measurable objectives

I should confess that my blog entry today is at least in part my rebellion against "strategic plans;" my colleagues here in the church office will not be shocked that I'd rebel against them. It's just that, so often, the most important stuff in life and in ministry is not measurable.

The temptation to measure is often irresistible. I give in: you may have noticed that I even put a counter on this blog to track how many folks visit it. And, when it gives us a way to hold accountable to the things we value most, measuring can be a really good thing. Sometimes, even while I'm a long way from my goal, looking at how far I've come provides critical encouragement.
The trouble comes when I get too good at measuring myself up against others. I'm tempted to excuse myself for my own short-comings--after all, at least I'm not as bad as SOME people are.

One of the biggest problems with measurable objectives is that, often, the most important stuff can't be measured at all. I think that's what Paul was talking about when he wrote his letter to the church in Rome. In this week's scripture passage, he keeps telling people how it's not how well people do the things we can measure or chart or police that saves us--we are saved by our faith in Jesus Christ, whose grace changes everything.

I get pretty depressed when I think of all the ways we, as a church, give messages (both explicit and implied) that good church people need to measure up to some standards. That they need to be certain ways or do particular things or avoid whatever behavior we name as the biggest sin. Our measuring tools never do an adequate job of making space for God's incredible, abounding, mysterious and scandalous grace.

We are all sinners, Paul says. The point isn't to measure up against each other. The hope is to be changed by a grace that defies the limitations of our little minds. And, then, be "church" together--a community that is the body of Christ in the midst of a world in need.

worries, troubles and thoughts

This week, our scripture comes from Matthew, and it's a piece of what we've come to call Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. It has two pieces: a warning that we can't serve both God and money, and that we shouldn't worry about trivial things.

My question for today is: are there things we are SUPPOSED to worry about?

Presumably, it's so. After the bit about worries, Jesus talks about "striving" for things. And the kingdom is what we ought to strive for.

I also think it's instructive that Jesus asks us to take a lesson from the lilies. Not from great heroes or monumental things, but lilies. When I'm looking for role models of how to live in the world, I don't tend to look at flowers. But there they are, in the middle of Jesus' sermon. And they're beautiful.

May we be so, too.

This week, we get to celebrate infant baptism, too, which is a joy. We welcome new people into the family of the church. Perhaps they, like the lilies, will help us gain perspective on what mosts deserves our strivings and efforts.

See you Sunday...

p.s. I found fun cartoon commentary on the gospel here.

it's complicated...

I apologize for my lack of recent posts. It's been a heck of a month--intense experiences at our General Conference gathering, a week of relaxation and reconnection back home in Nebraska and more. All that's from my perspective, though: in the meantime, you've been busy, too. Celebrating Pentecost, Confirmation, Mother's Day and the like. And, of course, dealing with the stuff of life: new births, illnesses, worries, hopes.

It's all quite complicated, the ways our lives get woven together with the movement and celebrations of the church year.

Which, I think, is partly what makes me so glad to be back with you all for Trinity Sunday this week. It reminds me about how complex and wondrously mysterious God is.

I confess that I tend to pray and talk more about God by picking one aspect of God's three-fold nature that I find most useful at any given moment. God our Creator when I need reminder of just how amazingly big God is and how infinitely powerful to give us new possibilities in every moment. Jesus Christ, who redeems us all, when I seek reminders of God's solidarity with us, even in all our weaknesses, pain and failures. Or when I need to remember what God's love can look like in human form, how it compells me to live like Jesus did. (Or try to, anyhow.) And then, sometimes I just treasure reminders of God as Holy Spirit--blowing new perspectives, breathing new life, emboldening with new fire. Uniting me together with all creation, calling me to a new identity.

Good stuff.

The trick is to hold all this together: all these ways of knowing and naming God are held in a unity that defies real comprehension. At best, we just get to know God in the unending dance between these ways of naming and knowing.

