

A small gesture for a huge result

Fortunately, his servants have more sense of the possibility that the moment holds, and these nameless folks, little ones in their own turn, coax Naaman into forgetting his own importance (or, as we would say today, his "ego") and going for what will really matter: a cure. Dianne Bergant points out the double meaning of the term, "to go down," not just into the waters of the river, but as a demonstration of subservience in obeying this humble (and foreign!) prophet.

And in keeping with our focus on the importance of the "little people" in this story, we appreciate the way they encourage Naaman to make this one small gesture in order to be healed, when surely he would have been willing to do something much bigger, much more dramatic, for such a desirable outcome. Once again, the "little people" understand the great difference that "little things" can make.

Being healed of being a big deal

Barbara Brown Taylor's sermon on this text provides a moving description of what it must have felt like for Naaman to plunge slowly into that muddy river, the place of healing and power, a most unexpected thing. It's God who is really at work by these unexpected means, the little ones, the unnamed people, the muddy river, while the mighty are not only humbled but healed. Isn't it interesting that the young girl at the beginning of the story is the agent for the great general being given skin like that of a young boy? In his own way, Naaman is healed of being "a big deal" (at least to himself) and renewed by his openness to the power of the One True God.

Because the lectionary text ends at verse 14, we miss a very important part of Naaman's story that includes his gratitude for his new skin, and his acceptance of the One True God of Israel. (Oddly, Elisha seems to give him permission to appear to be worshipping the "required" god of his homeland, as was customary in those days ñ it was, after all, the expected thing to do, politically, to put on a good show). While Naaman may have brought treasure as a kind of payment for the cure he needed, Dianne Bergant says that his offer of a gift in verse 15 was his way of giving thanks for being healed.

Can we even begin to relate?

Brueggemann, on the other hand, suggests that Naaman is saving face, in a way, after all of that subservience and humility and "a folk remedy" that works, before lowly servants and foreigners; Brueggemann notes that the general moves "from leprosy to wholeness," a miracle so amazing that "we do not easily notice the drama and the wonderÖunless we have had leprosy lately."

Bergant says that this little story "champions monotheism and universalism," not only because Naaman professes faith in the One True God of a different nation, Israel, but also because his healing demonstrates that God's love does not stop with Israel but embraces all of God's children. Indeed, it's thought-provoking to approach this story from both directions of "outsider-hood." Yes, Naaman was an outsider in Israel, a military leader from an enemy land as well as ritually impure because of his skin condition. But it's even worse, because verse 1 tells us that Naaman was helped by Israel's own God in vanquishing Israel.

Leaving his comfort zone in order to end his suffering

On the other hand, Naaman humbled himself before the prophet of a God not his own, so, for him, Israel was the outsider. The great general had to go way outside his comfort zone and cross some serious boundaries, deep into the land of his enemy, to receive the healing he needed. Just as we want to think that we offer hospitality, justice, and healing to "outsiders" (one expression of "the haves and the have-nots"), aren't we called to be open and humble enough to receive in turn the gifts and hospitality, justice, and healing that "outsiders" bring to our lives and communities?

Brueggemann reminds me of Karl Rahner's "anonymous Christians," calling Naaman, when God earlier helped him defeat Israel, "an 'anonymous Israelite,' doing the bidding of the God of Israel, all the while thinking he is only a good Syrian military man." How ironic is that? After his healing, Naaman is no longer "anonymous" in his relationship with God, except for those times he will have to bow before his own nation's god, out of deference toward his king. (Brueggemann provides a more thorough reflection on outsider-hood by viewing each character in that role.)

What unexpected power do we have?

This text makes me think about our own power, yours and mine, and how God speaks through us to other people. Do we often think we can't do anything because, after all, we're not in charge? Do we realize the power that we do have, the power to move things along, to speak up, to make things happen, to be part of a great process of healing not just in our lives but in the lives of other, very surprising people?

God still speaks in and from the most unexpected places and through the most unlikely people, prophets in their own right, really. Perhaps it's a word of possibility and hope, like the words of the young slave girl. Perhaps it's a word of clear command, like the instruction from Elisha, that supplies a reality check on our own sense of importance when we've gotten a little carried away with ourselves. Or perhaps it's a word of persuasive reasoning spoken for our own good, a word that redirects us and puts us on the right path toward healing and wholeness.

Come to the water for healing

What I sense is that in each of these words from God, in all situations and from whatever source, however unexpected, however ordinary, in each of these words from God are the movement and the power of compassion in our lives. God's healing comes from surprising places and in most unanticipated ways, but it comes nevertheless. And you and I, along with "nameless servants" and mighty generals all the same, are free to move into the river, step into the deep waters of God's own care, and emerge restored and renewed. Let's pray for the good sense and the good grace to say yes when we hear those words, no matter the source, and to know God's healing in our lives.

A preaching version of this commentary (with book titles) is at http://www.ucc.org/worship_samuel.

The Rev. Kathryn Matthews serves as dean of Amistad Chapel at the national offices of the United Church of Christ in Cleveland, Ohio (https://www.facebook.com/AmistadChapel).

You're invited to share your reflections on this text in the comments on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/SermonSeeds.

For further reflection

Drew Barrymore, 21st century
"My whole life, I've wanted to feel comfortable in my skin. It's the most liberating thing in the world."

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood, 20th century
"What happens when people open their hearts?"
"They get better."

Maya Angelou, 21st century
"As soon as healing takes place, go out and heal somebody else."

Hippocrates, 4th century B.C.E.
"Healing in a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity."

Simone de Beauvoir, 20th century
"I wish that every human life might be pure transparent freedom."

Frederick Buechner, 20th century
"Compassion is sometimes the fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else's skin. It is the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too."

Joseph Campbell, 20th century
"We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us. The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come."
 

5 Lies I Used To Believe About Being A Christian

06/21/2016 08:25 am ET | Updated 1 day ago

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·  Tyler Speegle Husband, dad, serious coffee drinker, and inspirational blogger - TylerSpeegle.com

Growing up in church, I thought I had just about everything figured out about being a Christian.

That all changed for me one day when I visited a church that was much different than the straight-laced church I grew up in. It was a place where people dressed and acted the same on Sunday as they did the rest of the week. It was a place where it was OK to be honest and open about doubts and struggles. There was even an atmosphere of excitement and celebration that was expressed during worship.

All of this was very new to me. There was such of contrast in this group of believers that I had to question much of what I believed about being a Christian. What I discovered is that some of my “Christian beliefs” were actually misguided and inspired more by worldly religion than the Word of God.

It’s obvious that non-Christians have some misconceptions regarding Christianity, but often those who grew up in church, do too. Here are just a few of the lies I used to believed about being a Christian:

1. Your Behavior Affects God’s Love For You.

With all the rules we set up for ourselves, it’s easy to think following them is the way to get God’s approval and love. But the truth is you don’t have to try to use your behavior to earn God’s love. He loves you despite your behavior.

Christ died for us while we were still sinners (Romans 5:8). God’s love for you isn’t based on what you do or don’t do, it’s based on His Son Jesus.

2. Church is a Weekly Event and Just a Building.

Living in the Bible Belt, going to church can sometimes be seen as just something that everyone does. Worshipping God is often compartmentalized and sectioned off from the rest of our week. There is this idea that every Sunday you have to dress up and polish your external appearance and behavior.

But God is interested in your heart, not your outfit. He looks at the internal of man, not the external (1 Samuel 16:7).

Church is also frequently viewed as building and not a body. In reality, we should see the Church as a Body that just so happens to meet in a building. The Bible talks about the Church as a living and breathing thing, not just a meeting that takes place each week with some singing and preaching (Ephesians 2:19-22). We weren’t meant to love an event, we were meant to love people.

3. You Shouldn’t Express Your Struggles or Doubts.

Sometimes the Christian life is hard. At times, there are no easy answers or explanations. Instead of suppressing our doubts and struggles, we should admit them to God and ask others to help us walk through them.

