Remorse following Charlottesville

"To this day you haven’t shown any sorrow for what you have done. And you haven’t revered me or followed my Instruction and my laws that I set before you and your ancestors."

-Jeremiah 44:10, Common English Bible

“History, as nearly no one seems to know, is not merely something to be read. And it does not refer merely, or even principally, to the past. On the contrary, the great force of history comes from the fact that we carry it within us, are unconsciously controlled by it in many ways, and history is literally present in all that we do. It could scarcely be otherwise, since it is to history that we owe our frames of reference, our identities, and our aspirations."

James Baldwin, 1965

On Wednesday afternoon I received an invitation to join community prayers that evening at John Wesley United Methodist Church in Eastport. The white clapboard church was filled. Black, white, Latino: all together in one place for a one hour prayer service in a church without a web site. Historically an African American congregation, that night it looked, as Pastor Jerry Colbert intoned, like "the kingdom of heaven." Pastor Meredith Wilkins-Arnold, lead pastor at Calvary UMC in Annapolis, was the first invited pastor to offer prayers. She admitted to arriving there with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach for what is occurring in our nation. She admitted to not having the words to speak. And the congregation assured her that was alright.

IN our grief over the events in Charlottesville, we will, for a brief time, lack words. Yet even without the words, actions are occurring. Around us - including last night at the Maryland State House - monuments to the old South are being removed. The motivation behind these removals is clear: fear of rallies and riots that will topple them. No city wants to be the center of another Charlottesville event.

I agree that these monuments must come down. Yet I disagree with the motivation behind removing them in this moment, for they are being removed out of fear of public riot. More appropriately, these should be removed out of remorse for what they represent. Certainly, public figures such as our own Gov. Hogan have expressed "revulsion" at what happened in Charlottesville. Good. Yet that revulsion should turn to remorse through reflection of our own participation in the systems which tolerated such figures in the first place. 

Those figures, whose statues were generally installed between 1890 and 1950, represent a nostalgia for our common history: a time when people were treated as property - slaves. Lives were lost fighting for the privilege of treating people as slaves, and the United States Supreme Court once decided that people of African descent counted not as full persons, but 3/5 of a person - a "compromise" reached by Chief Justice Roger B. Taney in the Dred Scott case as a way to keep southern states from seceding the Union. The compromise didn't work, but the attitude of white supremacy remains entwined through Jim Crow laws, redlining of cities including Baltimore and no doubt Annapolis, the New Jim Crow, and the overall disregard for black and poor people that rings true today in our education systems and opportunities - no matter what words we use.

As James Baldwin makes clear, we carry this history with us. President Trump's emboldened nativist approach to the violence in Charlottesville is, I am afraid, morally indefensible. It is horrifying that we are in such a place in our history that people are unashamed to fly Nazi and Confederate battleflags in our communities, surrounding churches with torches and chanting, "Jews will not replace us" (see Rev. Traci Blackmon's interview below). It is beyond the pale that, for some, those who resist this effort are somehow "equivalent" in blame for the violent actions in Charlottesville. After all, both of my grandfathers fought in a World War against Nazism and its representations, as I'm sure many of your ancestors did, too. Monuments of people wearing the uniform that attempted to validate slavery - a uniform worn by our own ancestors - cannot be "beautiful" in public parks. How could they be? They represent a hate that may not even be overt, but is certainly woven into the layers of our nation's history, and is burrowed into each one of us in ways that we may not fully appreciate. Yet we have tolerated them for many years. 

Our calling is to be aware of our history and how it is played out today. And it is to move from a place of fear and revulsion to one of remorse should you find that you have benefited from the morally repugnant aspects of this history. Yet we also cannot wallow in that remorse. Our Scripture for this Sunday is from Matthew 15:21-28, when Jesus calls a Syrophoenician woman (read: not Jewish) a "dog," and yet quickly regrets that characterization, corrects himself (this is important!), and then celebrates her faithfulness and inclusion amongst people of faith. We are called to do the same: recognize our part in the pain of the world, express that remorse, take actions to tear down such a system, and then call upon God to work within us and each other to reveal the kin-dom of heaven in our midst. Thanks be to God.

The below is an interview of Rev. Traci Blackmon, Executive Minister for Justice and Witness Ministries of the United Church of Christ. 

