Opening - Are You Weak and Heavy Laden, Cumbered with a Load of Care?

Worship – Monday Evening

Sin in the Soul

Opening - Are you weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care?

Previous Savior still my refuge; take it to the Lord in prayer.

Oh, what peace we often forefeit; oh, what needless shame we bear,

All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.

Reading – from Walter Bruggemann, “From Whom No Secrets Are Hid”

Hymn - #127 “Abide With Me”

Reflection

A philosopher has said, the line between good and evil goes through the center of each human heart. Martin Luther said it just slightly differently – simul Justus et peccator. Simul – simultaneously, Justus – justified, et peccator – and yet a sinner.

At one moment, fully entwined in our full humanity, entirely whole in our beauty and brokenness – the tradition of our ancestors reminds us of our humanity – fully beautiful, fully broken; imperfect and yet proclaimed: sacred child of God.

When I was attempting to leave Lutheran seminary (note: attempting) I met with the Dean of the Seminary. I, a young first-year seminarian came into his office, the walls almost caving in from the weight of the books 8 shelves high, and behind the desk – the dean, who looked a bit like a prophet – towering height, full beard – made me look average.

We discussed why I was wanting to leave. I explained I had been transformed by Marcus Borg’s Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time, and had come to believe that Jesus was one among many mediators of God in the world. He said, “sure – there are a hundred ways to understand Jesus – that’s not too radical.” I was a bit surprised.

And what he said next has stuck with me since: “I think the major difference we have with the Unitarian Universalists is theological anthropology – look around this world, everyday, and I can’t find a moment that isn’t infused in some way with sin – personal, collective, commission, omission – it’s everywhere. We human beings are constantly failing to be our best selves, and regularly achieving the vices of greed and hatred and division – and unless we name it as something as deep and substantial as sin, I think it becomes quite difficult to respond to it in any constructive way.”

And I said – “yes, sir.” And we continued to talk some, I babbled a bit about it being more about the starting point – that we are born good and become corrupt, and he replied, “well, you know as I do, original sin is a metaphor about the human condition – babies aren’t evil, but are born with the capacity, and assurance, of being imperfect – and God’s love accepts it all.”

And I said – “yes, sir.”

As the conversation ended he said, “Well, Luke, I wish you well – and if you realize you’re still Lutheran, come on back anytime.” I wondered if by choosing the word “realize,” he was claiming I was in fact still Lutheran – like we too often say, “they are a Unitarian without knowing it” – maybe I’m still Lutheran, and just barely know it.

So, my dear colleagues, what do we have to say about human nature? What does our tradition have to say about the atrocities of the world that takes a little ownership of it, that finds expression for it in our liturgical lives; how might we reclaim not only systemic sin, which is perhaps easier for us, but personal sin – that our actions, our beliefs, our deeds truly do matter – for good and for ill. And how do we then, even more so, claim our entwined humanity – beloved, and broken, sinner, and redeemed, simultaneously justified, or seen as worth, and yet a sinner – if God or the Holy can see our full humanity, imperfections and flaws and all, can we have the courage to see it as well?

I invite you to think about those who have gone before – the names of those, large or small, who have touched your life – from Christ to the systematics professor, from a member of your family to the reformers of the church – to what saints do you owe your gratitude? As we call to mind their names, let us sing #428, for all the Saints.

Hymn - #428 “For All the Saints”

Closing

A reading, “Made from the Dust”

Made from the dust, the dirt, the sacred silt of holy ground,

a child of God, a child of love, a child of earth.

Born of earth and sky and stars,water, fire and rock,

Filled; blazing with the spark,the sacred embersof all that is holy.

Every human soul groundedrooted in the center of good and evil.

The heart of every being rootednot in either/orbut in both/and

Broken and beautiful,foolish and wise,

vulnerable and powerful, failing and being made new

fallen, rising, renewed.

Able to love, to dream,to create, to laugh, to succeed

Able to weep,to mourn, to struggle, to fail

Able to hurt,to harm, to stumble

Able to forgive and begin again.

Not in some far off place, or beyond our reach, or past our vision

but deep withinand all around

is the voice of the Spirit saying:

As you are, you are beloved. And you are broken.

And all of you is yet and still named: sacred child of God.

You are home.

This is heaven.

The door is open.

The time is now.

Worship – Tuesday Morning

Sin in the Society

Opening – Sometimes I feel discouraged and think my work’s in vain,

But then, the Holy Spirit, revives my soul again.