David was a man after God’s own heart, and he often openly expressed his doubts and struggles during times of hardship. Being honest and open about your struggles doesn’t make you less spiritual, it actually draws you closer to God because it forces you to get rid of your pride and self-sufficiency.

You don’t overcome the difficulties of life by ignoring the struggle; you overcome them by inviting God to work in those areas (Psalm 43:5)! What good is it if you have everyone fooled except for God?

4. Church Leadership is Only For the Super-Spiritual.

Sometimes, those of us sitting in church pews each week can start thinking of our pastors and elders as spiritually superior, “better” Christians and almost infallible. This is part of why we are so surprised and shattered when church leaders fall—we forget that they are sinful human beings, just as in need of grace and accountability as the rest of us.

The truth is, your pastor, worship leader, small group leader or whoever else may have more training and/or have walked with Jesus longer than you have, but they are still people. They struggle. They need friends that talk about things that don’t directly relate to church.

God uses the weak for His glory. And He can use you. You don’t have to work yourself up to be some sort of spiritual superman in order to serve Him.

5. The Bible is Mostly About Rules.

We often make the Bible out to be a rulebook. But when we view it that way, we will lose interest quickly because there is no connection made.

The Bible isn’t about rules; it’s about Jesus. It’s designed to be used in the context of relationship. The goal in reading the Word shouldn’t be to get to a certain chapter, but to meet Jesus along the way.

I challenge you to ask yourself if you believe any of those ideas. You’re not alone if you do. The good news is there is hope, because there is truth. And the truth has the power to set you free (John 8:32)

Tyler is a husband, dad, serious coffee drinker, and inspirational blogger with a passion to help others see Jesus as He truly is - a personal and relational God. Read more at TylerSpeegle.com

How Pagans Celebrate Litha, The Summer Solstice

The holiday is marked with festivals, parades, bonfires and more.

06/17/2016 10:59 am ET

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·  HuffPost Religion Editors The Huffington Post

The summer solstice represents “the power of light over darkness,” said one celebrant.

The summer solstice arrives in the northern hemisphere on June 20, 2016, bringing with it the longest day in the year — which means lots of extra sunlight for festivities. The day is considered to be sacred by many pagans around the world who celebrate the solstice among their other yearly holidays.

Some refer to the summer solstice as “Litha,” a term that may derive from 8th century monk Bede’s The Reckoning of Time. Bede names “Litha” as the Latin name for both June and July in ancient times.

The summer solstice is one of four solar holidays, along with the autumnal equinox, the winter solstice and the vernal equinox. The other major pagan holidays are Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane and Lughnasadh.

The summer solstice is one of four solar holidays, along with the autumnal equinox, the winter solstice and the vernal equinox.

Observers celebrate the solstice in myriad ways, including festivals, parades, bonfires, feasts and more. As one member of the Amesbury and Stonehenge Druids explains, “What you’re celebrating on a mystical level is that you’re looking at light at its strongest. It represents things like the triumph of the king, the power of light over darkness, and just life – life at its fullest.”

Celebrations for the summer solstice take place around the world, and not all are pagan-affiliated. One of the biggest pagan celebrations occurs at Stonehenge in England, but others take place among indigenous Latin and South American communities, and in Russia, Spain and other countries.

People do yoga in Times Square as part of the International Day of Yoga celebration on the summer solstice, June 21, 2015 in New York City.

As the official first day of summer, the solstice is a time of celebration. Cities around the world will mark the day with spiritual and secular celebrations, like this yoga festival in New York’s Times Square.

In God's Presence

In God's Presence

June 20, 2016
Written by Kathryn Matthews

Sunday, June 19
Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Focus Theme
In God's Presence

Weekly Prayer
God our refuge and hope, when race, status, or gender divide us, when despondency and despair haunt and afflict us, when community lies shattered: comfort and convict us with the stillness of your presence, that we may confess all you have done, through Christ to whom we belong and in whom we are one. Amen.

Focus Reading
1 Kings 19:1-4, (5-7), 8-15a

Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, "So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow." Then he was afraid; he got up and fled for his life, and came to Beer-sheba, which belongs to Judah; he left his servant there.

But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: "It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors." [Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, "Get up and eat." He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again. The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, "Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you."] He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food for forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God. At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there.

Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" He answered, "I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away."

He said, "Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by." Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" He answered, "I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away." Then the Lord said to him, "Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus...."

All Readings For This Sunday
1 Kings 19:1-4,(5-7),8-15a with Psalm 42 and 43 or
Isaiah 65:1-9 with Psalm 22:19-28 and
Galatians 3:23-29
Luke 8:26-39

Focus Questions

1. Who are the Jezebels and the Baals of our present culture?

2. When has your future, or the future of your church, been "radically redefined," as Brueggemann says, by an encounter with God?

3. Who are the people around you whom you might not "count" when you're feeling alone in your ministry?

4. When have you been tempted to complain to God about your calling?

5. Are you "where God needs you to be"?

Reflection by Kate Matthews

For many of us, a vocation or calling is just for "some folks," like pastors and missionaries, and maybe doctors, nurses, and teachers. We think the voice of God, whether it's loud and clear or a still, small one, is reserved for people who are anointed (literally and/or figuratively) to do something "special" that serves God and humankind in a distinctive way.

And yet even ordained pastors may steer clear of the call to be a prophet; who would want such a job? There's just too much risk and too little reward in speaking truth to power or in traveling the long hard road between one mountaintop experience and another. Elijah can certainly testify to that.

A hunted man, on the run

His troubles started on one mountain, Mount Carmel, when he virtually eliminated the power of the Baal priesthood, making them look ridiculous before the power of Yahweh, the One True God. Ahab's foreign-born, pagan wife, Jezebel, chased Elijah out of town with her threats. Elijah became a hunted man, and since he was only human, he did a very human thing: he ran.

When it seemed like Elijah had run out of steam, when he was run dry and run down, he prayed to God from out of his depths: "God, please, just let me die. I'm through. I can't measure up to the prophets that came before me." As he fell asleep, he must have hoped that he wouldn't wake up and have to face any more challenges. Instead, he awakened to an angel sent by God, who tenderly provided for him the things he needed to make his way for the always-significant forty days and forty nights (that means a really long way), deeper into the lonely wilderness but never alone, up onto another mountaintop, and open to what would happen next.

From one mountaintop to another

Like the "forty days and forty nights," this mountaintop setting had significance, too: Horeb is another name for Sinai, where God gave Moses the Law, and just as significantly, appeared to Moses. Lawrence Farris says that "[n]othing unimportant happens on mountains in ScriptureÖ.What begins as flight from a tyrant soon becomes a journey to God led by God." In other words, Elijah isn't just running from Jezebel; he's running from his vocation, from where God wants him to be, and from what God wants him to do. Farris continues: "The tension in the narrative is between whether Elijah will be defined by his fear of Jezebel or by his faithfulness to God." God cares for Elijah in his flight, through the ministrations of the angel, but challenges him as well, asking the prophet why he is fleeing: in Farris' words, "How can you fulfill my purposes if you are not where I need you to be?"

That seems to be a question for all of us, even today. How many of us have found ourselves in similar situations? Perhaps not on the mountain where Moses trod, but certainly on the run from what God is calling us to do and to be. When God asks Elijah ñ twice ñ why he's there. and not where he should be, Elijah answers both times with the same words, a response that might be heard as a self-righteous whine: "I have been working SO HARD and trying to do the right thing, and those people have totally abandoned you, and I'm the only one left who's faithful, and I'm all alone, so just kill me now."

