1 Thess, Advent, Church Life, Farewells

Farewell Newsletter Article

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Dear ones in Christ,

The earliest document preserved in the New Testament is 1 Thessalonians, a letter written by Paul in 51 C.E. to the church at Thessalonika. It is our first impression of what the newly born Christian faith and practice might have been like, decades before the gospels were written.  In this letter, Paul writes to a beloved community, saying:  How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you? (1 Thessalonians 3:9)

Paul wondered whether he would ever see the people at Thessalonika again, and he cared deeply about their faith. Soon I will be far away, and although I will not see you, this family of faith will always hold a place in my heart. We have shared in both personal trials and celebrations in the past several years. You have shown a deep kindness to me and to my dear ones, the two-legged and the four-legged.

Saying goodbye is never easy. My last service of worship will be at 11 p.m. on Christmas Eve. There we will gather around Christ’s table, as Christians have done since before Paul wrote his letter to the Thessalonians. For almost 2000 years, faithful people have been parting from one another with words of Christ’s peace, and we will do the same. At my last Sunday service, on December 23, we will take the time to say good-byes and to release each other from our covenant in ministry. You will always have a place in my heart, but after I leave here for the last time on December 26, I will not be able to baptize or officiate at funerals or weddings for members of this church; that is the practice in our faith tradition.

We read this passage from Thessalonians in Advent, the beginning of the church year, a time when we anticipate the unpredictable future. Paul writes, And may the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all, just as we abound in love for you. (1 Thessalonians 3:12)  Like Paul, I wonder how things will develop for the people I can no longer see. I have hopes for your future together. I pray that God will be with you in all that you do and that you will share your abounding love with the hungry and hurting in this community and in the world. I pray that you will be spiritually nourished by your work on Christ’s behalf.

Your next chapter will unfold without me, as mine will without you. Whatever comes next, know that you do not face it alone, for the God who made you and the Christ who redeemed you and the Holy Spirit who comforts you will always be with you. As God has blessed you, may you be a blessing to others.

Faithfully,

Rev. Martha

1 Thess, Matthew, Sermons

Heads or Tails?

A sermon for Proper 24    October 26, 2008    1 Thessalonians 1:1-10; Matthew 22:15-22

We’ve
had a lot of news on at our house lately. The financial crisis, the
Presidential campaign—both rivet my ears to listen, if not my eyes to
watch. Light Princess came into the kitchen, where we have a small TV
on the counter, and she heard a report about undecided voters. How, she
asked, can people be undecided? For her this seemed to be a mysterious
concept. If presented with a candidate or an issue, why don’t you just
use your tools—your thinking, your values, your feelings, your
intuition—to help you reach a determination?

Well, I told her,
some people don’t start with a strong party affiliation. Some people,
in fact, place a value on being independent and therefore don’t
associate themselves immediately with one side or the other.

Some people either don’t like to choose, or they enjoy the process of choosing enough to savor it.

I don’t imagine, I told her, that most people just get to the voting booth and flip a coin. Heads, Obama? Tails, McCain?

On
the other hand, maybe they do. I can think of times I got to that
crucial moment and had no idea who or what I wanted to support,
especially on those ballot issues I didn’t take the time to read about
carefully. Wednesday night, Snowman called home for help with his
absentee ballot, and I have to tell you, I didn’t know we had ballot
issues in City By the Sea, much less what they were about! Using my
ability to read complex English sentences, which those ballot measures
and bond issues always are, I did the best I could to figure out the
issues and my point of view and to help both of us draw a conclusion.

When
we read stories about the questions addressed to Jesus, we would do
well to remember how we feel standing in the voting booth reading about
Question Z or Bond Issue 732.

Then the Pharisees went and
plotted to entrap him in what he said. So they sent their disciples to
him, along with the Herodians, saying, "Teacher, we know that you are
sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show
deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell
us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or
not?"
(Matthew 22:15-17, NRSV)

I’m reminded of the
propositions worded to confuse us, to turn our brains around and make
us questions what we know to be true. Jesus, of course, understood, but
let’s place ourselves in the position of the disciples, not the
cleverest group of fellows ever, standing by and listening to Jesus get
this question from disciples of the Pharisees. The Pharisees feel
threatened by Jesus as a matter of faith; he calls their practice into
question and threatens the religious status quo. The party of King
Herod, that monarch propped up by the invading Romans, have another set
of interests. Their power lies in their support of Rome. If they heard
Jesus speak against paying taxes to the emperor, they would have to
prosecute him. So the Pharisees cleverly brought them along, certain
that one way or the other they could discredit Jesus. If he supports
taxes, he lets down his followers, who hail from an area known for its
revolutionary feelings toward Rome. If he doesn’t, he’ll wind up in
jail.