Walking on water

I'm fairly certain that if I were in a storm-tossed boat fearing for my life, and I looked out across the water and saw someone walking ON water coming TOWARD me, that I might think there's a ghost on the water. I'm not sure I believe in ghosts, but at that point, as with anyone in a fear-for-my-life situation, I'm sure I would believe in practically anything. Such is the case in the story of Jesus walking on water in Matthew 14:22-33

I won't get into the literalness of this story. I will suggest, however, the deep truth of this story. Peter asks, "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." Jesus responds: "Come." And Peter does. And for a brief instant -- almost like an Acme cartoon of yore -- he walks on the water before slipping in and begging for help. It's a testimony to Jesus' sense of humor that shortly after this story, Jesus gives Peter the name "Cephas," which means, "rock" -- as in, "sinks like a rock." Yet, as builders understand, rocks are also good foundations.

Much of what our faith commands of us is impossible. "Feed the poor." "Clothe the naked." "Heal the sick." We could try tackling them head on, but direct charity doesn't seem to solve the long-term issues facing our community. Instead, we're called to tackle the systemic issues that contribute to the visible problems. We can feel as if we're in a perfect storm, being asked by God to do an impossible thing. We have just enough faith to hear the command to do something, but once we step out of our boats, we lose confidence in our actions. What we're doing runs counter to what we have been taught.

This Sunday, we'll explore what it means to walk on water: to be persistent, keep our resolve, and have more than a little faith. I've seen this community blossom into one of joy despite the real struggles facing our community. And perhaps you've noticed that the greater the struggle, the more we put into it, despite the despair that is felt at times, the joy we experience together has been far greater.

See you Sunday, and bring a friend.

Shalom,

Pastor Ryan 

Wrestling

Sometimes when writing a sermon, we encounter an Old Testament and New Testament reading that just work well together. In studying through them, it's clear that they have great interplay. Sometimes, especially with Isaiah, we get New Testament texts where Jesus even quotes the Scripture for us! Writing such sermons around such themes are joyful. 

On the other hand, sometimes we get texts where there's a good deal of tension between them. Tension is a good thing. Without it, we don't get stirred up enough to act. This Sunday holds two such texts. In one, Matthew 14:13-21, we find Jesus feeding 5,000 people in a desert space. It's a nice, happy text, right? And the other text, Genesis 32:22-31, has Jacob wrestling God beside a river throughout a long and seemingly lonely night. God provides in one, and in the other, God wrestles and throws a hip socket out of place.

But perhaps it's more like this. It's probably clear that Jesus shared the meagre food that he and the disciples brought to that place with people around them. People then aren't far different from you and I: no one travels into the desert without food and water. But likely, it didn't become a real meal until people started sharing with complete strangers. And then, in this massive crowd of thousands imitating what Jesus traveled around Judea doing one table at a time, they got to know one another and discover ways they could work together in the future. 

To be so generous as to share and not only that, but to enter into meaningful conversation over food and drink, means that one needs to wrestle with what would keep you from doing that. What keeps us from sharing our resources, or giving generously of time, talent, and treasure? What holds us back and prevents us from giving of ourselves? 

In the story of the feeding of 5,000, it's clear that by being generous and not hoarding for oneself generates the truly desired outcome for all: that there is enough!

See you Sunday, and bring a friend.

Shalom,

Pastor Ryan

(443) 569-8899

The kingdom of heaven is like . . .

“What you have received as heritage, take now as task and thus you will make it your own.” -Goethe, quoted by Jaroslav Pelikan

 

What is the kingdom of heaven like? Maybe you're thinking clouds and harps. Maybe you're thinking peace and justice and pearly gates. Maybe you're thinking of nothing at all. When Jesus was asked this question, he started by talking about mustard seeds. In particular, he talked about mustard plants.

This is an unusual place to start a talk about heaven. In Maryland, we don't have mustard plants sprouting up in unwelcome places. In ancient Palestine, mustard plants sprouted up as unwelcome weeds in various different places. They weren't welcome, and they proliferated in maddening and pungent ways. To a shocked audience, Jesus described the hoped-for bliss of Elysian Fields as an unwelcome plant with a pungent odor that houses all the birds of the air. 

I think Jesus was telling us that the kingdom of heaven is like a NIMBY project. NIMBY, that lovely acronym for "Not In My Back Yard," are necessary projects for the benefit of the community that people don't want in close proximity to their own property, such as public housing or electric wind mills. They disrupt what people want around them even whilst providing a community public good. 