We can only do what we decide to do, whatever we feel

There's a lot of "I" action going on there, isn't there, and a bit of catastrophizing, too. When are we more likely to find ourselves alone and self-justifying than when we've run away from the tasks before us? Lawrence Farris suggests that the theophany in this story, which seems to grab everyone's attention, including and especially preachers, is not the main point. It's not about God being an easily summoned presence to be with us up in the caves of avoidance. "Remarkably," he writes, "it is neither the experience of God's dramatic nor quiet presence, for which many so long in the midst of such feelings, but in attending to the work at hand and needing to be done through which life is renewed." Farris notes that we can only choose what we will do, not what we feel, and "Elijah is called back to action, to the fight into which God has enlisted him, not because he feels like it but because it is what needs doing that he can do."

What does God's presence mean here?

So much for scholars' arguments over the translation of "sheer silence" or "still small voice"! The message is the same: "Listen, Elijah, you need to get back to work; I have things I want to accomplish, and you're the instrument for getting them done!" Walter Brueggemann does find significance in the manifestation of God's presence, however brief, in this passage because such an experience can change lives dramatically.

Ironically, though, the things God tells Elijah to do don't get done exactly that way; however, Terence E. Fretheim suggests that Elijah was not disobeying God but simply adapting to "new circumstances," for "prophets are given freedom in the shaping of the divine word." One could say that in another way: God was still speaking throughout the ministry of Elijah, just as God is still speaking today.

We are never really alone in this

Elijah looked around in his desolation and presumed to think that he was the last faithful man left standing, and yet the text goes on to speak of 7,000 more faithful ones, and before long, Elisha becomes his companion and understudy. How often do we think we're alone when there's a whole community out there, waiting for us, if we go on to the rest of the story? Farris points to Jesus, no solitary prophet himself, who from the beginning gathered his disciples around him, and traveled around in their company.

If anyone could have tried to "go it alone," you might expect Jesus to do so. But he surrounded himself with a community, the same community to which we are called as his followers today. Each of us, as a disciple, a follower of Jesus, has a vocation, a calling, and there are things that we need to do in this world, and gifts that we have been given in order to do them, no matter what great challenges we face. If Elijah got discouraged at one point and even gave up, it's not surprising that we might do the same thing. It's a blessing, then, that other voices intervene, however powerful, however small, and call us back to who we are, whose we are, and what we are to be about.

A preaching version of this commentary (with book titles) is at http://www.ucc.org/worship_samuel.

The Rev. Kathryn Matthews serves as dean of Amistad Chapel at the national offices of the United Church of Christ in Cleveland, Ohio (https://www.facebook.com/AmistadChapel).

You're invited to share your reflections on this text in the comments on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/SermonSeeds.

For further reflection

Parker J. Palmer, Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation, 20th century
"Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am."
and
"Each time a door closes, the rest of the world opens up."
and
"We listen for guidance everywhere except from within."

Thomas Merton, 20th century
"Vocation does not come from a voice 'out there' calling me to be something I am not. It comes from a voice 'in here' calling me to be the person I was born to be, to fulfill the original selfhood given me at birth by God."
and
"Just remaining quietly in the presence of God, listening to [God], being attentive to [God], requires a lot of courage and know-how."

Ralph Waldo Emerson, 19th century
"This time, like all times, is a very good one if we but know what to do with it."

Vincent van Gogh, 19th century
"In spite of everything I shall rise again: I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing."

Elizabeth Gilbert, "Eat, Pray, Love," 21st century
"There's a reason they call God a presence - because God is right here, right now."

Mother Teresa, 20th century
"We need to find God, and [God] cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass - grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence....We need silence to be able to touch souls."

St. John of the Cross (16th c. Spanish monk)
"Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be a better light, and safer than a known way."

John Keats, 19th century
"I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top."

Haruki Murakami, "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle," 20th century
"Sometimes, when one is moving silently through such an utterly desolate landscape, an overwhelming hallucination can make one feel that oneself, as an individual human being, is slowly being unraveled. The surrounding space is so vast that it becomes increasingly difficult to keep a balanced grip on one's own being. The mind swells out to fill the entire landscape, becoming so diffuse in the process that one loses the ability to keep it fastened to the physical self. The sun would rise from the eastern horizon, and cut its way across the empty sky, and sink below the western horizon. This was the only perceptible change in our surroundings. And in the movement of the sun, I felt something I hardly know how to name: some huge, cosmic love."

I’m Tired of Being a Christian

06/07/2016 03:47 pm ET | Updated 1 day ago

• Kelsey L. Munger Writer, self-care enthusiast, wild mystic, and drinker of chamomile tea. Blogs at KelseyMunger.com.

I’m tired. I’m tired of being a Christian. People say it’s only a term, only a word but that word feels like the lead apron at the dentist’s office. It’s pushing down on me from all sides, clipped tightly around my neck. It carries the weight of the hearts that have been wounded and the spirits that have been broken in the name of Christianity.

It carries the weight of teenagers who have been kicked out of their homes—gay teens and unwed mothers. It carries the weight of women who have been told to submit to their abusive husbands. It carries the weight of women who question their value, their worth, because they were raped or had sex with someone they loved before they were married. It carries the weight of so many tears that have been shed after someone was verbally accosted by a Christian. It carries the weight of scars and wounds that run so deeply they’ve latched onto people’s identities and sense of self-worth.

And I’m tired. I’m tired of being a Christian. This isn’t irritation or angst; it’s exhaustion.

I’m tired of being a Christian if it means I have to believe that I have a monopoly on ethical living or spiritual truths. If my personal creed needs to be forced on or applied to anyone other than myself, than this isn’t for me. I’m tired of the policing in the name of righteousness, which really just starts sounding a lot like I’m-more-right-than-you-ness. If enforced, unasked for “accountability” is the rule, then I’m tired of being a Christian.

I’m tired of being a Christian if it means I have to be certain. I want to be comfortable with “I don’t know.” I want to relax into it. To deeply breathe it in and out like the fresh, salty, restorative ocean air. I want to welcome my doubts, to open the door when they knock, rather than trying to hide them out of sight. If I have to know for sure or debate every little theological point until I can present a list of tenets worth defending until death (be it mine or my opponent’s), then I’m tired of being a Christian.

I’m tired of being a Christian if it means spouting theological bumper stickers when life is crumbling, cracking all around like a house under demolition. If saying “Life is really shitty now” would be inappropriate for a Christian or somehow unfaithful or if it’d be expected that I add in a trite little “But God will work it all together for good!” at the end to ease the discomfort of my listeners and to showcase my faith in redemption, then I’m tired of being a Christian.

I’m tired of being a Christian if it means that it would not only bring dishonor to the name of God but that it would also be a sin if I were to stand in front of a crowd on Sunday morning and proclaim my love of God. My teaching would bring shame. My praises would be sin. If being a woman is so shameful that my words of homage would bring scandal and humiliation, then I’m tired of being a Christian.

I’m tired of being a Christian if it means that referring to God as Mother is heresy. A God who mothers; a God who kicks down the door to the Theological Boys’ Locker Room; a God who understands and welcomes me. If insinuating that maybe the Creator of the Universe is a little like me, a woman, is sacrilege, then you can let me off at the next stop. I’m tired of being a Christian.

I’m tired of being a Christian if it means damning love to Hell. I want the outgrowth of my faith to be love not protesting someone else’s family. I want to encourage, support, and defend romantic and familiar love. If I’m expected to picket and condemn loving, happy families, then I’m tired of being a Christian.

I’m tired of being a Christian if it means spiritual practices are strict and ridged. If writing instead of going to church doesn’t count; if reading poetry or coloring in the morning instead of reading the bible isn’t good enough; if praying with color, scissors and glue, and quiet, overwhelming feelings when there are no words doesn’t count as real prayer; if the fact that watching a sunset fills me with more peace and awe than reciting liturgy isn’t religious enough, then I’m tired of being a Christian.

I’m tired of being a Christian if it means saying that every fiber of my being is wretched, tainted, depraved. At the beginning of the world God looked at her creation and declared it good. And I’m part of that creation. There’s fire and magic in my personhood; there’s a holy hellion in my heart; there’s a wild mystic in my soul. If believing there are sparks of the divine in me and every person I come in contact with is heretical, then I’m tired of being a Christian.