If I’m a disciple, standing by and listening, I am surely wondering how my teacher will get himself out of this one.

And then he asks to see a coin.

But
Jesus, aware of their malice, said, "Why are you putting me to the
test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax." And they
brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, "Whose head is this, and
whose title?"
(Matthew 22:18-20, NRSV)

Ah, the disciples must have thought with relief. He can’t be tricked so easily!!

They
answered, "The emperor's." Then he said to them, "Give therefore to the
emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that
are God's." When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him
and went away.
(Matthew 22:21-22, NRSV)

Render unto Caesar
what is Caesar’s, and unto God what is God’s. It’s funny how I remember
the King James Version of some of these passages! Render unto Caesar,
heard the disciples, and they thought, “Phew! He told them!!”

But he is telling us, too.

If
you’re like me, you’ve been thinking a lot about money the past few
weeks, wondering when or if the stock market would stop falling,
wondering whether the bailout was really a good idea or not, wondering
about your own retirement whether you’re in it or anticipating it or
hoping it won’t have to come too soon! You’re wondering about your
house, whether it’s worth anything anymore, or breathing a sigh of
relief that you weren’t thinking of moving yet.

Some of us, in
the midst of all this, sat down to talk about the Stewardship campaign,
to think about what we could say in a letter to the church in these
tough times, to contemplate what we can give ourselves, what we might
be able to do without, to wonder, “What are the limits of possibility?”

Jesus
gave an unexpected answer to the Pharisees. Pay the taxes, he said,
with the money designed by Caesar. Give God what is God’s.

Pay your taxes and your pledge. Amen.

That’s how many a Stewardship sermon might end! Keep being faithful to God, and do what you have to do in the rest of the world.

But
that’s too simple. Caesar, the emperor, occupied Jerusalem. The Romans
invaded and help a people under house arrest. You could live your life
as long as you capitulated to the authority of the Romans and their
puppets. And I found myself wondering this week, who is Caesar to us,
really?

Last week, on the humorous radio news quiz, “Wait, Wait…
Don’t Tell Me!” someone wondered, “What will we say to our children
when there are no Christmas presents?” My first thought: I’m glad my
kids are older! But there’s a truth in that question that connects
directly to the gospel. The Christmas they are talking about has
nothing to do with Jesus, nothing to do with the miracle of God’s
presence among us as a human being. No, that Christmas has everything
to do with shopping, with our consumer culture, with the notion that we
all need more things than anyone can use—and that is what enslaves us
as surely as Caesar’s army occupied Jerusalem.

Jesus asked them:
"Whose
head is this, and whose title?" They answered, "The emperor's." Then he
said to them, "Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the
emperor's, and to God the things that are God's."

And I
wonder, which are we? Are we the people of God, set free in Jesus
Christ, or are we the people of the coin, enslaved to the common
culture?

Some people enter the voting booth undecided. Some
people arrive at church with no clear idea of where their deepest
commitments lie. It’s easy for us to do that, because we don’t have a
lot at stake, in the world’s terms, when we come to church. But that
was not true in the first century, not true for the faithful people in
Thessalonika. Paul’s letter to them is the earliest piece of writing in
the New Testament, dated to year 51 of the Common Era. Listen to how
Paul encourages them by reminding them who they have chosen to be:

We
always give thanks to God for all of you and mention you in our
prayers, constantly remembering before our God and Father your work of
faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus
Christ.
For we know, brothers and sisters beloved by God, that he
has chosen you, because our message of the gospel came to you not in
word only, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full
conviction; just as you know what kind of persons we proved to be among
you for your sake. And you became imitators of us and of the Lord, for
in spite of persecution you received the word with joy inspired by the
Holy Spirit, so that you became an example to all the believers in
Macedonia and in Achaia.
(1 Thessalonians 1:2-7, NRSV)

Now,
we don’t have to fear that somewhere out in the parking lot a
government spy is writing down our license plate numbers to report us
for practicing our faith. We don’t have to worry about losing our jobs
or our place in the community because we are following a strange new
way, a new and revolutionary God. The Thessalonians risked just such
things because Christianity violated the civil religion of the Roman
Empire. You could not worship one God. You were expected to worship the
appropriate gods, instead. To choose otherwise could be seen as an act
of political rebellion.