And, really, the point is not to figure God out. It's to find a new way of living, in partnership with God. In on the dance, ourselves.

Which is why I think it's also pretty cool that this Sunday is designated "Peace with Justice Sunday" in United Methodism. A reminder that we're called to live differently in a complicated world, as a response to our being loved by a complex God.

So, will you come give it a try with us?

See you Sunday!

looking up

This week's passage from Acts is a challenge to fit into my way of seeing the world; it tells of Jesus' ascension after his post-resurrection days on earth. Having continued to show people the life-changing power of the Holy Spirit and of Resurrection, he leaves our reality to be with God. Acts describes this as happening by his ascending into heaven.

Now, my picture of the universe complicates this. I have trouble imagining Jesus ascending to God when I know that ascending from earth would mean being transported through light-years worth of ever-expanding space.

Although...as I imagine it, it's kind of exciting to imagine the implications this reminder of how vast our world is, and, then, how much more incredibly big God and God's love must be!

I have a favorite image of the relative size of space, from a film the Ray and Charles Eames made for IBM in the 1950's. Hopefully, you can see it by following this link or below.

God, who is God of the whole universe, is larger than I can wrap my mind around. And, yet, invites us to live in unity--with God and with one another. This is incredible.

John's gospel contains this prayer from Jesus, offered as he drew near to his own earthly death: that we would be one. As members together in the body of Christ, on a little round planet, swirling a smallish star in an arm of a spiraled galaxy in a cosmos beyond our measure.

May it be so.

Eastertide

Hey, friends,

I just wanted to give you a little update on what's happening in the next few weeks.

I ask for your prayers: I'm gonna be away for 2 weeks, first visiting my husband before he deploys to Iraq, then at our United Methodist General Conference in Fort Worth. I'm really thrilled that Rev. Karen and then Rev. Elbert are going to be with you, preaching and leading worship. Some of y'all are helping lead, too. (Thanks!)

It's pretty exciting to get to participate in our General Conference, in worship, prayer, conversation and decision-making that will help shape our United Methodist Church at its worldwide level. I hope you will join in praying for the Holy Spirit's guidance as we gather together. Karen will be there for part of the time, too, as part of a seminary class. They'll observe, join in worship, and work at monitoring our discussions to see how well we do at including people of diverse ethnic and racial backgrounds and of both genders. It's pretty intense to imagine how nearly 1,000 people from all over the world could interact in a constructive way to make decisions for the church.

I think it's pretty cool that it's happening against the backdrop of our scripture passages for these next few weeks!

We're continuing to read in Acts, which contains the story of the early church as it began to figure out what it might look like to live as the church--as the body of Christ in the world. Read this week's story to hear one piece of those intense early days.

We're also reading in John's gospel, pieces of the final teaching Jesus offered to his disciples before his death. They are words of comfort, of instruction and of challenge.

I hope you'll come join in worship at Water's Edge, as we imagine what these scriptures have to say to us today, and as we taste again reminders of God's love and salvation for every one of us.

abundant life

I didn't get around to posting last week--I apologize.  Things just got away from me.  

But, I'm gonna try to make it up to you by blogging AFTER I preach.  I figure: what the heck.  Maybe you're still thinking about these things.

I got caught this last week on the images from John's gospel, John 10:1-10.  Our passage ends with a line I treasure deeply: I come that you might have life, and have it abundantly.  This idea resonates so well with my experience of God's life--it is life-giving abundance, not just for me but for the world.

I struggle, though, with fitting this generous spirit together with Jesus' earlier descriptions of himself in the passage: he is the gatekeeper, and no one gets in but through him.  My experience has not been that God calls us to be a select few, secluded away.  Plus, I'm troubled by descriptions of salvation that flatten it into simply what happens in the afterlife--salvation is all the stuff of the abundant life that we get to experience now and forever.  So what's Jesus saying?