I’m tired of being a Christian if it means silencing those who have been hurt by the church. If we’re just expected to read the bible every day despite the panic attacks; if we’re just expected to go to church every Sunday despite the scars; if we’re just expected to keep our mouths closed because our church experiences were traumatic and less-than-stellar, then I’m tired of being a Christian.

As a child sitting in children’s Sunday school Jesus seemed to say: “It’s okay, you’re welcome here. Come sit down right here next to me.” And now, somehow despite it all, I can feel the Divine’s gentle pull again. She calls, Mother calls, welcoming me to sit down next to her. And I do. But I’m worn out. I’m exhausted. I’m tired.

This first appeared on Kelsey’s blog KelseyMunger.com. To stay up-to date on her writings, check out her blog and follow her on Twitter.

Follow Kelsey L. Munger on Twitter: www.twitter.com/KelseyLMunger

Which Judaism Is the Authentic One?

06/03/2016 04:57 pm ET | Updated 4 days ago

• Heidi Hoover Rabbi in Brooklyn, NY.

Last week I met one of my neighbors, an Orthodox Jewish woman. She asked what I do for a living, and I said I’m a rabbi. She hesitated for a moment, digesting the information, as other Orthodox neighbors have done when they first hear this (my family moved recently, so we’re still meeting our new neighbors). Then she asked where, and whether it is a Reform synagogue (it is).

She asked if I grew up religious, by which she meant Orthodox Jewish. Deliberately misunderstanding, I said I did, and then it was my turn to hesitate. Did I want to tell her I converted to Judaism? I would be lying if I said I grew up Jewish. I’m terrible at lying. So I clarified that my upbringing was religious, but not Jewish. “Oh,” she immediately responded, “so you’re not Jewish!” “Of course I’m Jewish,” I said. She said, “You converted. A Reform conversion?” “Yes, and I went to the mikvah. They don’t let you be a rabbi if you aren’t Jewish!” She shrugged, “Well, Reform, you never know.” She asked if I had ever considered Orthodoxy. I said I had, but it wasn’t for me. She nodded. “Reform is easier, right?”

So there it was. She wasn’t trying to be mean or belittling, but to her, Reform Judaism isn’t the real Judaism. There’s one kind of Judaism that’s authentic, as far as she’s concerned, and it’s hers. That’s part of her belief system. Last week Rabbi Shmuel Goldin wrote an op-ed in New Jersey: The Jewish Standard addressing this issue. He makes the distinction between believing all Jewish practice is right vs. believing all Jews having a right to choose their practice, though he might vehemently disagree. Rabbi Goldin also said that just as he believes his Reform rabbi friend’s practice is wrong, he is sure that his friend believes his practice is wrong. This, he says, is a way to be pluralist, and I agree with him. I do think pluralism is harder for someone who necessarily believes that if he is right, everyone else is wrong, and I respect him for finding a way to get there.

I don’t tend to use the words “right” and “wrong” when it comes to this topic. I prefer the word “authentic.” And I don’t think Orthodox practice is wrong—I believe it’s authentic Judaism, and I believe that my Reform Jewish practice is authentic. I don’t believe that if I am right, you must be wrong, and recommend Rabbi Brad Hirshfield‘s book You Don’t Have to be Wrong for Me to be Right.

It stuck with me that my neighbor’s assumption was that I’m Reform because it’s easier. It certainly is in some ways, but that’s not why I’m Reform. I like the autonomy of Reform Judaism, but as a Reform Jew I have the responsibility of learning about the ritual and ceremonial halacha that I don’t consider binding, and taking on commandments that will bring more holiness to my life. (Ethical commandments are still binding on Reform Jews, which many people don’t know.) I actually think that’s as difficult as following the commandments in an Orthodox mold, but in a different way.

In the course of the conversation with my neighbor, I mentioned events coming up in the next couple of weeks that I needed to prepare for: two b’nei mitzvah, two weddings, sermons, hospital visits. “Wow,” she said, “you really do everything, don’t you?” “Yes,” I said. “It must be a hard job,” she said. “It is,” I said, “and very rewarding.” It seemed to me that, while she was friendly the whole time, her respect for me increased over the course of the conversation.

I’m glad to have met her and talked to her. She’s a mensch, a good person, whose life is very different from mine. I don’t expect we will really be friends, but I hope we’ll have the opportunity to increase understanding between us.

Why I’m Leaving My Church

06/03/2016 03:43 pm ET | Updated 1 day ago

• Harry Lewis Student activist, sexual assault survivor, #BlackLivesMatter Supporter, and lover of all things Beyoncé

At twenty, I’m starting to find myself defining my identity in terms of “used to” phrases. I used to stress myself sick about my grades. I used to play Little League Baseball. I used to think that I’d never be able to drive.

I also used to be Methodist.

That change was made a few days ago, but it’s been a long time coming, if I’m being truly honest. My relationship with God has frayed, fractured, and finally outright disappeared. I feel betrayed, and abandoned. The church that was supposed to love, nurture, and support me - the one I was baptized into, the one I pledged myself to at fourteen when I was confirmed - has turned its back on me.

Being confirmed was not the only thing I did at fourteen. I also came out as a gay man. I was terrified that everyone around me would reject and despise me. The rhetoric that I heard and the images I saw were of faith communities shouting down their LGBT members, driving them out of their sanctuaries, and rejecting them. I had hoped, perhaps naïvely, that my church would be different. I wanted them to embrace me, unapologetically, and welcome me back into the fold.

I grew up at the First United Methodist Church in Moorestown, New Jersey. A relatively progressive body, the church just celebrated its 200th anniversary. I sang in the church choir from kindergarten through my senior year. I even had a few starring roles in church productions, playing Jonah, Noah, and even Jesus for the annual Mother’s Day musicals. My paternal grandfather was a long-time member, and had donated the giant cross on the outside wall in memory of his late wife. I remember that, for a while, it felt as if every time I asked about it, I discovered something new that he had given to the church. It was such a big part of his life, second perhaps only to us, his family.

Like most teenagers, I went through a phase of casual agnosticism. I wanted to sleep in late on Sunday mornings or catch up on homework. Church was no longer a priority, and apart from keeping my commitment to sing in the choir I stopped going. With the advent of high school and later college, those visits decreased further. When my grandfather died my freshman year of college, I felt like going to church was just too painful. Seeing the pew where he had sat every Sunday occupied by someone else felt wrong.

But more than that, I had a sneaking suspicion that I just wasn’t welcome. I couldn’t prove it. Nothing had ever happened that made me believe that I was no longer a valued member of the congregation. I just felt as if in order to go to church, I had to step back into the closet to avoid any potential issues. I dressed in a masculine fashion, and tried to deepen my speaking and singing voice. I wanted to be the last person into services and the first one out. I worried that if I said the wrong thing, or used the wrong tone of voice, I would be “found out” and cast from the sanctuary. I always felt like my behavior and mannerisms were being monitored.

Like many separations, mine from the church was slow and lengthy. That drifting process I described before was one that took months - indeed, years - to occur fully. But I decided to cauterize the wound about a month ago following the United Methodist General Conference in Oregon, where clergy and representatives refused to vote on whether to accept LGBT congregants and extend them the full rights of church membership. Even though I wasn’t sure whether I ever wanted to get married, much less in a religious setting, it stung to have that option removed for me. And while the general Methodist body and my individual church are two different institutions, the general silence coming from our church was deafening. They know that I’m gay - virtually everyone does. I’m not the only one, I’m sure. But instead of joining me in solidarity and standing up for the rights of LGBT Methodists to be treated fairly, they looked the other way. And it hurt.

I know I wrote earlier that I feel abandoned by my faith. Yet I also feel strong and open-minded. I feel like I have a direction for my life. I feel like I have a plan. I have a good relationship with a higher power, one I feel no need to label or anthropomorphize. I am who I am, I believe what I believe, and I have yet to be smote from the earth; as far as I’m concerned, that higher power values me and that’s the most important thing.