I think this is what the kingdom of heaven is like. It's something that is needed but disrupts our own sensibilities for the common good. What are some things you can think of that are ways the kingdom of heaven breaks into our lives and disrupts us, even makes us uncomfortable? How does our church live into those projects? How might we hear God calling us to live into them? Our heritage is full of unwelcome projects that benefit the community of God. As the Goethe quote above reminds us, we have to take this heritage as task to "make it our own." 

Shalom,

Pastor Ryan

Climbing Jacob's Ladder: losing, but getting back up

I write this having just learned that a person with whom we have worked closely will soon be deported to his home country. For fifteen years, he's been part of our Annapolis community. We have rallied around him. We have shouted his name and his case at the authorities. We have called our senators. One of us went to a senator's office to ask that he intervene. 

But. 

We lost.

We lost because the world as it is not the world as it should be.

We didn't give up. Our Missions Team is actively working together to come up with ways to help our friend once he does go back to his home country. We've developed support networks for his family in Annapolis so they can go to school at get good paying jobs. With the Annapolis Sanctuary Network, we are collecting funds to assist other refugees. We're working actively with CASA de Maryland to be part of a solution. If we truly feel called to this ministry - and some of us clearly do, however, we'll want to form real, close, and meaningful relationships with people.

I am told by many of you that, "God has a plan." I don't doubt that for a moment. Perhaps at this point, God's plan is to remind us just whose country this is and who is supposed to do something about it: us. This was a nation founded on the hope for those who do not have enough, wherever they were in the world, so that they might come to a place of having enough. It has not always looked like that, but it is the hope. And if we think about any situation in which an injustice deprived people of their personhood and belonging, such as the story of organizing around the Civil Rights movement as Charles Payne tells it in this article, people have organized together to demand that justice.

Not just shouting and carrying signs and assumed their rightness. Organizing..

It's how the Israelites escaped Pharaoh. It's how Jesus started a movement. He found out what people cared about and brought them together. It turns out most of us have a lot in common; we rarely need to be told what matters. We simply do not know or believe that we can influence the world around us -- or, that God's Spirit is with us.

The "summer of transformation" that we're currently are working through is about that. It's about climbing a ladder that God has given us, and developing the courage together to be able to move up each rung and with each rung, bring us closer to the world as it should be, the promised land, Zion, the land flowing with milk and honey. It means we have to work, mostly on better relationships and trust building! And as a ladder is connecting knots and ropes, we are invited to connect ourselves together and get to know and trust the people with whom we live, work, and worship. It won't be fast work. It never has been, and it never will be. As our story tells it, it took forty years for the Israelites to reach the promised land, a number significant not so much for its accuracy as the representation of the amount of time it takes for a shift in community culture, or a new perspective on the world, to occur.

I'm on that journey with you and God, getting to know each of you and people I don't know, shifting our world toward the world God calls us into, climbing each rung of Jacob's Ladder as we go. I hope you are, too.

Let's get organized together, thanks be to God.

Shalom,

Ryan

Sanctuary

Therefore say, ‘Thus says the Lord God: Though I removed them far off among the nations, and though I scattered them among the countries, yet I have been a sanctuary to them for a while in the countries where they have gone.’ - Ezekiel 11.6 ESV

“Sanctuary” has become an important term for me in the past three days. In our church, there’s the proposal to change the sanctuary somewhat by trialling the use of chairs in place of pews for the summer in the first couple of rows. But then there’s also the sanctuary we call “home.” On Tuesday, one of our members called me up after picking up a woman out in the pouring rain from a bus stop. The woman was homeless, had fled a domestic violence issue in Baltimore, and was relying on the minimal shelter of a bus stop to sleep and maintain her for the past couple of weeks. After trying to get her into a shelter and finding them full, we used church resources to put her into a hotel for two nights. The next day, she went to a doctors appointment, then to social services, and still had no where to go. She kept in touch with me and our church member, asking for prayers, knowing that she had one more night of clean sheets and a roof. 

Thursday morning, she called me up and asked if I would pray with her over the phone as she prepared to check out. I did, praying for open doors, patience, strength, and courage. I prayed that help could come from unexpected quarters, citing the parable of the Good Samaritan. I could not imagine her position. It’s never easy to tell someone that the time is up, and to go back outside, knowing that she was likely returning to a bus stop. Having just moved into a new house, this is even more keenly felt.

A couple of hours later, a social worker from YWCA called and said we could get her into Sarah’s House, the main shelter in Anne Arundel County, if she went to social services in Glen Burnie right away. It took the better part of the day to make that happen, along with some disappointments that almost derailed the effort, but we got her to Glen Burnie. She slept in Sarah’s House last night. She gave thanks to God to be there. 