There is a balm in Gilead, to make the wounded whole

There is a balm in Gilead, to heal the sin-sick soul.

Reading – from George Ella Lyon, “Inventing Sin”

God signs to us

we cannot read

She shouts

we take cover

She shrugs

and trains leave

the tracks

Our schedules! we moan

Our loved ones! we moan

God is fed up

All the oceans she gave us

All the fields

All the acres of steep

seedful forests

And we did what

Invented the Great Chain

of Being and

the chain saw

Invented sin

God sees us now

gorging ourselves &

starving our neighbors

starving ourselves &

storing our grain

& She says

I’ve had it

you cast your trash

upon the waters

it’s rolling in

you stuck your fine finger

into the mystery of life

to find death

& you did

you learned how to end

the world

in nothing flat

Now you come crying

to your mommy

Send us a miracle

Prove that you exist

Look at your hand, I say

Listen to your sacred heart

Do you have to haul the tide in

sweeten the berries on the vine

I set you down

a miracle among miracles

You want more

It’s your turn

You show me

Hymn – God of Grace and God of Glory

Reflection

At times, it seems, we afflict our people, and ourselves in the process. We heap on affliction after affliction – the cries of the poor, the injustice in our streets and neighborhoods, the crisis of the planet, the hopelessness of crushing poverty, the systems of privilege and oppression that feel like an empire within and beyond us.

One good colleague has said, “There are 1000 things a day that break my heart. And there are 1001 and one things a day that lift my spirit again.” Yes, we must hold both realities – and yet we must not move to healing without rituals to hold us along the way.

One author says, Yolanda Pierce, an African American minister and professor, writes this:

A Litany for Those Who Aren’t Ready For Healing

Let us not rush to the language of healing, before understanding

the fullness of the injury and the depth of the wound.

Let us not rush to offer a band-aid, when the gaping wound

requires surgery and complete reconstruction.

Let us not offer false equivalencies, thereby diminishing the particular pain

being felt in a particular circumstance in a particular historical moment.

Let us not speak of reconciliation without speaking

of reparations and restoration,

or how we can repair the breach and how we can restore the loss.

Let us not rush past the loss of this mother’s child, this father’s child…someone’s beloved son.

Let us not value property over people; let us not protect material objects

while human lives hang in the balance.

Let us not value a false peace over a righteous justice.

Let us not be afraid to sit with the ugliness, the messiness,

and the pain that is life in community together.

Let us not offer clichés to the grieving,

those whose hearts are being torn asunder.Instead…

Let us mourn black and brown men and women, those killed extrajudicially every 28 hours.

Let us lament the loss of a teenager, dead at the hands of a police officer who described him as a demon.

Let us weep at a criminal justice system, which is neither blind nor just.

Let us call for the mourning men and the wailing women,

those willing to rend their garments of privilege and ease, and sit in the ashes of this nation’s original sin [of racism].

Let us be silent when we don’t know what to say.

Let us be humble and listen to the pain, rage, and grief

pouring from the lips of our neighbors and friends.

Let us decrease, so that our brothers and sisters who live on the underside of history may increase.

Let us pray with our eyes open and our feet firmly planted on the ground.

Let us listen to the shattering glass and let us smell the purifying fires,

for it is the language of the unheard.God, in your mercy…

Show me my own complicity in injustice. Convict me for my indifference.

Forgive me when I have remained silent.

Equip me with a zeal for righteousness.

Let us name, dear colleagues, with blunt honesty, the brokenness and chaos and injustice of this world –to wrestle with its complexity, and to call down heaven by naming the reality of hell on this earth. And let us not simply name the reality of injustice, but our capacity for change and transformation. May the naming of it, in and of itself, be liberation – and let us hold our righteous anger with grounded ritual, with courageous theology, with compassionate community, that we might not just name suffering and the hell and sin of this world, but also name the possibility and building up of heaven on earth.