You would not stand and flip a coin
with Caesar’s head to decide whether to be a Christian in first century
Thessalonika. You had to want it so much you couldn’t help yourself.
You had to give yourself to God, the self that was God’s in the first
place. You had to choose love over fear, an awareness of God's love for
you, and a love you express in return, to God and to your community in
Christ.

When I think of Jesus, standing there with the Pharisees
and the Herodians, I remember that he was one of us, a person, using
his tools to draw a conclusion. He recalled recent history and
considered current events and drew on his faith and answered the
question with a question before driving the point home. I remind myself
that his pocket did not hold even one coin.

You and I, each one
of us, has a choice about whose people to be. Even in a time of
hardship and worry, we can spend Sunday morning going out to brunch, or
we can choose to stay home and watch “Meet the Press,” or we can be
here looking at things from another point view. We can ignore what is
happening, or we can hear the bad news and give into it, or we can
remember that we are God’s people and seek the hope that is ours, in
every time and place.

Heads or tails, which will it be? May it be the Good News we choose, no coin-toss required. Amen.

1 Thess, Living in This World, Rheumatoid Arthritis

Struggling to be Kind

And you became
imitators of us and of the Lord, for in spite of persecution you
received the word with joy inspired by the Holy Spirit, so that you became an example to all the believers in Macedonia and in Achaia. For the word of the
Lord has sounded forth from you not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but
in every place your faith in God has become known, so that we have no
need to speak about it. For the people of
those regions report about us what kind of welcome we had among you,
and how you turned to God from idols, to serve a living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven, whom he raised from the dead—Jesus, who rescues us from the wrath that is coming.
(1 Thessalonians 1:6-10, NRSV)

I admire those people in Thessalonika. They found joy and practiced hospitality and did it all in the face of persecution. I am finding joy and kindness a challenge this morning as I contemplate questions about whether the work I feel called to do will continue to exist.

In a discussion of the economy on one of the morning shows, a woman said, "We don't know what jobs will matter in the future." She was talking about how the economy will develop, that we don't know what categories of work will matter to us. But it left me wondering, does an educated clergy matter *more* or *less* in times of economic hardship?

I worry about this selfishly. Now that I have a "pre-existing condition" my choices are maintaining my denominational insurance or? My husband has insurance only when he is actually working, so he would be without insurance, too, should I lose mine. He could probably get a year-round nuke job, but it wouldn't help me, since I have that pre-existing condition. I don't really understand these things, have heard scary words about spending down all your assets to get Medicaid. Since I have an illness that left untreated might well be crippling, I have to find a way to get that treatment. I really can't make sense of this at all. I did nothing to bring this illness on myself, and I am trapped by it. I am haunted by worst case scenarios.

I'm hearing alarmingly casual conversations about all ministry becoming bivocational, about the desirability of simply making a gift of our training while working at another job. With my wrists and fingers, I'll never make a barista. I never trained to do anything else. In a time of economic crisis, are pastors less important to people, really? Or is it that even though we might matter, there just aren't enough resources to go around?

This is not persecution, of course. It's a collision between my medical condition and the world economy, and it's only anyone's fault in the collective sense that the latter situation arose from all of us. I've deleted as many lines as I've written here, because I am angry, even bitter, about my circumstances, and I don't want to express those sour feelings here. I want to find a way through them and beyond them.

How did the Thessalonians do it? Was there not one among them feeling as I do, in desperate need of an encouraging word, saying to herself or himself, "Everyone else is taking this so calmly! What is the matter with me?"

What *is* the matter with me?

And how do I move through this, both the reality and the anxious concerns attached to it? Pastors, even the ones who may not have the same level of concern about their health plans, must be asking the same questions. How much is it reasonable to expect a church to do? Are we among the people who have to lose our health insurance to move the public to support a nationalized program? Is that our sacrifice?

I really hope not. I really hope not. I'm thinking of myself, of the fingers and toes I hope will not be deformed by my illness, of the treatment needed to prevent it. It's direct and explicit and personal. I guess that's selfish. I know it is. But it's where I am, on this particular morning.