Later on Thursday, I received a call from Suzanne Martin, who coordinates the Annapolis sanctuary network for immigrant justice. Guillermo, a person whose family we have supported through that effort, had been denied a Motion to Remain. This means he could be deported anytime. An appeal is being lodged. Still, this is a heart-wrenching for his family, who have permission to remain. It is difficult for those with whom he worked. He has no sanctuary, sharing a two-person cell with two other people in Frederick. Yet yesterday afternoon, another church member, me, and Suzanne sat down for coffee and discussed a scholarship to AACC for his daughter through the sanctuary effort, for she is here having been granted asylum.

Finding sanctuary will mean different things based on circumstance. It may be a motel room or Sarah’s House. It might mean a sanctuary for worship. It could mean an education. In the course of two days, the people of this church explored all of those meanings in great depth, emotionally and otherwise. There was success and failure. There is prayer. There were tears of joy and tears of grief. 

These have been a stressful few days. I had hoped for restful days leading up to General Synod so I could read and prepare for that event. Those church members who have been working on these issues also had other plans, too. Yet this is a calling, and I give thanks to God to be part of a church that lives its life in such a way. These are not rare stories in UCC Annapolis. May we all be so blessed.

Thank you for all your gifts and your giving. 

Shalom,

Pastor Ryan

Transformed for joy

There’s a man named Jeremiah Moss who goes around New York City organizing people to decry the closing of some of the mom and pops establishment of the city. Every day many of them close, replaced as if in a blink by chain stores or boutique restaurants serving $36 entrees. Moss does not let this happen silently. He views this transformation of the city negatively: it removes the character, replacing neighborhood cafes with sleek glass buildings where humanity seems incapable of taking a foothold.

I respect Jeremiah Moss. The New York he moved to in the early 1990s is faintly present, and he feels unwelcome in the new place (his apartment complex is soon to turn him out after twenty years). The changes that have occurred around him have not included him or others like him. They have been driven by serving the “haves” rather than the residents of the city.

Change is inevitable. In New York, the owners and founders of restaurants retire, making way for new restaurants. Rarely are any forced out. Yet replacing cozy greasy spoon cafes with slick drug stores may harm the character of a community. 

We don’t want to do the equivalent of that in our church. Changes are happening: in three years, 55 people have joined this congregation. Weekly attendance has risen by 40%. With this new energy, new gifts are ready to be used. If we did nothing, things would change. 

Yet, I think the role of the church is, as Walter Brueggemann wrote when he described the purpose of a psalm, to “nurture, nourish, and evoke” the gifts of the people of God in the service of God. To do this now means that we should explore how we can change to nourish the people that are here, nurture their call to ministry, and evoke new ministries to serve the community. 

If we do this, I think the changes we make will be respectful of our history while becoming more responsive to God’s call upon us today. Part of our change is to create a “relational culture” so that no one feels left out, for example. Perhaps this is where our church differs from the changes Jeremiah Moss witnesses in New York: our change is about creating better relationships with one another! Our change is equipping you, the people of God, to use your gifts to their fullest. We give thanks that we're together on this. 

Shalom, Pastor Ryan

Middling through change

Dear Church!

Our worship begins a half-hour earlier this morning with a different order of worship (here's the bulletin for this Sunday). It’s a program we plan to follow over the summer, starting this Sunday and continuing until September 17, when 10:30am worship returns and a more traditional format is resumed. The change comes in response to a felt request over the past few months. In conversations I’ve had with you, and in surveys we’ve conducted, there was distinct need for fellowship — people want to connect with one another before and after worship. By moving the service a half-hour earlier during the summer, we felt that we would have more time with others in our church, as well as with each other on a Sunday afternoon. The Sabbath is important: it’s an important time for worship, but it’s also an important time to spend deepening our human relationships. “All real living is meeting,” the Jewish theologian Martin Buber said in 1973.

 Yet, as a church and as a people, worship to God is vital to our being. How can we meet with one another if we ourselves are not renewed in the act of worship to God? Or, as my mother says, “you cannot pour from an empty pitcher.” We re-formatted worship to shorten it so that the time for meeting one another is respected, but also emphasized the areas where people feel the most connection with God and the sacred in worship. Our announcements will now be made during our fellowship so that all may respond in conversation together. Our call to worship will usually be a short song that brings us together, pulling us out of the normality of day and into the joy that is worship together. Our children’s message will be right up front, when we open our worship with a Scripture reading, a story, and a prayer that frames the entire service, with everyone as active participants.