Musical reflection

Refrain

We who believe in freedom cannot rest

We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes

Verses

Until the killing of Black men, Black mothers’ sons

Is as important as the killing of White men, White mothers’ sons

And that which touches we most is that I had a chance to work with people

Passing on to others that which was passed on to me

To me young people come first, they have the courage where we fail

And if I can shed some light as they carry us through the gale

The older I get the better I know that the secret of my going on

Is when the reins are in the hand of the young who dare to run against the storm

Not needing to clutch for power, not needing the light just to shine on me

I need to be just one in the number as we stand against tyranny

Struggling myself don’t mean a whole lot I come to realize

That teaching others to stand up and fight is the only way my struggle survive

I’m a woman who speaks in a voice and I must be heard

At time I can be quite difficult, I’ll bow to no man’s word

Closing

John Wesley said, “Give me a hundred preachers, who fear nothing but Sin and serve no one but God, and we will shake the gates of hell and establish the Kingdom of God on earth.”

May we shake the gates and call heaven to earth. Amen.

Worship – Wednesday Morning

Sin in the Sanctuary

Opening–On this last morning together, I want to tell a brief story – a few years ago here at Prairie Group, a group of us gathered in the large hall to sing hymns after the presentation for the evening – one of my colleagues, whose first name started with a “K” and last name ended with “Gibbons” – wanted to sing the strangest hymn – this humanist internship advisor for me was looking to me, this Lutheran boy, for the lyrics for “How Great Thou Art” – and we sang them together, because we weren’t afraid of words and imagery – and the more I thought about it, the more I was able to dwell in imagery – if God’s call is to live life in solidarity, even to the point of death, with the poor and the oppressed, then it is the sins of the whole world, including my own sin of indifference and apathy and refusing to challenge my privilege, that kill those standing for justice – likewise, whether the only son of God or not, I can, with integrity say, Jesus died, like many others, because of my sins, the sins of the world – he bled and died and took into his flesh the sins of those oppressing the poor and outcast – God sent him, not as some sacrifice, to die, but to the risk of death by calling him to ministry among the poor and oppressed; I invite you to expand what these lyrics might mean to us this day.

But when I think, that God his son not sparing, sent him to die; I scarce can take it in. That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing, he bled and died to take away my sin. Then sings my soul, my Savior God to thee – how great thou art, how great thou art…

Reading –

Because we spill not only milk

Knocking it over with an elbow

When we reach to wipe a small face

But also spill seed on soil we thought was fertile but isn’t,

And also spill whole lives, and only later see in fading light

How much is gone and we hadn’t intended it

Because we tear not only cloth

Thinking to find a true edge and instead making only a hole

But also tear friendships when we grow

And whole mountainsides because we are so many

And we want to live right where black oaks lived,

Once very quietly and still

Because we forget not only what we are doing in the kitchen

And have to go back to the room we were in before,

Remember why it was we left

But also forget entire lexicons of joy

And how we lost ourselves for hours

Yet all that time were clearly found and held

And also forget the hungry not at our table

Because we weep not only at jade plants caught in freeze

And precious papers left in rain

But also at legs that no longer walk

Or never did, although from the outside they look like most others

And also weep at words said once as though

They might be rearranged but which

Once loose, refuse to return and we are helpless

Because we are imperfect and love so

Deeply we will never have enough days,

We need the gift of starting over, beginning

Again: just this constant good, this

Saving hope.

Hymn - Blest Be the Tie that Binds #563

Reflection

Better than myself to offer words, this day, I call upon our good teacher – Paul Tillich: An excerpt from Shaking the Foundations

There are few words more strange to most of us than "sin" and "grace". They are strange, just because they are so well-known. During the centuries they have received distorting connotations, and have lost so much of their genuine power that we must seriously ask ourselves whether we should use them at all, or whether we should discard them as useless tools.

But there is a mysterious fact about the great words of our religious tradition: they cannot be replaced. All attempts to make substitutions, including those I have tried myself, have failed to convey the reality that was to be expressed; they have led to shallow talk. There are no substitutes for words like "sin" and "grace". But there is a way of rediscovering their meaning, the same way that leads us down into the depth of our human existence. In that depth these words were conceived; and there they gained power for all ages; there they must be found again by each generation, and by each of us for [them]self.

I should like to suggest another word to you, not as a substitute for the word "sin", but as a useful clue in the interpretation of the word "sin"; "separation". We not only suffer with all other creatures because of the self-destructive consequences of our separation, but also know why we suffer. We know that we are estranged from something to which we really belong, and with which we should be united.

Grace occurs in spite of separation and estrangement. Grace is the reunion of life with life, the reconciliation of the self with itself. Grace is the acceptance of that which is rejected. Grace transforms guilt into confidence and courage. There is something triumphant in the word grace: in spite of the abounding of sin grace abounds much more.