My contention (and you are welcome to help me out here) is that Jesus meant that he's the gatekeeper in the sense that, if we're going to be a part of his salvation, we're really going to have to be like him.  That Jesus being the gate--Jesus who is our Christ who makes us all a part of his body--means that we have to do the things he did in order to be a part of this new reality.  Which is both seclusion (on occasion) and a sending into the world (Jesus says he'll be with us for going out as for entering in).

So, then, Jesus is inviting us to an abundance that comes when we live like him--when we become little Christs in the world.  (Which, as I understand it, is just what "Christian" means.)

I shared a poem, too, and thought I'd give you a link in case you want to read it more carefully...  It's by Wendell Berry, and you can find it at the bottom of this speech.

broken things

I had a lot of fun making this mosaic with you on Easter Sunday--it felt good to break the old plates, breaking open and apart our old ways of seeing the world.  Then, to begin to put together this image of the cross...well, that was pretty cool.

I wondered how it would all come together--if the design would be clear.  And, really feel good about it: I especially like how the cross is all broken apart.  As if the power of the cross--an instrument of torture and death--is shattered in resurrection.  A bit like swords becoming plowshares.

This week, we get another story about breaking. This time, Jesus appears to two disciples in his resurrection. They don't get that it's him, though--at least, not until he breaks bread with them. In that moment--in the breaking of bread, they know it's him. And as soon as he's recognized, he vanishes.

I wonder how we know Jesus' presence in our own community. And, even more, how we share it. Are we revealing ourselves as Christ's body in ways that make it as unavoidably clear as it was in that moment for the disciples? And, what would it take for us to do so?

It wasn't eloquence or carefully reasoned explanations that gave away Jesus identity--those disciples didn't see it was him through all of that.  But in breaking bread, it was clear.

There's something really powerful about sharing food together, and about holy communion.

I hope you might think about who you could invite to share in this sacrament that is a taste of God's living presence in our worship.  And that, together, we might dream about what it would look like to break bread with others, out in the world.

See you Sunday...

free spirit

Easter is now past, and we have to figure out what it means for us. (See, on Easter, there's plenty to do: stories to tell, eggs to search for, lilies to smell, feasting, singing, joy. It's the days after Easter that it begins to sink in. Resurrection.)

One of my all-time favorite poems ends with an invitation to "practice resurrection," which I think it s a delightful reminder that this Easter transformation is powerful not because it happened once, 2000 years ago, but because it's happening all around us. Jesus, in rising from the dead, connects us to the reality that we cannot be bound by what seem to be the obvious boundaries of this life. Instead, we're invited to share in his kingdom--a wild, wonderful reality that means joy and peace and wholeness for everyone. And all creation.

The kingdom looks crazy. Which is way, I think, our scripture for this week from the book of Acts begins by defending the actions of those early followers of Christ. They're not drunk, Peter says. They're just filled with the spirit.

God's Spirit is so wild and life-giving--and I really treasure the story in John's Gospel that we'll read this week, too. Jesus appears to the disciples, in the midst of their fears. (They locked themselves in a room because they were afraid of what might happen to them.) Their locks are no barrier for Jesus. He comes on into their room, and breathes onto them. This is important: ghosts don't breathe. Only real people with lungs can breathe. And his breath--his spirit--is a sign and offering of peace.

I'm looking forward to what the Spirit might do in our Water's Edge community this year, and am hopeful that you'll be a part of it. I hope to see you Sunday!

(Our mosiac is looking good, too--come see how our broken pieces fit together into something beautiful!)

resurrection

It's a rich week in the life of the church. We remember and mark Jesus' death, and, on Sunday, celebrate his resurrection.

I hope you'll come worship with our congregation. There are lots of times to gather in worship this week. I'm especially excited about the Easter Eve Prayer Pilgrimage on Saturday, starting between 7:30 and 9 p.m.