 For some of us, this may be a welcome change. For some others, it’s not. We are church together, however: called by the Spirit, we gather in worship, fellowship, and action to be a very real and present body of Christ in our community. That's why we're here, and we're glad you're a part of it. Thank you for all your gifts, your giving, and your grace.

                      Shalom, Pastor Ryan

What you intended for evil, God has turned for good

"We claim the promise of the rainbow, the promise of Creation’s sustaining love, determined to let no barriers — not gender, sexuality, race, riches, nor lack, nor any human fear — pull apart what our God has brought together in faith and love."  

—from a Litany of Pride by Rev. Dr. Wayne Schwandt

These will be our opening words for worship on Sunday. June is Pride Month across the world, a time when the love of human beings for other human beings is celebrated. We need that spirit of love today.

I am ashamed that I am a citizen of the world's largest per capita polluting nation (China has the highest overall emissions). If that wasn't enough, we're now one of three countries Syria and Nicaragua being the other two that do not belong to the international Paris climate agreement that is our collective hope of averting an already occurring global climate catastrophe. Yes, it will take at least four years for us to withdraw from the accords, but it remains a betrayal of the Creation which God has gifted us — and which is celebrated in our own Pride celebrations.

But this is Pentecost Sunday. When Jesus left, the disciples once more locked themselves into a room and began praying, fearful of what to do without direction. Then something happened, so the story goes: they began to speak in every language, able to go into the market and communicate with the polyglot people of the world. The Spirit had descended! The church was born! Pentecost! Pentecost is the Spirit of power that gives birth to the church. We are God's powerful ones, holy troublemakers charged to work for good despite all that is evil.

The Joseph story, which we will act out in joy and color this story following three months of rehearsal and dedication by so many good people, reminds us of how God transforms evil to good. It is evil that Joseph is cast out by his brothers and sold into slavery. But through tempering and learning humility, listening for God, and growing in leadership and maturity, Joseph becomes the chief advisor to Pharaoh, the most powerful person in the ancient world at the time. He does good: he prevents an entire nation from going hungry during a seven-year famine. When his brothers arrive in search of food, he gives them food. What was evil becomes good. But it required work and perseverance.

I do not know what or how good will come from this action. But my reaction is to suggest to you today, if you have not done so already, to transition your home to 100% renewable power through Interfaith Power and Light. You can do this without any physical change to your power source. Irish and I did this through their bulk-purchase program in 2013. Our church joined their bulk purchase program in 2014 and saved money over conventional power. 

If you feel called to other areas of environmental ministry, let's do it. Perhaps the good will come from waking up to the real need to do something now.

My prayer is that we let God's spirit of power move, and let good spring from evil in us and the work we do. May God be with you. 

Shalom,

Pastor Ryan

Paul failed. But it worked.

I remember standing in front of the nearly 1,000 high school classmates, running for student government in the 10th grade. I got up to the podium, made a largely dramatic and forgettable speech. Just as I was about to finish, my voice squeaked. The entire auditorium erupted in laughter. Even the teachers. I was mortified, I tell ya. I never quite lived it down. 

St. Paul was, by his own admission, not a gifted orator. Yet, he stood in the Areopagus of Athens, the seat of the most gifted philosophical argument and oration of the ancient world. What has been recorded is not long, but it is passionate. It's not amazing. He tries to sum up in a few paragraphs what his faith means and why that's changed everything in the world. And he fails. At least, by the standards of Spartacus or Cicero or the great orators who stir us to action, he fails. Many scoffed. Some invited him to come back another time. He left. I don't think he went back.

Two people, Dionysius the Areopagite and Damaris, followed him to really learn more of what he was saying - two out of what was likely hundreds of people. But it was enough. Because the transformation that comes from seeing the world as a follower of "the Way" doesn't always need quantity, but it does need depth and commitment. It's a dedicated few who change the world. 

I saw that this week, when the nascent Annapolis sanctuary network raised nearly $1,000 to help a family pay rent after a breadwinner was detained by ICE. I'm seeing it in the community organizing effort we're engaged in as people set up one-to-one individual meetings to truly find out more about one another and form a relationship. I'm seeing it as our church responds to pleas, too. It takes a bit of getting out of our comfort zones, perhaps. But God calls us.

Why I struggle with Easter sermons (and how Mother's Day holds the answer)

"I am the way, the truth, and the life," Jesus told a band of anxious holy troublemakers (John 14:6). It's a series of words that has been handed down over the ages, crocheted into pillows and written on careworn paper carried in wallets. Yet it has also been used as a curmudgeon against those who did not profess Christianity, largely because of the words that follow: "no ones comes to the Father except through me."

When Jesus speaks these words, he's speaking just before the day of crucifixion to a roomful of disciples in an upstairs room. They're rightly scared. Those who might be guessing that he's "going away" might not feel adequate or up to the job of carrying on the ministry for which he'd trained them. However, he's using the words not as a test to measure how and if one may be a truly faithful person. Rather, he's using them to say, "you know how to live in the world. You know what truth is. You know what matters, because you've been with me all this time." Against the competing ideologies of the time - especially the idea that the Emperor was a God - the exclusive phrase he used about getting "to the Father" (God) was intended to keep them focused on the goodness of their ministry. He was commissioning them to go out into the world, live, and teach the bold life he taught them, and not flinch. Love is that powerful. 

Those of us who are now the "body of Christ," the Church, might also feel anxious, too. We might not feel up to the task of "being the body of Christ," or "being the Church," as one UCC slogan puts it. But we are. One way we understand this is understanding what it means to be a mother. Not all of us understand or will ever experience motherhood as the physical and emotional bond that some experience. We honor that as a society and a community. But all of us, regardless of gender identity, should be able to celebrate mothering. Sometimes, mothering is giving something for the goodwill of another out of love and not expecting a reward (think of the child that doesn't say thanks after a diaper change). Or having a relationship with another person so deep that we understand their capabilities and their limits, and help them develop both. 

This Sunday, we gather to celebrate motherhood. And we gather to celebrate it as an example of what it means to live in the Jesus Way: of giving, of leading, of caring, and especially of loving as the prime motivators behind our every action.

See you Sunday, and bring a friend!

Shalom,

Pastor Ryan

 

Holy Troublemakers Say Grace

Before I finish my weekly message, I have to pause and give thanks for the life of one with whom I broke bread and considered one of the finest holy troublemakers of our time, Rev. Dr. Wayne Schwandt. He died on May 5, 2015. His ministry at UCCA, Evolve, continues to bring the message he ardently championed in our community: that you are not original sinners, but originally blessed. Wayne brought joy at the joyful times, quiet and focus and the quiet times, and prayer at the praying times. He helped our wider community heal and love LGBTQ and HIV+ people, questioning stigmas and hate not with strident challenges, but a steadfast love that resembled a bear hug (which he sometimes gave). He challenged my traditional theology to see the world as a gift, and ourselves as stewards of that gift, celebrating "creation spirituality" rather than focusing on human misgivings. Wayne, although you have been gone from us for nearly two years, I continue to be amazed from what I keep learning from you. Chuck (Wayne's husband), you are never far from my prayers.  

o00o

"You are what you eat," a kid told me. I immediately tried to comprehend how I was a hot dog, relish, bun, and tater tots. It would be weird if we simply morphed into whatever it was that we ate - and it'd be likely that we were fairly conscious of what we ate in that case, lest we wind up as some sort of cross between a cauliflower casserole and lemon meringue. Thankfully, we don't. But perhaps we do represent and carry with us the food that we eat: all the processes of life that have unfolded to bring each tiny morsel into our mouths are forever carried with us. This means that if we eat something that came from harmful farming or human labor practices, perhaps we're carrying that harm with us, too. But, we shouldn't get all wrapped up in guilt about that. 

In her book Grace at Table, Donna Schaper, pastor of Judson Memorial Church in New York City, reminds us that the food we eat is a miracle. All food is a miracle! No matter how it got to you or what its history is, it is a miracle. If we start with food as a miracle, we can begin to develop a certain reverence for it. We start to care about the food itself: where it came from, how it got here, and why we cannot let it go to waste. Perhaps just as importantly, we start to also care about the company we share it with: friends, family, co-workers, strangers sitting next to us on the bus as we wolf down a Chalupa. 

As we gather on Sunday, we'll reflect on how the Holy Troublemakers - the disciples - regained their spiritual resolve and practice by "breaking bread" and sharing meals together. As they focused on the miracle of breaking bread, I think this simple practice opened them up to the miracle of the world around them. It's not hard for us to do, either. Try it this morning. Or afternoon. Go ahead: see your food as a miracle.

See you Sunday, and feel free to bring a friend. We'll be welcoming over a dozen new members, too.

Shalom,

Pastor Ryan