I still have many friends, relatives, and neighbors who attend my church. I know many members who are leaving. I know others who are staying. I know some who, as I have perceived my church’s leaders to have done, turned away and ignored the issue. I don’t pass judgment on any of the congregants for their choices. But I do pass judgment on my church’s leaders for not doing their job. As I learned in Sunday School growing up, Jesus taught us to love one another regardless of whether or not you personally agree with them. Jesus sat with prostitutes and lepers - he loved the least of us. It is hurtful to hear lectures from pulpits all around the country teaching of Jesus’ unconditional love but refusing to enact it when it comes to LGBT Americans. The personal is political, and the political is personal. The decisions made at general conferences and on Capitol Hill affect congregants, and clergy need to realize that.

I have hope that my church will do the right thing, even if that means standing up to the governing body. And when they do, I will come back. But until then, I will take the lessons they taught me so many years ago and do what I can to teach them back. We don’t need healing or reconciliation. We need action. We need love.

Follow Harry Lewis on Twitter: www.twitter.com/halewis_

Choose Justice

Choose Justice

June 12, 2016
Written by Kathryn Matthews

Sunday, June 12
Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

Focus Theme
Choose Justice

Weekly Prayer
God of compassion, you suffer in the grief of your people, and you are present to heal and forgive. May the sun of your justice rise on every night of oppression and may the warm rays of your healing love renew each troubled mind; for you are the God of salvation and new life, made known to us in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Focus Reading
1 Kings 21:1-10,(11-14),15-21a

Later the following events took place: Naboth the Jezreelite had a vineyard in Jezreel, beside the palace of King Ahab of Samaria. And Ahab said to Naboth, "Give me your vineyard, so that I may have it for a vegetable garden, because it is near my house; I will give you a better vineyard for it; or, if it seems good to you, I will give you its value in money." But Naboth said to Ahab, "The Lord forbid that I should give you my ancestral inheritance." Ahab went home resentful and sullen because of what Naboth the Jezreelite had said to him; for he had said, "I will not give you my ancestral inheritance." He lay down on his bed, turned away his face, and would not eat.

His wife Jezebel came to him and said, "Why are you so depressed that you will not eat?" He said to her, "Because I spoke to Naboth the Jezreelite and said to him, 'Give me your vineyard for money; or else, if you prefer, I will give you another vineyard for it'; but he answered, 'I will not give you my vineyard.'" His wife Jezebel said to him, "Do you now govern Israel? Get up, eat some food, and be cheerful; I will give you the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite."

So she wrote letters in Ahabís name and sealed them with his seal; she sent the letters to the elders and the nobles who lived with Naboth in his city. She wrote in the letters, "Proclaim a fast, and seat Naboth at the head of the assembly; seat two scoundrels opposite him, and have them bring a charge against him, saying, 'You have cursed God and the king.' Then take him out, and stone him to death." The men of his city, the elders and the nobles who lived in his city, did as Jezebel had sent word to them. Just as it was written in the letters that she had sent to them, they proclaimed a fast and seated Naboth at the head of the assembly. The two scoundrels came in and sat opposite him; and the scoundrels brought a charge against Naboth, in the presence of the people, saying, "Naboth cursed God and the king." So they took him outside the city, and stoned him to death. Then they sent to Jezebel, saying, "Naboth has been stoned; he is dead."

As soon as Jezebel heard that Naboth had been stoned and was dead, Jezebel said to Ahab, "Go, take possession of the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite, which he refused to give you for money; for Naboth is not alive, but dead." As soon as Ahab heard that Naboth was dead, Ahab set out to go down to the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite, to take possession of it.

Then the word of the Lord came to Elijah the Tishbite, saying: Go down to meet King Ahab of Israel, who rules in Samaria; he is now in the vineyard of Naboth, where he has gone to take possession. You shall say to him, "Thus says the Lord: Have you killed, and also taken possession?" You shall say to him, "Thus says the Lord: In the place where dogs licked up the blood of Naboth, dogs will also lick up your blood."

Ahab said to Elijah, "Have you found me, O my enemy?" He answered, "I have found you. Because you have sold yourself to do what is evil in the sight of the Lord, I will bring disaster on you; I will consume you...."

All Readings For This Sunday
1 Kings 21:1-10, (11-14), 15-21a with Psalm 5:1-8 or
2 Samuel 11:26-12:10,13-15 with Psalm 32 and
Galatians 2:15-21
Luke 7:36-8:3

Focus Questions

1. What questions do you think a prophet should address today?

2. How does the claim that God is "on the side" of the poor strike you?

3. Why do you think Ahab took to his bed instead of ordering Naboth to hand over his property?

4. How do you respond to Walter Brueggemann's description of an inheritance?

5. What does this little story have to do with the world as it is today?

Reflection by Kate Matthews

It's true that the Bible teaches us in many different ways, sometimes using sermons and laws or even what might seem at times like lectures (for example, the Apostle Paul sounding as if he's standing behind a lectern), but perhaps the best way it teaches us is through story-telling. This week's focus text is one more story about a prophet raised up in Israel by God to speak truth to power whenever necessary.

We know that King Ahab and Queen Jezebel seemed to raise that necessity more often than the usual king and queen, in fact, Karl Allen Kuhn calls them "the most degenerative royal couple," and refers to "Ahab's impotence and self-consumed narcissism and Jezebel's vicious guile." Today, Jezebel would probably be called a sociopath, and at best, Ahab would be seen as her enabler. Together, they represent unbridled Power, and Elijah the prophet is the one who speaks honest and painful Truth to that Power.

We've heard about this Elijah before, in last week's story about the widow of Zarephath, a little story about a person who was small in the larger scheme of things, but remembered centuries later by Jesus, when he wanted to teach a lesson about the expansive, inclusive love of God, even if the people he was talking to didn't want to hear about it. And speaking of unpopular truths, we should recall that last week's story happened when Elijah had to flee the court of Ahab and Jezebel after sharing some unwelcome words from God with the king and his false-god-worshipping wife.

Two sides of the same coin

One might divide the Ten Commandments into two parts, summarized so beautifully by the two Great Commandments, first, about loving God, and second, about loving our neighbor. In the same way, these two stories about Elijah illustrate the two strands of our spiritual/ethical DNA, so to speak: love of God means not worshipping false gods (idolatry ñ and we still do this today, in our own way), and love of neighbor of course requires the practice of justice as well as compassion.

In every age, humans have a hard time getting these two things right, and the story of Naboth's vineyard is an ancient but enduring illustration of a powerful person's tragic failure to use that power for good rather than for his own selfish ends. Ahab has a coach in this: his wife, Jezebel, who not only doesn't know about the Law engraved on the hearts of Ahab's people but also doesn't care about it, except, as Walter Brueggemann observes, to use it as a tool to accomplish her own purposes.

How could God remain neutral?

In his failure, Ahab offends both God and God's people, and in that sense he breaks both commandments, because this is not simply a story of Naboth's private, personal property rights being violated, as they might be in any secular society. Here we read a story about God and God's attentive care for those underneath the high and mighty, those who are nevertheless very much on the mind of God. That's where those laws come from: the mind--and heart--of God, so Ahab and Jezebel offend God when they treat Naboth unjustly. Terence Fretheim sees in this story an illustration of the way injustice has "deep roots" in idolatry.

Whenever we struggle with the claim of liberation theology that God is on the side of the poor, we might re-read this story (like the story of King David and Uriah the Hittite in 2 Samuel 11) and ask how God could stand by and remain neutral while such injustice unfolds. The prophets certainly would say otherwise. (Brueggemann provides rich reflection on Elijah's ministry as a prophet of "otherwise" in his book, Testimony to Otherwise: The Witness of Elijah and Elisha.)