The story of the first Easter tells of startled friends. They came to Jesus' tomb, expecting him dead, but were met with something entirely outside their frame of reference: a risen savior. Jesus' resurrection is something entirely different--it's not just like when Lazarus was raised from the dead. Jesus was resurrected to a new kind of life, which never dies.

I think it's so wild that Mary mistook Jesus for a gardener. There were glowing angels, too, but something about Jesus' appearance remained sufficiently humble that he could look like the gardener. What grace--transendence and humility. God, doing more that we ever could have expected or understood, and yet seeming so much like us.

Perhaps this Easter season calls us to contemplate the ways were are able to share in God's resurrection--ways that we might over look or mistake for something as ordinary as a gardener. And yet, we find in our very midst a sign of God's love which overcomes all boundaries and fears.

Come celebrate that with us this Sunday! Bring friends, or even enemies.

(Bring your flowers, too--we'll build a resurrection garden from the flowers everyone brings. Bring potted flowers, ones cut from your garden--whatever you have.)

A Big Week

This week begins a big week in the life of the church--Holy Week, we call it.  Our annual re-entry into the story of Christ's death and resurrection.  And, it all begins with a parade into Jerusalem (see above).

The stories of this week are SO rich.  I treasure them.  When I was in middle school, my brother and I discovered Jesus Christ, Superstar; forever, now, I hear these stories sung in rock opera style.  They are full of rich symbolism, dramatic and complicated characters, all of whom could be played in wonderfully diverse ways.  (Yet another exciting aspect of our scriptural tradition is that it gives lots of room for interpretation--for voicing these same words in very different tones.)

Many of you were with us on Ash Wednesday, when Mark Price took on the character of Judas, imagining the words he might choose to help us understand his own choices and actions in these stories.

And, I confess, I'm always tempted to spend lots of time and energy on these things--it's fascinating to me to imagine staging these scenes.  

This year, though, I feel called to resist some of this temptation--and not to spend time pondering how I might put on the costumes of these stories, but to spend time pondering how I might put on the identity I find in taking up my own baptismal vows.  Putting on the water of baptism.

I hope you might consider this, too--how are we called to live differently, in the light of Holy Week?

I also hope you will come worship with us.  Palm Sunday at the Water's Edge will be grand.  Then, during the week, come to worship at Vespers at 5:30 p.m. in the sanctuary on Wednesday, Holy Thursday worship at 7:30 p.m. in the sanctuary on Thursday, Good Friday worship at 12:10 p.m. in the sanctuary on Friday.  And, I really hope you might come to our Easter Vigil Prayer Pilgrimage on Saturday, beginning between 7:30 and 9 in Trotter Chapel.

Certainly, come join us for Easter worship celebration at the Water's Edge on the 23rd!  Bring friends.

being real, and letting it set you free

I'm sorry for my absence these past two weeks; I got consumed by other things, mostly the departure of my husband whose service in the Army Reserves requires a second deployment to Iraq.  My priorities have been turned on savoring time with him, and I let the blog go.

I think Jesus would have felt my pain.  This week's scripture, the story of Lazarus being raised from death, gives us a glimpse of his own grief in the midst of loving human relationship.  "Jesus wept," or so one translation of this famous-for-its-brevity verse goes.

This year, I'm especially touched by this reminder of Jesus' humanity--he felt the pain we experience in the finite nature of human life.  

And yet, he dares us to see beyond.

The story we'll read this week ends with one of my favorite images: having just (loudly) called Lazarus back to life and out of his tomb, Jesus then commands others to "unbind him, and let him go."  

What a bizarre scene--so filled with the details of the experience of human life and death.  Martha, always the practical one of Lazarus's sisters, warns Jesus about how much dying stinks.  Literally.  And yet, even out of the stench and the tears of death, Jesus calls us into life, and invites us to be unbound.

It is as if Jesus is preparing us for what's to come through his own death and resurrection.  This week's story is an odd foreshadowing, but really will be nothing like Jesus' resurrection.  After all, Lazarus is simply called back to human life as a delay of the death of his body.  Jesus resurrection doesn't postpone his own death--it transforms it completely.

But we can only begin to be ready for that transformation if we start to loosen ourselves up--and allow ourselves to be startled out of the troubles and grief we find ourselves enmeshed in.  We need to be ready for something completely beyond what we expected.  

Jesus is showing us that he's a part of something mind-blowing.

AND YET, he's human.  Weeping along with the others.  Feeling the pain of the frailty of life.  And, even as he grieves, points us elsewhere, toward amazing possibilities.  (It would be so much easier to just retreat into a self-protecting mode, wouldn't it?)

Jesus calls us to unbind Lazarus, and let him go.  I pray that we will all have the daring hope--even in the face of human pain--to let the Holy Spirit go, and bring mind-blowing grace into our midst.

daring hope

This week, we get to share the story of Nicodemus, a religious leader who comes to Jesus (daringly) under the cover of night, to ask questions.

The things Jesus is saying don't make sense, and he wants to know more.  We don't know what motivated him, but we do know he chose a beautiful response: seeking more information.

Of course, Jesus gives him answers that only continue the confusion.  To see the kingdom of God, one most be born anew, of water and the spirit.  Though the idea of being "born again" isn't startling to us, it hadn't acquired the baggage we've heaped on it yet when Jesus said it to Nicodemus.  And it's a crazy idea: finding a new identity, nurtured and blessed as if we had been in the life-giving power of God's own womb.  

Last week, we went with Jesus to the wilderness, and began to thirst with him.  This week, we receive assurance that we are surrounded by the life-giving waters of God.  Though they just might make us new people.

40 days

Lent began today, with Ash Wednesday.  During this season of 40 days, we're invited to be intentional about turning our hearts to God, opening them to empty out the things that have been keeping us separate from God, and to fill up on God's love.

I hope you're finding a way to be especially attentive to God.  Any of the practices from our Portable Church might be good ones to take up regularly, if you're looking for somewhere to start.

We also hope you might play along on our little project of pointing out things that remind us of God's presence in the world--things that are holy.  We're asking you to point orange arrows at them, and then share a pic or story of what you pointed out.  The details are here.

This Sunday, as we gather in worship, we'll share the story of Jesus' time in the wilderness.  Jesus goes out there for 40 days and 40 nights, and fasts the whole time.  He also faces temptations--all of which seem like good ideas, but are corrupted version of what would be truly good.  He resists.  And invites us to face the challenges of the world, knowing that there is a way through that means life for us and all creation.

I look forward to sharing with you on this journey.

that changes a few things...

This Sunday, we celebrate the transfiguration of Jesus.  That is, the story of how Jesus went up a mountain with some of the disciples, and was wonderfully, mystically transfigured with light, revealing his glory.  Set in the midst of the ordinary life he'd been sharing with these disciples, suddenly his divine power was obvious.  

It changed a few things.

After a revelation as bold and brilliant as this transfiguration, they wanted to respond.  Their idea: build a monument.  Jesus wanted more.

-

I treasure the many ways artists have imagined this scene.  What a challenge: showing transfiguration, using the tools of the "regular" world.

In early 14th Century Italy, Duccio painted the scene on the wall of a little chapel in Padua.  While the others in the story are shown with regularly-colored clothes, Jesus is clothed in gold.  Shiny, metallic gold.  Holier, even, that Moses and Elijah, who appear at his sides.  The disciples, blinded by the light, crouch down to mark and honor this mystery.

A contemporary artist, Alex Gray, creates an image of transfiguration that feels cosmic--rising above the earth, glowing and marked by a geometric pattern that feels full, complete and universal, this transfiguration is beyond anything of the world, alone.
It's sometimes tempting, when reading stories like this one, to get caught up in whether it's true--how it would work, what science could describe.

I prefer to wonder about what it means for us.

It's clear that both the disciples and Jesus were interested in response: how are we changed by this transfiguration?  How do we honor this revelation?  What does it change for us?

I've been intrigued by a project I found online: the yellow arrow.  It's a global, community art project--people are invited to put yellow stickers around their communities, pointing to "things that matter."  Then, using text messaging and the internet, they can add bits of information that can be similarly accessed by anyone who finds the arrow.  

The arrows mark the world as "art."  Or as things worth noticing.

I wonder what it would look like if we started better marking the presence of holiness in the world around us?  Now just up high on mountain tops, but all around us?

I think that's what the transfiguration was about--it was a mystical moment of revelation, where Jesus' holiness was suddenly, strikingly clear.  But he wasn't holy just in that moment.  The task is to find signs of transfiguration all around us.

What would you mark?

follow me

Our scripture reading from Matthew tells of how Jesus calls his first disciples.  "Follow me," he says.  And they do.

I've been pondering my own challenges in living up to what it might mean to "follow" Jesus.  To do the things he did, both marvelous and difficult.  

Part of what I treasure about this story is how it shows us Jesus insisting that some fishermen have what it takes to be his followers--even though we are not told anything about how Jesus checked these guys out, he invites them along for his journey.  I find both the whole-heartedness of the invitation and the thoroughness of their response as wondrous.

If Jesus believes that those guys could do it, maybe he really things we can, too.

I once heard or read that Gandhi was asked about the differences between himself and Christians.  And that he said there wasn't much difference between himself and most Christians, except that he believed Jesus meant those things he said.

When I look at Gandhi's live of non-violent resistance and social change, I am inspired to use my life differently, better.  As if I might really be someone Jesus could invite to follow along to do the things he did.

a taste of good things

In honor of the Fancy Food Show which is here at our Convention Center this week, I thought I'd muse a bit on tasting tasty things.  

Especially since, as the Union-Tribune reports today, people are willing to buy really good, tasty things, even in a time of economic decline.  This idea intrigues me today, and not just because I also like to eat well...

It seems to me that our Christian vocation requires our choosing a path that is sometimes more sacrifice, but that is richer and more wonderful.  Like really good food, grown and prepared well.

And, the really fabulous part is that the invitation to that rich life comes beautifully--like free samples at a food show, but better.  

In John's gospel reading for this week, people begin to testify about how Jesus is.  (Much like some of us are willing to testify to the greatness of a restaurant we've just tried...only here they're talking about a savior.)  And Jesus invites others along.

"Come and see," he says.

I wish we'd hear this in the church more often.  He doesn't say, "First, get your life in order.  Then, learn to dress and act like we do, sign our statement of belief, conform your life to our ways of doing things and make vows.  Then, maybe after you die, you can experience this life I talk about."

"Come and see," he says.

Much like a chocolatier might offer a tasty morsel, he invites others to try a new, beautiful way of living.

Remember your baptism

And Be Thankful!

Precious Gifts

This Sunday we celebrate Epiphany, the day tradition marks as the day the three wise leaders from afar reached the Christ child, guided by a magnificent star. Matthew tells the story in his gospel.

We have celebrated the gift of grace we know through Jesus at Christmas.

Epiphany helps us consider gifts in other ways.

The wise guys brought Jesus gifts that were precious in their day -- gold, frankincense, and myrrh. What's precious to you? What could you bring to others, to God's kingdom? Sometimes it helps to consider what you consider to be precious gifts. For me, that gift is words. A gift of words. Given and received. What is precious to you? How can you share those gifts in your faith journey?

One thing we seem to hold as precious in common is the gift of fellowship we share at Water's Edge. What are ways that we can share that gift with others in 2008?

incarnation, creation, destruction

I always dread this week's scripture passage, from Matthew. Reading past the joyous bits of the Christmas story, it takes us rather quickly to reminders of the harsh realities of life.

So, our joy at celebrating the divine being incarnate--human--in Jesus the Christ, hits up against the reality that humans can be brutal. Especially humans who are afraid of losing their power. In this week's scripture, it's King Herod, but he's not so special: he enacts the same ugly, dispicable violence that others chose before and since. He murders innocent people in an attempt to prevent one who might question his authority.

Joseph, who plays the part of father to Jesus, gets a message from an angel in a dream, and flees to Egypt so that Jesus might avoid being murdered.

Ah, that this was a unique story!

We immediately recall the ugliness of Pharaoh's order to kill children in Egypt, back when Moses was a small boy. And, we think of so many others. Victims of genocide, "collateral damage" in war, refugees around the world.

Of course, we also know more of the story that will come: every week, as we celebrate Holy Communion, we remember Jesus broken body in our broken bread. We know that, though he avoids Herod's murderous order here, he will yet find his own death.

And, we know that he will show us a way to be connected to God that frees us from fear of death. Not because we imagine that the world is all sweetness and light, but because we know God's presence with us and with all creation here and now, and way, way beyond.

So maybe it is a joyous Christmas story, even with all its violence. We've noticed that there's ugly, unjust, brutal violence in the world. Here, we're given a chance to know and give thanks for God's presence with us in the midst of that reality, and we're invited to a new reality, in which even such violence cannot have ultimate power over us. We're invited to know God's love deeply, and we're invited to dare to respond to the world with the same grace that Jesus the Christ lived.

My hope is that it will also inspire us to be more attentive to those who suffer from unjust violence in our world--that our retelling of this story will help direct our living in such a way that we will claim the reality of the dignity and holiness of all creation, and that it will mean we fearlessly care for one another.

christmas solidarity

As I pondered themes in this week's scripture passages from Matthew and from Isaiah, I initially thought that "faithfulness" was the idea I'd preach on. Mary and Joseph both choose faithfulness to one another, to this unlikely pregnancy, and (above all) to God. God chooses faithfulness to us all--becoming Emmanuel, "God with us."

The more I pondered this (taking my cue from Mary, who we all know pondered these things in her heart...), the more it seemed like "faithfulness" doesn't quite capture it all. And, besides, when I think of faithfulness, in our time and culture, I often think of it as being passive or restrained. (As in, remaining "faithful" to one's partner--usually defined by what one refrains from more than what practices it requires.)

Don't get me wrong: I think there's a whole lot more to being faithful (to God or to one's partner, among others) that not cheating or doubting. I just think we've weakened our understanding of the word.

So this year, I think we ought to talk about solidarity.

As in, God chooses solidarity with the world in becoming Emmanuel. And people like Mary and Joseph choose solidarity with one another and with God as they make choices and take actions that allow Christ to be born into the world.

My first real encounter with the idea of "solidarity" came from my dad's visit to Poland, back in the late 80's, when I was in Middle School. He brought me a souvenir shirt, emblazoned with the logo of Solidarity, the nonviolent, anti-communist labor movement led by Lech Walesa, who was then yet to be elected president in the Polish amazing elections of 1989. Solidarity was a political movement, asserting that workers deserved decent pay, access to basic resources, and freedom. The route it chose to persue these was through solidarity--honoring our belonging together.

It turns out that at least some of these ideas likely came through Christianity. Maybe it was the visit of Pope John Paul II to his Polish homeland. Maybe it was the theology of the many who believed in Christ, who taught that our acts of love and mercy to the "least of these" in our midst were acts of love and mercy toward God.

All I know is that Christianity seems to be all about solidarity--about standing together and seeing that each of our needs is all wrapped up with the needs of others. I think that's the whole point of God as Emmanuel--God is with us, standing beside and within each of us, giving us the courage and love and strength to live into God's kin-dom. To believe we can live in the world as God intends for us to live it in, now.

Let's gather in worship this week to celebrate God's solidarity with us, and to imagine how we might share it with a world in need.