An old, familiar story

The story is short and simple, and painfully familiar: those with power and wealth ñ in this case, King Ahab of Israel and his Sidonian wife, Jezebel ñ want what they have no right to demand, even as king and queen, because there is, of course, a Ruler greater than any king or queen on earth. Here's how it unfolds: Ahab lives in Samaria, his capital city, and visits his winter palace in Jezreel, where he sees the vineyard of his next-door neighbor, Naboth, and lusts after it. He would love to turn it into a vegetable garden. At first, his offer to buy the vineyard seems perfectly reasonable and fair, rather ordinary to those of us who live in a capitalist society. "Name your price," Ahab says to Naboth, because he really, really wants that vineyard.

Unfortunately for the king, Naboth lives not by the rule of the highest price but by the law of the Most High God, and refuses to sell his land to Ahab. Tremper Longman III recalls that the law in Leviticus 25:23 ("The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine; with me you are but aliens and tenants") would forbid such a sale, because God is the real owner of the land, and the people who received it long before, after their liberation from slavery and their journey to the Promised Land, hold it in trust, acting as stewards of God's gifts not just to them but to their descendants after them. Naboth simply could not sell his vineyard to the king and still remain faithful to God. He remembers what Ahab is trying to forget.

The memory of Egypt

The mention of liberation from slavery recalls the story of the people of Israel in Egypt, and those who first heard this story might have detected something between the lines here. As Longman says, Ahab's dream of a vegetable garden recalls the image of Egypt as a vegetable garden in Deuteronomy 11:10 and suggests that the king intends to turn God's own land--of all places--into another Egypt, another place of slavery. So those early listeners might well have experienced a degree of horror at the image of "a vegetable garden" that we would never be sensitive to in our own time and place.

Ahab's tantrum and Jezebel's ruthlessness

The character of Ahab reminds us of every childish, temperamental tantrum thrown by an adult, especially a privileged one, who doesn't get his own way. We might say that he acts like a big baby, over a vineyard of all things, and there he is, a king in a palace! However, commentators observe that it's the little things that can get to you; as Walter Brueggemann writes, this story is about "a modest real estate deal. It is amazing how great enterprises of state often turn on small, inconspicuous transactions that of themselves amount to nothing, as in the cases of Watergate, Whitewater, and Enron."

The experience of having one of his subjects stand firm against his unlawful demand literally drives Ahab to his bed, where he cries and cries and feels sorry for himself. Poor old Ahab. Carolyn Sharp remarks on the "toxic" nature of the greed that actually sickens him, and she finds it ironic that power and greed often make us weak; in this she likens Ahab to King Midas, who was destroyed by his insatiable desire for more and more wealth.

Old covenants and human greed

It feels like we know how the story is going to go, from the very moment Ahab spots the lovely vineyard and starts his wheeling and dealing. But Naboth is in a long line of ancient and faithful people who understand the meaning of covenant, even if Ahab tries to forget such things, and Jezebel seems entirely ignorant of them.

In the standoff between Naboth and the king, Rebecca J. Kruger Gaudino writes, we see "old covenantal ways colliding with human power and initiative unfounded in covenantal concerns about justice, compassion, and shalom. The judicial, political, and religious systems fail to protect an innocent man." In fact, those systems are exactly what the scheming queen employs to get what her husband wants--and we have to wonder what is in it for her, since she shows no interest in the vineyard itself but focuses much more attention on reinforcing her husband's (and her own) power and place.

Twisting the law to her own purposes

First, Jezebel taunts Ahab to find his backbone and remember who he is--or at least who she thinks he should be, or who her culture says a king should be. Then she goes into action, using the Law itself--God's Law--to commit murder; the bonus for Ahab is that everything appears aboveboard, and he doesn't have to do a thing himself. Once Naboth is safely dead, Jezebel sends Ahab off to enjoy his new acquisition, and there is not even one word of questioning or concern from the king about how she has accomplished what she had challenged him to do.

It's at this point that things really unravel for the king. Rather than being the end of the story, the action actually heats up when the prophet Elijah confronts the king. According to Brueggemann, we're warned not to "leave in the seventh inning!" Elijah calls the king out on what he has done, and Brueggemann notes that the prophet "does not exhibit much of what we might call 'pastoral presence' here." Elijah also warns Ahab of the consequences of his actions, and here our text for the day ends, although there is much more to the story, of course, including a measure of repentance--born of fear, it seems--from Ahab, and many more chapters before the queen herself is punished for her misdeeds (2 Kings 9:36), just as Elijah promised.

A story for us today

This text certainly provides a challenge for us in a culture that seems to replicate many of the things that were going on in the court of Ahab and Jezebel. Today the powerful and rich can still take away from the poor the little that they have, and this happens here in our nation, and on a larger scale, between the rich and poor nations of the world.

And we often try to forget what we may be dimly aware of, just as Ahab tried to forget what he knew quite well: a nagging sense that if we stand by and let others do things that benefit us, we are participating in the wrongdoing all the same. We may wish it weren't true, but the story of Ahab reinforces that liberation theology teaching about God's preferential option for the poor. We may not have the power of kings and queens, but we do have some power, and with it comes the responsibility to use it for good and not for our own selfish ends, individually or collectively.

The consequences of our actions matter to God

This seems to be what the story of Ahab and Jezebel and Naboth and Elijah is teaching us ñ that our actions have consequences, and that all of this matters to God. Brueggemann has written eloquently on this passage and on the larger question of stories that are told generation after generation not just to warn us but to offer us choices of profound significance in a world seemingly controlled by forces larger than life. Like many writers, he encourages not only "the practice of faith" but "courageous imagination, grounded by trusted texts" like this one.

Brueggemann's astute observation about the "mesmerizing technologies" that seem to dull our consciousness of what is actually happening around us jars us from our preoccupation before one screen or another, from cell phones in our hands to large-screen TVs on our walls and jumbo screens over our heads in sports arenas and restaurants. There are many ways that technology, for all of its good, can distract our attention from what is happening right in front of us and behind the scene as well, just as Ahab managed to ignore what his queen was about.

Stories of hope

In the end, though, these stories are also stories of hope. No matter what is happening around us or within us, deeper still is the reality of God at work in our lives, and the dream of God for the life of the world. Brueggemann emphasizes generosity in the face of the "dominant text of amnesia" that leads us to fear that we never have enough, that it's all up to us, instead of remembering and trusting the unfailing generosity of God that we hear about in these stories and texts, so ancient and yet so new.

A hopeful reading of this text comes from Gl·ucia Vasconcelos Wilkey, who seems to be leaning over the pulpit and looking right at us as she speaks of God's faithful care for Israel, God's vineyard, for "even when such vineyard has been stomped, burned, robbed, and the night of despair seems long and unending, grace conquers evil power, and joy comes in the morning." I suspect Wilkey is really addressing the "little ones" who have felt the heel of Ahab and the ruthlessness of Jezebel, but most of us, at one time or another, know what it is to feel powerless in the face of evil. Still, no matter what is happening around us, and what realities we ourselves may be unwillingly caught up in, Wilkey, like Brueggemann, exhorts us not to forget the long faithfulness and ancient goodness of God. Amen, and Amen.

A preaching version of this commentary (with book titles) is at http://www.ucc.org/worship_samuel.

The Rev. Kathryn Matthews serves as dean of Amistad Chapel at the national offices of the United Church of Christ in Cleveland, Ohio (https://www.facebook.com/AmistadChapel).

You're invited to share your reflections on this text in the comments on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/SermonSeeds.

For further reflection

Walter Brueggemann, 21st century
"The idea of inheritance affirms that there are enduring and resilient networks of meaning and relationship into which one is placed, and these are fundamental to the shape of society."

Mahatma Gandhi, 20th century
"Earth provides enough to satisfy every [one's] need, but not every [one's] greed."

Jennifer Donnelly, Revolution, 21st century
"Most of the mess that is called history comes about because kings and presidents cannot be satisfied with a nice chicken and a good loaf of bread."

Stephen King, 21st century
"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win."

Joni Mitchell, 20th century
"Oh, the jealousy, the greed is the unraveling. It's the unraveling and it undoes all the joy that could be."

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, 20th century
"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world."

Gautama Buddha, 5th century B.C.E.
"There is no fire like passion, there is no shark like hatred, there is no snare like folly, there is no torrent like greed."

An Open Letter to My Transgender Sisters and Brothers

05/20/2016 04:54 pm ET

213

• Deborah Dean-Ware Wife, Mother, pastor of Church of the Good Shepherd in Ann Arbor, MI

I am a Christian cisgender pastor in a heterosexual marriage and I serve a local United Church of Christ congregation in Ann Arbor, MI.

I want to apologize to you. I want to apologize that too many Christians are choosing fear and hate over love and compassion. I want to apologize for the awful and intentional mischaracterizations of you. I want to apologize that this detestable rhetoric is being directed toward our children, and not only that, some of our most vulnerable children.

I want to apologize that all of this is being done in the name of Christ.

Once again, our Bible has been weaponized and has been turned against you. This battering has been and will continue to be relentless. The message of Jesus is being distorted to demean you and your families. The people who preach love are turning their backs on you and they are enshrining hatred into our state governments and school districts. And far, far too often, all of this spills over into violence...too many precious lives have been lost.

My heart breaks for you and your families, and I believe that God’s heart does too.

Jesus spent his life reaching out to those in his world who were deemed unworthy or distasteful. He repeatedly challenged the religious and political “authorities” who worked to enforce the social norms that cast God’s people aside. He broke religious and political law when he reached out and touched a leper, ate with tax collectors and stood in solidarity with the adulterous woman. The Hebrew Bible (Old Testament) is filled with commands to take care of the poor and to provide hospitality to the immigrant. The Bible has much, much more to say about compassion, justice and love than it does about who is worthy and who isn’t. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

God doesn’t want you to suffer. God doesn’t worry about whether your assigned biological sex matches your gender identity. God doesn’t think that you are an abomination or a mistake. God doesn’t want you to conform to binary gender norms if it hurts your heart and your soul to do so.

God wants you to be you without condition. God celebrates you. God wants nothing but for you to be happy and content and safe.

As we say in my congregation (stealing from Mother Teresa), God loves you with a Love that will not let you go.

There are many Christians that stand in solidarity with you. There are thousands and thousands and thousands. I know it often doesn’t feel like it. We don’t shout as loudly and we are not well-funded, but we are here.

We are with you because that is what Jesus would do.

Follow Deborah Dean-Ware on Twitter: www.twitter.com/GoodShepherdUCC

Voice of the Silenced

Voice of the Silenced

June 05, 2016
Written by Kathryn Matthews

Sunday, June 5
Tenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Focus Theme
Voice of the Silenced

Weekly Prayer
Provident God, whose love enfolds the helpless, the needy, and those who mourn, give us strength through Jesus Christ to be instruments of your compassion to those who are desolate or wounded by life. Amen.

Focus Reading
1 Kings 17:8-16 (17-24)

Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, "Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you." So he set out and went to Zarephath. When he came to the gate of the town, a widow was there gathering sticks; he called to her and said, "Bring me a little water in a vessel, so that I may drink." As she was going to bring it, he called to her and said, "Bring me a morsel of bread in your hand." But she said, "As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die." Elijah said to her, "Do not be afraid; go and do as you have said; but first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son. For thus says the Lord the God of Israel: The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth." She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days. The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah.

(After this the son of the woman, the mistress of the house, became ill; his illness was so severe that there was no breath left in him. She then said to Elijah, "What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to me to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!" But he said to her, "Give me your son." He took him from her bosom, carried him up into the upper chamber where he was lodging, and laid him on his own bed. He cried out to the Lord, "O Lord my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I am staying, by killing her son?" Then he stretched himself upon the child three times, and cried out to the Lord, "O Lord my God, let this child's life come into him again." The Lord listened to the voice of Elijah; the life of the child came into him again, and he revived. Elijah took the child, brought him down from the upper chamber into the house, and gave him to his mother; then Elijah said, "See, your son is alive." So the woman said to Elijah, "Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth.")

All Readings For This Sunday
1 Kings 17:8-16 (17-24) with Psalm 146 or
1 Kings 17:17-24 with Psalm 30
Galatians 1:11-24
Luke 7:11-17

Focus Questions

1. When have you ever had to muster courage in order to be compassionate?

2. How are you, and your church, "a force that leads to blessing"?

3. What are the "hostile places" in which you try to do God's work?

4. What "otherwise" do you dare to imagine, and to bring to life, by allowing God to work through you?

5. How is God's work getting done, through you?

Reflection by Kate Matthews

Our story begins with an evil king, Ahab; a false god, Baal; and, clearly, some kind of misunderstanding about just who exactly is in charge of things. Ahab rules over Israel, the northern kingdom (Judah was the southern kingdom), and the text tells us how "special" he is - for doing more evil in the sight of God than any of his predecessors (16:30). His foreign wife, Jezebel, from Sidon, has brought along her people's god, Baal, and just to make matters worse, she persuades Ahab to set up shrines where this Baal can be worshipped. This is a huge mistake on Ahab's part, and he should know better: there is, after all, a commandment about having false gods before the one true God.

Onto the scene strides the great prophet Elijah, who delivers that message in no uncertain terms: he tells Ahab that there will be no rain for a very long time, unless he, Elijah, says so ñ even though Ahab and Jezebel are worshipping the so-called god of rain, storm, and fertility (how ironic is that?). Elijah is declaring the power of the One True God, not Baal, to bring the rains and end the drought, a message that does not go over well with Ahab. So God gets Elijah out of town for a while, looking after him along the way by sending ravens to bring him food, and leading him to a wadi that provides water for him to drink in the midst of the drought and the food shortage that must follow it.

Of all places to send him...

The time comes when even these provisions are not enough, and when the drought worsens, God sends Elijah to - of all places - Sidon, the very place Jezebel came from. Our passage begins here, with God giving Elijah an almost-incomprehensible command, to seek help from a nobody who has nothing: the great prophet has to rely on the kindness and generosity of a stranger, a poor widow, a foreigner who, presumably, is herself a worshipper of Baal.

The Bible is full of such irony, of course, with God at work through the most unexpected people, in the most unexpected places. Zarephath was a town situated in pagan territory, between the Phoenician cities of Tyre and Sidon, on the Mediterranean Sea, and we will hear all these names again in the Gospels, in lessons about the gracious love of God that crosses all human-made boundaries.

What can we learn on our borders and boundaries?

For example, hearing that Elijah went to Sidon reminds us of the story in the seventh chapter of Mark's Gospel when Jesus goes to the same area and meets the Syro-Phoenician woman, another foreigner driven by desperate love for her child who opens up the compassion and vision of Jesus to share the "crumbs" of the children with "dogs," or Gentiles (a stunning and even upsetting idea to some when it was preached in the early church). And when Jesus' hometown audience in Luke 4 found it hard to believe that one of their own could speak "so graciously," he reminded them about the widow of Zarephath, and the amazing way God works in the most unexpected of places, with the most unlikely of people.

Some of the best stories in the Bible, the ones that remind us of other really good stories in the Bible, seem to happen in those out-of-the-way, across-the-border places, with people who are on the margins and yet surprisingly important in the grand scheme of things. Even the second part of this passage from First Kings, about the raising of the widow's son, reminds us of the story in Luke 7 when another widow's son is raised by Jesus. We recall, too, another poor pagan widow, Ruth, in the Old Testament, also a foreigner, whose tender and unconditional care for her forlorn mother-in-law, Naomi, mirrors God's own love and faithfulness, a love made flesh in Jesus.

Good news for "the nobody" with nothing

And so, while we know that Elijah was a particularly great prophet, and lots of wonderful stories are told about him in the Old Testament, his memory plays an important role in the New Testament as well: it seems that his name comes up often when people wrestle with who Jesus is (think, for example, of the crowd's reaction to his last words in Matthew 27:47). Like Jesus, Elijah's good news was particularly good for the poor, not the powerful and arrogant. While his preaching doesn't go over well with Ahab and Jezebel, Elijah does have a good word to bring to the poor but generous widow. He begins with that always-reassuring good news, "Do not be afraid."

Angels and prophets and Jesus himself tell us not to live in fear, no matter how bad things look. The widow, at the end of her rope, suddenly has salvation arriving at her door. Where there was scarcity, there is now sufficiency. Terence Fretheim observes that God is at work supplying what the widow needs just as God had provided what Elijah needed out there in the wilderness, when he fled the courts of the powerful, and the birds of the air brought him food. Fretheim draws our attention to the little ways and the "little ones" by which God sustains life, "through the birds of the air, small gestures, meager resources, feeble words, human obedience, and the witness of a poor woman."

Later, when the widow's son lies dead, Elijah is summoned once again to be the means by which God brings new life. Indeed, where there appears to be death, there is, amazingly, life! Small, powerless, and yet full of insight, the woman recognizes that this is not magic or the work of humans, but the hand of the true God at work in her life, and she makes the leap of faith to trust the word of this God.

Or was it perhaps a leap of hope?

That is a subtle but important point of this story. Tremper Longman III makes an interesting claim when he says that feeding the prophet first gives the widow an opportunity to show her faith in God, but I find it challenging to imagine that this poor, desperate woman has "faith" in any "God" (hers or Elijah's) at this point: we note that she is preparing herself, and her son, to die. I have a feeling that there are other things than faith at work in her at this moment, things we don't focus on as quickly or as easily in Christian writing, and I think hope is one of those things. A reading like this one, in the midst of drought and famine, thirst and hunger, poverty and despair, provokes reflection on the phrase, "desperate hope," for desperation, or despair, paradoxically, suggests hope-less-ness. However, at the worst possible moments, hope can still persist deep within our hearts, no matter what God or god we have been raised to worship and taught to place our faith in.

Perhaps the word "desolation" fits the widow's situation even better, because it means "emptiness," and when there's nothing left, and you're totally empty, there is room for all sorts of grace to move in and grow. Could it be that surrounding ourselves with so many things, so many activities, so much noise, so many worries, makes it hard for us to open up our selves, our hearts, to God's love and grace to fill in the empty places underneath it all? I just wonder about that. It's not that we're not hungry, deep down in our spirits, maybe even starving, but if we fill ourselves with enough spiritual junk food, we may not even be around when the prophet bearing good news--and hope--arrives. (Here's a thoughtful, 3-minute video on the way our senses and minds have become dulled, and how we need to nurture our capacity for awe: https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=8QyVZrV3d3o.)

Room in the heart for hope

The widow of Zarephath, however, is fully present when the prophet arrives, and she is empty, so she has room in her heart for hope. Perhaps out of habit or societal pressure (it was, after all, a core practice in cultures at that time), she acts out the rituals of hospitality and generosity, sharing the little that she has with a stranger, making room in the last moments of her life for another, but pondering her words as she gathers a meager meal for him.

In doing so, the woman enacts what Walter Brueggemann, in his book on the prophets Elijah and Elisha, calls "otherwise." Brueggemann observes that the story of these two prophets breaks into a long historical account of the kings leading up to Ahab, a rather grim narrative of successions and wars, infidelities and punishments, on its way to the disgrace that was Ahab and Jezebel. He contrasts this unfortunate record with these stories about prophets, stories that dare us today to imagine a very different kind of world, a world not based on power and might and greed.

Important things we don't hear about

Years ago, as a history major, I had to learn what the "important" people did and when they did it, as if this were the only thing that mattered, and as if this "history" were also something objective, something established in fact. I suppose such information is helpful in understanding the context, the setting, in which the really important things happened, even if those really important things were going on in remote villages and at the bottom of society, in encounters like those between hungry prophets and desperate widows, the kind of thing you don't read about in history books.

For example, I confess that I was rather bored in American history class by the dry accounts of the 19th-century formation of labor unions by men with a measure of voice and power, instead of hearing the stories of the voiceless young women who lost their lives in the Triangle Fire in New York City in 1911. Because of that tragedy, many significant changes happened, but I never heard that story in school. Years later, I'm still trying to fill in the holes in my incomplete education, to learn where the really important and powerful things often happen, on the margins and in the most unexpected places.

A stubborn resolve to see and do "otherwise"

That might be what Brueggemann is saying about this story--and really, how much more important could an event be than bringing an only child, the only hope of his mother, back to life? Something important does happen when Elijah prays for the widow's dead son to be restored to life (an incredible thing to pray for, really), and Brueggemann calls this something new in the life of someone who is "not privy to much newness." That's what "otherwise" is about: the new, unimaginable, and very different way for things to turn out, instead of the worn-out, despair-producing, cynicism-provoking ways of thinking and acting that we believe to be the way the world has to work.

It's no wonder, then, that Jesus stirred the memory of Elijah in his followers. But Brueggemann urges us not only to remember those great figures in history, like Martin Luther King, Jr., who have done the same, but to see our own lives differently as well, to venture out into the "sacramental" practice of imagining a different world: a practice that is biblical as well. Or, as Henri Nouwen put it, "the ChristianÖkeeps saying that a new way of being human and a new peace are possible."

Between hope and hopelessness

We might also note the many contrasts in this story, between power and powerlessness, hope and hopelessness, the "important" places in the center of things and the really important things and events that happen out on the margins. Doesn't the Bible tell us one story after another about such truly powerful events and people, out on those margins? As Rebecca Kruger Gaudino says, "This narrative asserts that God has locked down power in the usual places--palaces, marketplaces, capital cities--and identifies God's power in out-of the-way places."

And that might lead us to contrast Ahab and Elijah, or, as James Newsome suggests, the widow and Queen Jezebel: "Both women are Sidonians, presumably both are worshipers of Baal. The vast difference between them thus lies not in their nationality/ethnicity, or even in the nature of their religious beliefs, but in their levels of compassion." And this compassion, exercised in "the kindness of a stranger," teaches us about "the universal love of God, a love that reaches beyond the narrow confines of Israel or Judah." What is the "level" of your church's compassion?

Courage and blessing

Today, in many situations, it requires a measure of courage to act out of compassion, especially for the stranger, the person on the margins, and the powerless who have little voice in the way things are. In the face of that reality, Karl Allen Kuhn perceives a choice and a challenge in this book of the Bible, summed up in the big picture, as he contrasts "the forces that lead to blessing and the forces that lead to destruction" in this story.

There are all sorts of wonderful things swirling around in this story: the power of God, the rains of mercy on parched earth and dried-up lives, the small ones lifted up, the generosity that transforms the direst of situations, the blessings of God multiplying in unexpected and unimagined ways. When we look around at our lives and the life of the world, what abundance do we see about to break forth because of unexpected generosity and surprising, courageous compassion? Whose voice, perhaps long silenced, needs to be heard in your community, and your life?

A preaching version of this commentary (with book titles) is at http://www.ucc.org/worship_samuel.

The Rev. Kathryn Matthews serves as dean of Amistad Chapel at the national offices of the United Church of Christ in Cleveland, Ohio (https://www.facebook.com/AmistadChapel).

You're invited to share your reflections on this text in the comments on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/SermonSeeds.

For further reflection

Vincent van Gogh, 19th century
"What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?"

Latin proverb
"Dum spiro, spero (While I breath, I hope)."

Dalai Lama, 21st century
"If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion."

Frederick Buechner, 21st century
"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid."

Paulo Coelho, 21st century
"The two hardest tests on the spiritual road are the patience to wait for the right moment and the courage not to be disappointed with what we encounter."

Victor Hugo, 19th century
"Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake."