Rooted In Love A sermon preached by Rev. Kelly Grimes at Foundry UMC February 13th, 2022. “Shine On!” series. Texts: Luke 6:17- https://foundryumc.org/archive  

Foundry UMC

Rooted In Love - February 13th, 2022

Cast a Lifeline A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC February 6, 2022, the fifth Sunday after Epiphany. “Shine On!” series. Text: Luke 5:1-11 “Evangelism is a good word with a bad reputation.” I love this line from A Disciple’s Path Companion Reader. It goes on, “The term has been so abused by slick preachers and manipulative politicians that people inside the church are afraid to speak it and people outside the church run for cover the moment they hear it.” Isn’t this true? The word “evangelical” carries so much baggage in our country it’s difficult to remember that the word evangelism comes from the root word meaning “good news.” To be “evangelical” in its unsullied form is simply to share good news. Because of evangelism’s well-earned bad reputation, some may feel an impulse to willfully avoid the part of our covenant promise to faithfully participate in the ministry of the church not only by our prayers, presence, gifts, and service, but also by our witness. I think for many of us, however, we understand this piece of our discipleship as “walking the talk,” that is, “proclaiming” or sharing our beliefs and values through our actions. This is a core part of Christian witness. It’s summed up in the quote attributed to St. Francis: “Preach the Gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.”  We “walk the talk” both as individuals and as communities. What we do and how we are as a community says a lot to other people. The way we share life and set priorities is a critical part of our witness, what theologian Douglas John Hall calls “ecclesial body language.”   And in conversation about our Gospel story for today with my friend and mentor, Rev. Jesse Jackson, he emphasized the responsibility we all have as individuals. He reminded me that God didn’t send a document or an email, God sent a person. And as disciples we are called not just to admire Jesus, not just to worship Jesus, but to follow Jesus.  In our Gospel, Jesus didn’t send those anxious to receive the good news of God a press release or as an article about the good work of his congregation, Jesus showed up in person among the people. A key piece of witness is showing up where people need to receive some good news. Jesus shows up and asked a certain person, Simon Peter, to take him out a little way in his boat, and from there he shared with the crowds. When he’d finished speaking, Jesus got Simon further involved, simply by asking him to do what he already knew how to do: “Let down your nets for a catch.” Simon had no reason to believe that there would be any fish. He had no reason to believe there was any point to casting his net. But he humored Jesus and let down the nets. The unexpected happened, the nets were filled, and Simon is moved to confess his sinfulness. I find this part curious. Why is this Simon’s response?  It makes me think of so many people who don’t believe they are worthy of notice, worthy of good fortune, worthy of others’ confidence, worthy of others’ love. I can hear Simon Peter thinking, “I don’t deserve this bounty. I haven’t earned it. I’m not worthy of your praise or attention for this work, Jesus.” Might that have been part of what is happening here? I think of the heartbreaking lyric from an old Sting song about a transgender sex worker who says, “And no, it’s just not in my plan / For someone to care who I am.” I imagine there are so many in a variety of contexts who sing that song. Simon had no reason to believe Jesus would care who he was, no reason to believe he would be invited by Jesus to put on Rabbi Jesus’s yoke and follow him as a disciple. The way things worked in those days meant that if Simon had what it took to follow a Rabbi he would’ve already been in graduate follow-a-Rabbi school and wouldn’t have taken up the family trade as a fisher. According to the ways of the world, Simon Peter had little power and limited options.  But Jesus showed up, recognized that Simon Peter had the resource Jesus needed to do his work (a boat), honored and encouraged Simon’s fishing skill, then called him to apply that skill in a new direction, to “fish for people.” Jesus said, in essence, you have gifts that can be used for the work of the Kin-dom. You are worthy of this call. You are important to God and loved by God. Jesus threw this unlikely fisher a lifeline, an invitation to step more fully into his giftedness, purpose, and place in God’s family. This is the piece of our own witness that we may sometimes miss: invitation. We are called not only to share God’s liberating love with others through our presence and our action, but also invite them to explore and experience it for themselves. You and I, like Simon Peter, are called to follow Jesus and to “fish for people.” That doesn’t mean that we manipulate, trap, or hook people, it means we cast a lifeline to those who need one. We’re not asked to be someone we’re not, to be inauthentic, or to insert some testimony in awkward ways. We’re not asked to force anything or try to change anyone’s mind. We’re simply asked to not only be aware of others’ physical needs such as food, clothing, housing, and safety, but also to remember that people are searching for meaning and purpose and belonging and hope and friendship and love. Some people who seem to have everything are looking for those last bits. And many of us find in our faith and faith community some or all of those life-giving gifts. We have good news to share! And you never know how a simple invitation might change everything for someone. Our assumption that people aren’t interested or will be hostile could keep us from being agents of God’s prevenient grace in another person’s life.  If we not only admire Jesus, but truly follow Jesus, our witness will be both life changing and world changing. We know that Simon Peter’s life was changed forever; but it wasn’t just about him. Simon Peter became part of a community of friends and disciples who tried to follow, teach, and serve in the way of Jesus. That work was imperfect, but Spirit and grace fueled. And, as the story goes, the public witness of the first Christian communities provided a powerful vision and invitation into a new way of living together, grounded in the love, mercy, justice, and generosity of God. Their communal “body language” was a beacon of hope. We may choose to avoid the word “evangelical” because it is so twisted in our time. But in our words and our actions, as individuals and as faith community, we are called to follow Jesus, to fish for people, to cast a lifeline, putting the net of our hearts and lives down deep into all the hopeless, cynical, wounded, weary places where people have no reason to believe that emptiness can be filled, that meaning can be found, that they can be loved, or that things can be different or good or life-giving. As we respond to the call, we will experience and share the bounty of God’s grace that always emerges in Spirit’s wake. And isn’t that good news https://foundryumc.org/

Cast a Lifeline - February 6th, 2022

Loving Presence A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC January 30, 2022, the fourth Sunday after the Epiphany. “Shine On!” series. Texts: 1 Corinthians 13:1-13, Luke 4:21-30 Do you have to “go to church” to be a Christian? Evidently there was quite the robust conversation on this topic amongst our last confirmation class. There are at least a couple of solid responses. First, I would pose a follow up question, does showing up for worship and other church activities on a regular basis make you a Christian? If, by Christian, we mean (as we say in our Baptismal liturgy) “a true disciple who walks in the way that leads to life” then the answer is a resounding, “no.” Going to a church makes you a Christian as much as going to a garage makes you a car. It is quite possible to be a card-carrying Christian whose life has little resemblance to Jesus—and perhaps even does damage to Jesus’ good name. The story of what happens when Jesus goes back to his “home church” in Nazareth is a good example. Jesus reminded them that God’s prophetic work focused on those considered “outsiders” or “other,” implying this would be the case for Jesus’ ministry as well. The hometown crowd couldn’t stand the thought that he wouldn’t just share his gifts with them, they were enraged at Jesus’ implication that the miracle of his love would be offered to people whom they deemed enemies, to people they despised. When Jesus went to his home church to visit the adults with whom he had grown up, perhaps folks who had taught him the Torah, and played with him as a child, perhaps adults whom he had admired…what happened?  They didn’t just damage his name, they tried to kill him. They had somehow missed the part in scripture about caring for the stranger and sojourner, doing justice, and walking humbly with God. They wanted what they wanted for themselves, were looking out for themselves. But, as Jesus points out and models, the Judeo-Christian story provides a stark contrast to this human tendency. The story we tell is not just about us as individuals, not just about “me.” It’s about “WE.” Our faith is all about relationships, it involves caring about more than just my own needs or desires, it involves being part of a community, it involves attending to the needs of the most vulnerable ones in God’s creation. These relational, communal, other-focused aspects of the faith are not peripheral to our practice of Christian faith. They are at the very core. And here is where we get to another response to the confirmands’ conversation. In short, “there is no such thing as solitary Christianity. Being a follower of Jesus means being in community with other followers of Jesus. We can be…spiritual without the presence of other people in our lives, but we cannot be growing disciples of Jesus Christ without the encouragement, guidance, wisdom, and accountability of other disciples.” I often talk about the community of the church as the “lab” or training ground for the rest of our lives. It is in our faith community that we get to practice mercy, compassion, leadership, courage, speaking up, holding our tongues, sharing our gifts, honoring others’ gifts, and all the rest. The 1st letter to the Corinthians was focused on helping that congregation get clear about where they needed to do better in their practice. As Pastor Ben pointed out last week, Paul is speaking to the ways that some gifts were being valued more than others, some people being valued more than others. Paul encouraged them to practice a more excellent way of living in relationship and community, the way of love. We practice when we are present with one another. Weekly gatherings for worship are our most regular, broadly shared communal experience of relating to God and to one another. For those who are new among us on any given Sunday, what they see, hear, and do as part of our worship tells them a lot about who we are and what we’re about. For those of us who worship as Foundry regularly, everything we do in worship is an occasion for rehearsing our faith. One writer says that “the repeated patterns and practices of Christian worship over time shape us in ways of being with God and one another. In the repeated patterns and practices of Christian worship, we are formed and fashioned into the values and vision of the gospel.”  “Repeated patterns and practices,” it is suggested, are necessary in order to be formed into the shape that more closely resembles the Kin-dom of heaven.   Think of a body-builder: if he wants to change the shape of his body to emphasize certain aspects of his physique, then regular, repeated patterns and practices are required. The same movement, over and over, builds strength and definition. If we want our lives to look a certain way, to have particular characteristics and reflect particular values, then repeated patterns and practices—disciplined habits—are required to help our lives take that shape. We might also think about a sports team. Individuals can practice the fundamentals on their own, but the team won’t play well together or accomplish its goal unless each person is consistent in team practice and utilizes each team member’s different strengths. The repeated patterns and practices of Christian worship, meant to be lively and life-giving can certainly become formulaic, boring, and, well…deadly. The founder of the Methodist movement, John Wesley, was deeply concerned that the Anglican Church of which he was a part had devolved into empty ritualism, seemingly cut off from the life-transforming power of the Holy Spirit. His response was to organize small groups to study the Bible, pray, support one another in the faith, hold each other accountable, and serve the poor. These small groups provided a context within which folks were reminded of what they were doing, nurtured a faith that was really connected to their everyday life, and deepened their relationship with the God they worshiped when they showed up on Sunday morning. Wesley remained an Anglican priest his whole life and always expected members of the small groups within the Methodist societies to worship at their parish church, bringing their spiritual awakening with them into the pews to enliven the ritual with a vital and living faith in a living God!   Our spiritual heritage as United Methodists, therefore, is rich with a model for small group community, with worship patterns and practices of the Anglican Church out of which we grew, and an intentional focus on the movement of the Holy Spirit who is always at work in our daily lives and in our worship to challenge, transform, inspire, and make us new.  There is a basic pattern and movement of our worship—gathering in prayer and praise, being encountered by the Word of God, responding to the Word in acts of faith, generosity, sacrament, and commitment, and being commissioned and sent forth. Within the basic pattern, those of us who plan worship may add something creative or different at the prompting of Spirit. And in any given week, something may happen “on the spot”—something unplanned or uncontrolled. The regular pattern and practice of communal worship creates the trusted “container” in which Spirit can move in surprising ways. I will never forget the Ascension Sunday when, after preaching a sermon inspired by an image of Christ dancing into heaven, I planned to have my friend sing the song “I Hope You Dance.” I knew I would invite the congregation to respond during the song, but wasn’t sure what form that response would take—whether it would be an invitation to pray at the altar or in the pews, or—well, I just didn’t know ahead of time. When the time came, I simply invited folks to respond however they wanted to…they could pray, they could just ponder, they could dance, whatever. And, lo and behold, people got up and started dancing together, right there in church!  Communal ritual—whether in worship or participation in a small group—helps create trust that allows taking risks like that. It’s also important because of its consistency. It helps us remain in relationship to God and to one another through the varying conditions of our lives and the inconsistencies of our feelings and moods; this is why I encourage those who are grieving—or those struggling in their faith—to get back into regular worship or connection with their small group as soon as possible; the ritual helps provide something constant, a place to be held. It has also been said that ritual practice is necessary for us because of our persistent amnesia—our forgetting who we are, whom we live for, and why. And so we gather in small groups to share what’s real in our lives and to receive encouragement, support, and prayer for the journey. We are present with one another in worship to pray, listen, and ponder, to sing our praises to God, to speak words full of poetry and mystery that call us to remember the story, to remember who we are and who God is and why we are here anyway—that it’s not all about me or just looking out for Number One, that there is something larger of which we are a part and that there is hope for our lives no matter what the circumstances. Perhaps the most poignant example for me of the power of communal ritual to form and shape us and to become so much a part of us that it lives in our bones is the experience of praying and singing with folks who suffer from Alzheimers Disease or dementia. Somehow the Lord’s Prayer, the favorite Christmas carol—whatever was repeated and enlivened through the rituals of the Church for that person—those things remain when so much else is lost. The disease can’t touch that part of them; they can still recite those prayers… Those rituals live in very deep places in us. They form us; and they remind us who we are even when so much else of our lives is forgotten. And, of course, the thing that matters most of all in life is the love we give and receive. Cultivating relationships, caring for one another, sharing life in all its complications, and highs, and lows, working shoulder to shoulder for things that matter, laughing, crying, and persevering together—this is the heart of it all. Our worship and our intentional connections in relationship with one another in small groups, classes, ministry teams and committees provide the place for us to practice living faith, hope, and love. Only when we’ve been at it awhile, will we be able to create enough trust to do the really difficult things and work together in ways that truly honor every gift and member. It is in these contexts we are formed and grow in the love and compassion that reflects the life of God revealed in Jesus. Do you have to “go to church” to call yourself a Christian? No. Do you need to be part of intentional covenant community—even with all its challenges, needs, disappointments, and foibles—to be fully shaped and formed over the course of your life in the perfect love of God in the image of Jesus? Well… yes. The good news is that God’s faith in us, hope for us, and love for us abide. And that loving presence will guide your steps…and always on a path that leads to life. https://foundryumc.org/archive

Loving Presence - January 30th, 2022

A sermon preached by Rev. Ben Roberts for Foundry UMC January 23rd, 2022 "Shine On" Sermon Series  https://foundryumc.org/archive

Gifted for Service - January 23rd, 2022

2022-01-16 Guest Preacher Bishop Marcus Matthews Retired Baltimore-Washington Conference https://foundryumc.org/archive/shine-on

January 16th, 2022 - Making a Difference - Bishop Marcus Matthews

An Exchange of Vows A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC January 9, 2022, The Baptism of the Lord. “Shine On!” series. Texts: Isaiah 43:1-7, Luke 3:15-17, 21-22 Some of you may be familiar with the phrase “setting intention.”  The core of Christian Centering Prayer (a meditative form of prayer) is to set your intention to be present to God.  For those of you who practice yoga, you will know that as you begin, the invitation is often to “set your intention” for your practice that day.  In other words, as you move through the practice, what do you want to work on?  What do you want to hold in mind?  What is your intention?  For me the language and practice of “intention” has become so important in my life.  I want to be intentional about my living, my choosing, my priority-setting, my loving. In our United Methodist wedding liturgy, immediately following the welcome, is something called the “Declaration of Intention” in which the persons being married are asked to affirm things that sound like traditional marriage vows. It’s a part of the ceremony that often elicits questions during preparatory conversations with the couple. It’s not always clear why this shows up so early in the service. The backstory of this part of the ceremony is that it replaces the old “who gives this woman to be married” part—a practice grounded in patriarchal understandings of women as property, as persons without their own agency or voice. In our current service, those standing at the altar say right up front that no one is forcing them to get married and that they have chosen the person they’re marrying. That’s what those “vows” are all about. They are clearly stating their intention to freely enter into union with the person who stands beside them and to share the joys and sorrows of the relationship no matter what the future will hold.  The parents and families and the whole congregation are also asked to affirm their blessing and support—their intention for their own relationship with the couple. Whether it’s in prayer, a spiritual practice, or entering the covenant of marriage, our intentions are what we want to try to do or to be. And the truth is that we never know how things will play out in an unknown future. But in these key moments of our lives, we set our faces toward the vision we seek, with as much clarity as we can muster, and then…we try.  Today is traditionally known as “Baptism of the Lord Sunday.” Many congregations, Foundry among them, include on this day an opportunity to reflect upon and participate in a reaffirmation of our baptismal covenant. For those of us who are baptized, it was either the intention of our parents when we were infants or our own intention as youth or adults to enter into the covenant of Baptism, into a more intentional relationship not only with God but with the people of God in the Body of Christ.  And today, on this Baptism of the Lord Sunday, we stand at the banks of the Jordan River, that historically powerful place of crossing from the wilderness into the promised land, that flowing symbol of passage from one life into another and we witness Jesus baptized by John. What was Jesus’ intention when he wandered into those waters? Why was Jesus Baptized?  Luke doesn’t tell us. But in Matthew’s account (3:15) Jesus states his intention is “to fulfill all righteousness.” Whenever we receive the word “righteousness,” think: “right relationship.” Some will disagree with me on this, but I think Jesus could have avoided the river Jordan, that he could have chosen not to pass through those waters into the life for which he was created, that he could have avoided his responsibility to fulfill “right relationship” and, instead, used all his considerable mojo to live whatever life he wanted. But, as the one who shows us what perfect love is and does, he humbly offers himself to John’s hands. In most Christian circles, we believe that Jesus came into the world as the Christ, as the very heart of God. His Baptism didn’t necessarily change him—it didn’t zap him into being the Christ. Rather, Jesus’ baptism was and is an affirmation and confirmation of his true identity, a revelation, a further epiphany for us that this one is our Lord, the one who shows us how to be truly and fully human in the image of God. Jesus’ intention was to live fully in his identity, to be in loving and just (“right”) relationship with God and others; and he chose to pass through the waters of the Jordan. As he emerged, Spirit descended upon him and led him into the wilderness for 40 days and nights where Jesus wrestled with the devilish voice, prayed, fasted, and prepared for his new, public life and ministry. I was reading from the UM Book of Worship in preparation for today and was struck afresh by these words: “The Baptismal Covenant is God’s word to us, proclaiming our adoption by grace, and our word to God, promising our response of faith and love.” Through our Baptism, we are adopted by God and brought into the Christian part of God’s family, incorporated into God’s own life, enfolded into God’s love. This doesn’t mean that we are outside of God’s love prior to our Baptism—but rather, that at our Baptism, like Jesus, our truest identity is affirmed and confirmed, namely, that we are beloved children of God. This is God’s word to us: I am your God and you are my Beloved. More of God’s intention is clarified in Isaiah 43:  Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;     I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;     and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,     and the flame shall not consume you. …you are precious in my sight,     and honored, and I love you… As you pass through the waters, as you affirm and reaffirm your covenant with God, you are invited to acknowledge and celebrate that you ARE a beloved child of God, a sibling of Jesus, part of the Beloved Clan. This truth invites a joyful response. It invites us to make our own declaration of intention for who we will try to be and what we will try to do in relationship with God, with the whole human family, and within the Christian family.  But just as in our understanding of marriage, God doesn’t force you to do anything. You are not coerced to respond. You have agency and voice. If you were baptized as an infant, that act was an affirmation of the truth of your belovedness and identity within God’s family. Those who brought you for Holy Baptism weren’t “speaking for you.” They affirmed their own faith and stated their intention to raise you so that you could know God and God’s love. You have a choice about your response every day after your Baptism. You can use your own mojo any way you choose. You can choose what kind of relationship you will have with God and with others. You choose your response to God, your intention. As we gather on this day following the one year anniversary of the insurrection at our nation’s capital, I’m newly reminded how important it is for us to be clear both about our intention and the impact of our choices. I’m newly reminded how twisted versions of Christianity are woven into a long-standing, violent, white nationalist narrative and agenda in our country whose agents are rarely if ever truly held accountable for the harm inflicted. I’m reminded of the ways that the name of Jesus is coopted for the purpose of division when in truth Jesus’ witness modeled creation of community that crossed all boundaries and tore down dividing walls between people of all ages, nations, and races. I’m reminded of the stunning perversion of Jesus into one who marches with gun-toting bullies and supports self-serving greed. Because scripture is clear that, while Jesus clearly had power, charisma, and wisdom he chose not to throw his weight around and lord over others (unrighteous relationship), but chose instead to humble himself, to enter into the same waters of Baptism that we share, to face the wilderness and its many temptations, to journey in community and solidarity with all in need, to welcome and raise to leadership those whom others rejected or ignored, to insist upon both personal spiritual devotion and public social justice, to care for both souls and bodies, and to persevere even unto death for the sake of love. Jesus reveals for us the perfected image of God in human form—and all of us, in all our various gender identities, orientations, skin colors, nationalities, religions, and abilities are made in the image of God. Today I want to remind us that if we take them seriously, the ancient words of our Baptismal covenant provide powerful words of intention for us for the living of these and all our days. First, we acknowledge there is evil in the world and that we ourselves fall short of God’s vision and so we repent. We affirm the power and freedom we’re given to resist evil, injustice, and oppression and to do what is right. We believe and have come to know that Jesus is the one who can show us what right relationship looks like and so we put our trust in Jesus and seek to follow.  God’s word to us is love…forgiveness…freedom…power. What is your word of response to God? What will be your true intention? Your answer makes a difference. And God’s grace will be with you as you try. https://foundryumc.org/archive

An Exchange of Vows - January 10th, 2022

On the Path A homily preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, January 2, 2022, Celebration of Epiphany, “Shine On!” series.     Text: Matthew 2:1-12 One of the things I’ve heard myself say to countless persons in various challenging contexts over the course of my ministry and particularly the past couple of years is: “Things are not always going to be this way. You’re not always going to be where you are right now. It’s a journey…” This is not only a pep talk, it’s a theological assertion and a statement of Christian faith. Because the story we tell is that God is with us, receives our cries, and brings us through suffering and struggle to a new place of freedom and life. From slavery to promised land, from tomb to broiled fish on the beach with friends, the story is consistent. God’s saving love and grace is assured.  This message has been key in the ongoing global pandemic and especially in the moments when many of us—either personally or collectively—have felt so profoundly stuck. Of course, we all know, really, that things change in our lives. Some of the changes are beyond our control. And some, we have agency to affect. And regardless of how changes happen in or around us, we always have the choice of how we’ll respond. How we choose to respond to new realities or challenges sets us on a particular path, puts us on a particular trajectory. It’s important to choose wisely.   At the beginning of a new calendar year, it is tradition for many to give thought to what kinds of changes they want to make in their lives. I have a love/hate relationship with new year’s resolutions. But the idea of it is frankly pretty good. If you’re going to change one way or another, it is wise to consider what direction you actually want to travel. Where are you trying to go? What are you trying to do? What steps can you take to move in that direction? I’ve been thinking about this myself and I’ve decided I want to be like Betty White or Archbishop Desmond Tutu or Dolly Parton or José Andrés. There are others I could name, but these are currently front of mind. The point is that I’m thinking about legacy—about the story of my life I want others to be able to tell, about how I wish to be remembered as one who lives in the days we’re currently living. I’m thinking about what our lives mean in the larger world. And it’s not that we have to be famous as these I’ve named are. I also want to be like my Dad who is not famous at all. Fame is not the point. All of those I’ve named seem to have clarity about who they are and what gives their lives purpose and meaning. Dolly Parton describes what I’m after saying, “Find out who you are and do it on purpose.” This kind of living makes an impact. Betty White said, “Everybody needs a passion. That’s what keeps life interesting. If you live without passion, you can go through life without leaving any footprints.” And the first lines of Howard Thurman I ever encountered many years ago are these, “Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” // Whether known by a few or known the world over, the people whose lives make the deepest impact are those who have come alive.  I’m convinced that the closer we are to the source of life, the more we “come alive.” The closer we are to the heart of all that is, the more strongly our own heart will shine. And the Epiphany story we tell today, in its most broad terms, is a journey story on the path that leads to closer connection with the heart of God, with the life of God, with the love of God. The wise ones who came from afar in search of the prophesied new king, trained in the art of astronomy. I imagine it was their passion. And when they saw something changing in the sky, a herald of a promise, they made their journey, through danger and uncertainty, guided on the path by a star. They knew who they were, they had practiced their discipline, and they moved forward with intention to discover and honor the newborn king.  The truth is that we don’t know how many magi there really were, exactly where they came from, or what they hoped to gain from their encounter with Jesus. But whoever they were, their actions formed the kernel from which the ancient celebration of Epiphany springs. It is a celebration that reminds each of us to search for the holy one, to let nothing deter us on the way, to draw near, to offer the gifts of our lives, and then to be enlivened by the love of God revealed in Jesus. The nearer you are to the beating heart of God’s love and life, the more you will “come alive,” the more you will shine with God’s love. And the world needs people who have “come alive.” But you may feel stuck and dull and exhausted today. And you may think you don’t have anything left to offer. And in a time like this with so many challenges, you may be tempted to think there is no point to trying. And it may seem difficult to believe that things will ever be different than they are today. But there are those who have shown us how to shine with the love, peace, and power of God even in the midst of overwhelming pain, injustice, and despair. The late South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu is one of those people. He said, “Do your little bit of good where you are; it’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” You see, you don’t have to feed whole nations in the midst of a crisis like José Andrés, you just need to keep doing what you can. When the injustice and foolishness of the world threaten to overwhelm you, do your little bit of good and help overwhelm the world. A legacy, a life that makes a difference in others’ lives, doesn’t happen all at once. It is created along the way, little bit by little bit, choice by choice, response by response. And as we enter this new year, know there will be things that try to distract you and lead you into places of fear and danger. But also know God will guide your steps, will help you do your “little bit of good” day by day, will help you discern when to hold steady, to take a break, or (as with the magi in our story) to change course for your own safety. Things are not always going to be this way. You’re not always going to be where you are right now. You and I are on the path. God is with us, receives our cries, and brings us through suffering and struggle to a new place of freedom and life. From slavery to promised land, from cross to resurrection. From faraway places to the intimate, life-renewing presence of God’s love in Christ Jesus. God’s saving love and grace is assured on the path. Whether by the light of a star, the witness of others’ courage, good humor, perseverance, and generosity, or the simple encouragement of a loved one, God will guide us, go before us, and help us get to the other side. Archbishop Tutu’s affirmation of faith, set to music by John Bell, are where I’ll end. May this song be our traveling music for the journey of 2022: Goodness is stronger than evil; Love is stronger than hate; Light is stronger than darkness; Life is stronger than death; Victory is ours through Him who loves us. https://foundryumc.org/archive

On the Path - January 2nd, 2022

Great Joy For All A Christmas Homily shared by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC on December 24th, 2021. https://foundryumc.org/archive

Christmas Homily: Great Joy For All - December 24th, 2021

Luke 1:39-45  Rev. K.C. Van Atta-Casebier  A Sermon for Foundry UMC  12.19.21  Let’s Pray. God, for Your wisdom and revelation and hope, we pray now. Amen.  Well, this is a very embodied story, a story of two pregnant women. While I hope I have done faithful work to make this story both accessible and gentle, I do want to offer this word, keep watch over your heart. Breathe deeply and take breaks if you need to.  Have you ever felt like you just knew something? Call it intuition or spiritual connection or universe electricity or just a well developed gut. Recently I answered a phone call, and I just knew what was waiting on the other end before the other person had spoken a word. I’m sure many of you have had moments where you felt Spirit pointing to something with about a thousand neon lighted arrows. As if to say, RIGHT HERE. This is the thing. This is your next step. Or take this path or this leap. Slow down. Breathe deep.  Occasionally in the noise of it all, that divine voice of inner wisdom can get absorbed into the frequency of our environment. For this reason, I can hear my gut best when I am quiet and still, and when I allow my body to sink into itself. But not only is it difficult to hear, sometimes it can be hard to differentiate between what we are hearing from our inner truth and (I’m going to put this bluntly) downright mind tricks. Dangerous lies. And when my mind dupes me, I cope by spending a lot of time in a hypercritical flurry of preparation - pre-grief, pre-anxiety, pre-leading, pre-stress, pre-organizing, pre-worrying. And while yes, some of these things can be immensely helpful in the event of a crisis, the truth of the matter, even though it may be hard to see it, is that sometimes things work out. Even after you’ve stopped believing, even in the face of all of your preparatory grief or stress. Even if just for a moment. Sometimes, in the most unlikely circumstance what we get instead of a tragedy is a blessing. A humble God, a willingness to learn, a love that wins again and again, healing from trauma - a little bit at a time, survival, an unexpected miracle, a star in the night sky, a brave mother.  A few years ago I was sitting in a surgical waiting room, the kind where every half hour or so a surgeon will come in and announce a name. The family members to whom that name belongs will approach the doctor, and right there in the waiting room they tell you the fate of your loved one. I listened as a surgeon came in, announced the name, “Lisa,” and waited for the family to approach. I saw from across the room, a woman start to gather her things and get up. She comes running over to the doctor. The doctor says, “Are you here for Lisa?” “Yes,” the woman replies. And then I watched as this doctor struggled to make sense of their relationship, all while holding the most precious information of this woman’s life. Are you her friend….or her sister...or an aunt? As he continued to struggle, I saw the pain in her eyes. “No, I’m her wife,” she said quietly. The doctor then told her that her beloved Lisa was going to live, that he had gotten all of the cancer with clean margins. She wept openly as she wandered back to her waiting room seat. Something within me said, “Go to her.” I tried to fight this urge with all of my might. I was there for my family. I was not there in any official capacity. But still, the energy stirred. “Go to her,” it said. I could feel my shoulders tense, my abdomen tighten, my breath quicken. Something dared me to move. And it always feels like a dare, really. Because there is always something at stake - even if it’s just our comfort. So I went, but not before I had a tug-of-war in my head or what I have begun to call - indefatigable mind sparring. Eventually, my gut won. And this was clear because before my mind could catch up, I was already walking toward her. I asked if I could give her a hug, and apologized for the doctor. She said, “I’m just so glad she’s okay. And I’m not sure what made you come over here, but I am so glad you did. We drove many miles to come have this complicated surgery done by the best surgeon we could find. I have felt so alone.” She asked why I was in the waiting room and offered kind words of support. We talked until it was time for her to go see Lisa in recovery. Through tears we said goodbye.  “Go to her,” is what I imagine Mary heard from within her. An 80 mile, harrowing journey to look her dear cousin in the eye and say, “me too.” When she arrived, I can only imagine their exchange. Did an angel come to you, too? Was it scary for you, also? Look at us, just a couple of outcasts, seemingly unable or incapable of hosting life…and yet here we are looking into  each others eyes and feeling in our bodies the most impossible thing of all…that in the fullness of the unlikelihood of these circumstances…one thing is TRUE. For now, it seems to be working out. Mary and Elizabeth had both a human and divine connection. They really saw each other. The divine within Elizabeth recognizes the divine in Mary. The life within Mary sees the life within Elizabeth. And at that moment, I don’t know this for sure, but I hazard a guess that they weren’t trying to anticipate or help or advise or fix or teach. I think Mary and Elizabeth sat there with their umbilical connection - feeding one another presence and goodness and solidarity and hope.  I think I always thought this story was about the baby, or in this case, babies. I thought that my Mothering and my Motherhood gave me a unique entry point into this story and the Gospel as a whole for that matter. And for many years I have said that it is a shame that we don’t talk about infertility and childbirth and pregnancy in the church….primarily because in the story that is upon us, that is LITERALLY how God comes to us. And in its specificity, it is true. The story is about a young pregnant mother and an older unlikely mother and their babies and exchanges of blessings… but what if that's not the whole story? What if it’s not actually about the baby? At least not yet. The story of the baby is coming soon, but it's not here. And babies and birth are sometimes an inaccessible and painful story for some of us. So, let's not skip ahead. Let’s stay right here with Mary and Elizabeth for now. Take a break from the preparation and the “what ifs”, the mind sparring, and all that tinsel. Just sit right here with me for a minute. Listen, women and birthing people. Listen, men and non-birthing people. Listen, those who are struggling with fertility. Listen, those who don’t have kids by choice or by circumstance. What if the blessing isn’t just the baby? What if the good news, the fulfillment of the promise, the blessing… isn’t actually about our ability to bear children at all? What if it’s about our ability to bear God? The kind of bearing where the divine They rests in love and in shared life, all while conjuring our brew of inner knowing. And I have a few questions. If we know we’re all God bearers, can we be kinder to ourselves? Maybe speak to and about ourselves in ways that honor our belovedness? Can we see the blessings kept in us? Can we see them in one another? Can we stop trying to control others' bodies because we’re not really great at controlling our own? Can we stop laying claim to others bodies? Can we know, as Mary did, that we are God bearers? And then can we sing as Mary does, holy and unabashedly?  But not that one song… Mary, did you know? No offense to the Gaithers…or actually definite offense to the Gaithers for writing perhaps the most Biblically unlettered song ever. Did Mary know? Yeah, Mary knew. She knew deep in her soul. She knew with her eyes and her arms and her legs and her abdomen. She knew in her body. And despite what everyone had likely said about her body, it was God’s dwelling place. And the same is true about us. Our bodies are God’s dwelling place. Our insides are remarkably capable to bear not only the name of Christ, but the ACTUAL CHRIST. And it would be great if we continue to speak kindly to them and about them and to create safe space for Emmanuel. And when we feel a holy nudging in our inner knowing, may we follow it, if necessary, all the way to the outskirts of town to find the blessing of human and divine connection so strong that we actually feel God leap within us. https://foundryumc.org/archive

Blessing - December 19th, 2021

Renewal A meditation shared by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC on December 12, 2021, the third Sunday of Advent. “Good Tidings” series.           Texts: Zephaniah 3:14-20 I have a plant that is dear to me because it was a memorial gift received for my father’s funeral service six years ago. It was small enough that I could carry it home with me on the plane. This plant is very good at telling me when it needs water. Its leaves begin to look thin and droop, unable to remain upright due to lack of their most vital requirement. As soon as I give it a drink, the response is dramatic. The plant is restored right before my eyes; the water renews its strength.  Perhaps this image first came to mind as I reflected upon the words of the prophet Zephaniah because among all the good tidings from our text, the part that most struck me is, “God will renew you in his love.” At the end of this long year that has felt strangely short, I am painfully aware of how thin my resources are, how difficult it is to “keep my chin up” as daddy would say, how I often feel droopy like my plant when it’s thirsty. I’m aware of my own need for renewal—and I know I’m not alone. I observe frayed relationships and grieving families and whole communities grappling with trauma and anxiety. I’m aware of colleagues in ministry and school teachers and medical professionals who are burned out to the point of walking away from their vocations. I’m aware of the weary ones who continue to try to carry the banner for racial, gender, and economic equity and justice, for common sense gun laws, for access to education and health care and so much more. I’m aware of children and youth falling behind the learning curve and grappling with spikes in anxiety and depression. And, mercy, just think of the communities destroyed in minutes from tornadoes this week and all those still recovering from fires, floods and other increasingly intense natural disasters as a result of climate change. // “God will renew you…” Those are words I need to hear.  The original audience needed these words as well. Zephaniah prophesied in Judah during the early years of King Josiah, around 640 BCE and before the king’s reforms address the mess Israel had made of things. Much of the short book (only three chapters) is searing judgment upon Israel for idolatry and syncretism (1:4-6), complacency (1:12), corrupt leadership (3:3-4), and injustice (3:1, 5). And yet quite abruptly the message shifts. The last word of the book—the way Zephaniah’s prophecy ends—is what we receive today: “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!” And why the rejoicing? Because “The Lord has taken away the judgments against you…the Lord your God is in your midst…God will renew you in his love…God will deal with all your oppressors…will save the outcast…will bring you home…” Picture it in your mind’s eye…a whole community—weighed down with the human mix of guilt, fear, anxiety, weariness, apathy and all the fruits of injustice—everyone drooping and weak, parched for what is most needed... and then news arrives that God is on the way and will not destroy, but save them. Like a drink of cool water, mercy and help and relief and guidance and love flow into the parched places. God’s love renews them all. The end of Zephaniah feels a little bit like a stock photo, the old Deus ex machina, the knight in shining armor, Tammy Wynette “standing by her man.” It feels too easy, a bit contrived, a predictable ending to God’s love story.  But I gotta say, right now, predictable love stories are giving me life and not a small measure of joy. Whether it’s Hallmark or Lifetime or Netflix or wherever, I’m quite happy to spend some time with completely overused plot points like two romantically challenged characters who meet, realize they’re destined to be together, encounter a series of problems meant to separate them, and by the end are wrapped in each other’s arms. Or two people meet and immediately think the other is awful only later to discover that arguing with each other is better than any conversation with anyone else ever. Or two people who usually don’t get along agree to pretend they are together to satisfy family expectations or make an ex jealous and, well, you know how the story goes…  And I’ll quickly say that the renewal I get from 90 minutes of contrived plot points and charming country Christmas villages with quirky characters is NOT because I lack for love in my life. It’s because sometimes you just need to experience the predictable love story, to be reminded that desire for love is universal, that to love and be loved is life-giving and joy producing. And, of course, there’s the side benefit of shutting off large parts of your brain so that it can get a little break. That is renewing in a whole other way. Today and throughout this season, we receive again the familiar story of God’s love affair with us. It goes something like this: God loves us and provides guidance and resources for our lives to flourish; we blow God off in one form or fashion doing harm to others and ourselves in the process; God sends prophets and teachers to try to get our attention; and when we make even the smallest turn toward God, create even the slightest opening in our heart to God, God rushes in with grace and love and compassion and forgiveness. Rejoicing ensues and the credits roll… And then people create a series of sequels that have a very similar plot. The rejoicing isn’t because we’re off the hook, but because we realize we’re loved “even while we are yet sinners.” (as our communion liturgy affirms) // In my experience, water is sweeter when I’m parched. Mercy and forgiveness are cause for humble rejoicing when I know I’ve messed up. Assurance that I’m not alone and that I’m loved is nice enough when I am feeling strong, but that assurance is new life and strength when I’m feeling weak. Good tidings are only good when we know we stand in need of them… And the good tidings of Zephaniah’s prophesy reminds us that renewal is God’s desire for us. God knows what we need. We are assured that as we respond to God’s love, strengthened to try to do and be better, to live together in peace with justice, to care for others as we care for ourselves, God is in our midst as our advocate and guide, our protector, and the one who loves us best. So rejoice!  The plot twist, no longer such a twist for those who’ve seen the movie before, is that we aren’t the only ones singing for joy. In verse 17 it is God who is rejoicing! “God will rejoice over you with gladness, God will renew you in his love; God will exult over you with loud singing!”  God’s love story may have a predictable ending. But it never gets old. For God so loves the world that, well, you know how the story goes (cf. John 3:16-17). Let’s rejoice that in these holy days we receive the story and God’s amazing grace… again. https://foundryumc.org/archive

Renewal - December 12th, 2021

“Forgiveness”   A sermon preached by Rev. Will Ed Green for Foundry United Methodist Church Sunday, December 5th, 2021  What would you do if you were you were really free? Free from things that trip  you up, habits and attitudes that keep you from really living life fully? Free from guilt  and shame that keeps you rooted in past wrongs and old regrets? Free from believing  something you’ve done makes you less worthy of God’s love or capable of doing of  God’s kin-dom work?   On this second Sunday of Advent, John’s good tidings of God’s forgiveness come  to us from an unexpected place. Not halls of earthly power where past wrongs are  adjudicated by corrupt court systems. Not pulpits of religious power where divisions  between right and wrong and welcome and unwelcome are laid down. No, God’s word  comes from to John in what the Scripture calls ‘eramos’ the deserted places, the  wilderness. Places which represented vulnerability and risk, which existed outside the  realms of what was tame, safe, or familiar. These are good tidings find us in places we  don’t expect to find them.   Once invited to the wilderness we’re called to us to ‘metanoia,’ or to change our  minds, the word translated here as repentance—and in the verses proceeding the ones  read today—doesn’t mince any words in demanding it. This isn’t a simple sojourn for a  quiet picnic in the woods. It is a spiritual experience which invites intentional  examination, one in which things that limit our perception and insulate us from truth are  stripped away. We’re called to confront the truth about who we are. The truth about how  we live. The truth about how both of these reflect—or do not—the values we profess.  Now. Let me pause lest you think I’m going to go all “Sinners in the Hands of  Angry God” you here. Centuries of bad theology have left us associating repentance with  street-corner preachers proclaiming our impending doom and destruction. But Luke’s  ‘metanoia’ isn’t about shame, and it’s certainly not about damnation. It is a free gift of God’s grace—the kind John Wesley called ‘justifying grace’—that invites us to confront  and honestly address the spiritual and emotional baggage that weights us down in life so  that we can we can move more freely in our relationship with God and with others.  These good tidings aren’t just about confrontation, they are the promise of  transformation.   John’s baptism of repentance is the first step on a journey of ‘afesis,’ the word  translated as forgiveness. It literally means ‘a release from bondage, a letting go of the  former things as if they’d never happened at all.’ If these are good tidings of  confrontation, they are also good tidings of invitation. An invitation to freedom from  anything that prevents us from receiving the hope of God’s love and our call to be that  hope made alive for others in the world.   Luke echoes the ancient words of the prophets Isaiah and Malachi—each of whom  themselves wrote from wilderness places at wilderness moments in the lives of God’s  people—offering hope that our present realities and possible futures are not bound to, or  by, our previous mistakes. Even in the wildernesses of our sin and brokenness, where our  lives are full of trip hazards like regret and shame and constant detours caused by habits  and ways of thinking we know we need to change, God comes to be with us. Helps us  face, without fear or shame, the fact that we don’t always get it right. That we’re fallible.  That we fudge up.   And then, get this! God helps us clear up that clutter that’s clogged our paths.  Grants us grace to map out a new way, to change our minds about the directions we’ve  been journeying and sets us on a new path where we are free to live more freely and fully  in the light of God’s love. These are good tidings of freedom and hope.   The question is, I suppose, whether or not we’re really ready to receive them. I  grew up in a family system where we were really good at apologizing for every little  transgression. Quick to say I’m sorry, in no small part I’m sure, lest someone hold our error against us, but also in the firm belief something fundamental about who we were  was broken.   But forgiveness, the kind we receive today, turns this relational economy on its  head.In a world where we’re pre-conditioned to keep score, where Santa’s making a list  of who’s naughty and who’s nice, we learn quickly how to define ourselves by the worst  we’re capable of. God’s promise of, as the old hymn puts it “grace that is greater than all  our sin,” means that we loose a vital part of how we’re taught to judge ourselves and  others in the world. It’s easy to say I’m sorry. And it can be so much harder to believe it.   This week I returned to my long-time spiritual companion Henri Nouwen for  insight into what good tidings the word ‘forgiveness’ might hold. He points out that the  real work of forgiveness begins only when we first allow ourselves to be forgiven. “It is  very hard to say,” he writes,“Without your forgiveness I am still bound to what happened  between us. Only you can set me free.” He goes on, “That requires not only a confession  that we have hurt somebody but also the humility to acknowledge our dependency on  others.”  I remember a Christmas some 20 years ago when my siblings and I all got  chocolate malt balls in our stockings. Midway through the afternoon we realized my  younger brother was missing…along with all the chocolate balls. So we began to  frantically search the house not really clear which one we wanted to find more.  Eventually we found them both together, my brothers feet sticking out from underneath  his bed and, when we pulled him out tinfoil and chocolate covering his face as he  frantically shoved every piece of candy he could grab into his mouth.  My mother, ever ready to teach us a lesson, invited us all into the living room.  After a stern talking to about not taking other peoples things she told my brother that we  were going to forgive him once he apologized, and it would be like it never happened.  Immediately he burst into tears, and when she calmed him enough to speak, he told her he didn’t want to be forgiven. If we for gave him, that meant he'd have to forgive us  someday too.  I think of him there now, face still glittering with foil and tears running down his  cheeks, befuddled at the idea that we weren’t going to hold this moment over his head— except for the occasional sermon illustration—any more than he could hold our wrongs  against him over ours. Sick to his stomach, not only because of the chocolate, but perhaps   because there was nothing he could do to fix what he’d done—there was no way we were  getting the chocolate back—and that meant he had to rely upon someone else to receive  it.   That’s the thing about these good tidings of forgiveness that can be so hard to  grasp. We don’t earn them. We can’t buy them. No amount of keeping score or stock of  our past wrongs, no amount of self-loathing and regret will somehow make us worthy of  them. They simply are. Flowing into the wilderness places of our lives where we’ve  become lost wandering down roads of past wrongdoing and regret. Into the backroads  and byways we’ve built to protect ourselves from our need for others or from confronting  the fact we are—despite our temptation to occasionally believe otherwise—masters of  our own destiny.  But Emmanuel, God with us, forgives freely and with no other purpose but to  set us free. And does so, over and over again, no matter how many times it takes,  until we’re able to really receive that gift. So we gather, lighting candles to brighten  the gloom of the wildernesses in which we wander. We come to the table,  proclaiming “in the name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven,” to help us remember  that Our God meets us in our wilderness places, amidst the tangled messiness of our  lives. Invites us to face the facts of our past mistakes, our old hurts and long-lived  resentments, not to shame us our drive us to different behavior through guilt, but to help  us lay them down and walk away. To trust that we are in fact who God has said we were since the Spirit hovered over creation’s waters, beloved. And when it’s hard, the old lies of naughty and nice, of worthlessness, of fear,  creep in, God gives us grace, sanctifying grace, new each day, that is big enough to hold  the truth of our brokenness and possibility of our becoming whole. You are beautiful. You  are beloved. You are worthy of freedom. And there’s nothing in this world—no power, no  preacher, no denomination or political party—that can change that fundamental truth God  has baked into your being.   It is not lost on me that here, at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry in Luke chapter 3,  the path laid out begins with forgiveness. With freedom from our sin so we’re able to  participate fully in what Christ is up to in the world, so that “all flesh can see the  salvation of God.” Everything else Jesus does, all the miraculous signs and wonders, all  the moments of teaching and reprimand, every table overturned and belly filled, begins  with the belief that God, by God’s grace and with our assent, “forgives our sins.”   Advent is not simply a season of waiting. It is also an invitation to holy  preparation. To go with boldness into the wilderness places of our lives, to examine  where we’re getting tripped up or bogged down or detoured. And to let God to come and  do what God does best. “Come, thou long expected Jesus, born to set thy people free.  From our fears and sins release us, let us find our rest in thee.” What would you do if you  were you were really free? This Advent, my hope of us—for you and for me—is that we find out.   Amen.  https://foundryumc.org/archive  

Forgiveness - December 12th, 2021

Nearness A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC November 28, 2021, Advent 1. Text:  Luke 21:25-36 “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.” // Perhaps it seems strange to begin an Advent series on “Good Tidings” with these apocalyptic words. Where is the good news here?  We will get to that. But first, I want to remind all of us that our text today is part of a longer passage in Luke 21 of apocalyptic writing. Apocalyptic is a specific genre within the Bible. The word “apocalypse” is derived from a Greek word meaning to “uncover, disclose, or reveal” something—an unveiling. Apocalyptic writing tends to focus on “end of the age” or “end times” and is often thought of as “doom and gloom”—understandable, I guess, based on what we receive in our text today… “distress…fear, and forboding.” At its most basic, however, apocalyptic is meant to wake us up, to remind us that things will change, that something is going to happen, that something—or someone—is drawing near.  And so it makes some sense that we’d be given a text like today’s at the beginning of the season of Advent, the annual time of preparation for the coming of Christ. The word “Advent” derives from the Latin adventus, which means “coming,” “arrival,” “approach,” or “appearance.” The emphasis at this time of year is often on what has already occurred, the coming of Christ in baby Jesus who grew up and showed us what God’s love and justice look like in human flesh. But on the first Sunday of Advent, we’re reminded that there is another promise yet to be fully realized: the coming of Christ into the world in a new way that embraces all peoples and all of creation, the fulfillment of our prayer that the Kin-dom appear in all the earth as in heaven.  In the years following Jesus’s death, some early Christian communities, living under tremendous persecution and the despair caused by events like the destruction of the Jerusalem temple, expected the world as they knew it to end at any moment, they expected Christ to come again with cataclysmic flashes of lightning and all the rest. Yet, as time passed and the injustice and oppression of the world continued, that expectation began to fade. Christians had to learn how to wait, how to not give up on the whole thing, how to remain a people of hopeful expectation in the tension between the historical events of Jesus’ life and the desire that God’s realm be fulfilled on earth.  This is the tension we find in our text today from Luke. We, like the earliest Christian communities live in the in-between time, wondering “How much longer, for crying out loud?!” But really the emphasis in our scripture is less about providing a timetable of events and more about what to do, how to be, every day. We are encouraged to remain awake and alert to what is happening around us, to pay attention to what is happening in the created order, to pay attention to the fear and distress among the nations, and, as we do so, not to allow ourselves to get dragged down into the worries of this life (Lk 34) but to remember that in moments of turmoil, danger, and upheaval, God draws especially near. The implication of the text in its context is that we are to keep the faith in the midst of fear and exhaustion and worry—and that means not just thinking faithy things, but concretely responding to what’s going on in and around us in ways that align with the Kin-dom of God, that embody the words of Jesus. You know, doing justice, practicing hesed (lovingkindness or unearned love), and walking humbly with God…  The call of Jesus is for us to be a people of active faith and hopeful expectation in the time in between the reality of a difficult now and the hopeful vision of the promised Kin-dom come. But sometimes life eats away at our ability to remain a people of hopeful expectation. Sometimes it’s hard to be hopeful that we as individuals or as a people can grow and change, that the world can be different, or that all that seems so helpless and hopeless can be redeemed. Our Gospel today doesn’t pretend that human hearts are untouched by the worries of this life; and yet it still calls us to hope. And so, though we find ourselves often expecting the worst, we gather as a people, at the beginning of every new Christian year, to expect the best, to experience again the ancient tale of One who came into the world to save it, the one who came to show us that our hope is not in vain. Thousands of years have passed and still we cry out, “Come, thou long-expected Jesus.” We gather this week and the next three weeks to find the courage to hope. We walk into, literally, the darkest days of the earth’s cycle, trying to have our eyes and hearts open to the light we believe is coming—not just looking back at what God has already done in Jesus, but looking at what God is doing and will yet do. It’s curious to me that so much of our collective energy in response to apocalyptic revelation of what God will yet do has tended to be fearful. It makes sense that if we know we’ve fallen off the wagon of trying to love God and neighbor, the words we hear today can unsettle and nudge us to make some changes. I imagine that a lot of the fear is the result of bad theology that characterizes God as a smiter rather than a savior. If you think that the character of God is that of a bully or someone who delights in punishing you for any failure then standing before that God in the future is fearful indeed.  But think for just a moment about being in an airport to pick up a loved one…you check the arrival monitor, you figure out what baggage carousel is the place to wait, and then you watch, aware of all the other persons streaming by, but anxiously anticipating the familiar gait, the familiar face of your beloved. What we’re told today is that the one who is coming into the world then, now, and in the future is a familiar face, the face of the One who loves you most of all, the face of the One who is always working for your good and for good in the whole world.  Here is the good news today: “Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” The one who is coming is not some avenging stranger, it is Jesus, the Christ who’s been with you all along, who knows you and loves you and wants nothing more than your highest good. We need not fear or hide our faces in shame or insecurity, but rather we are told to stand up and raise our heads because God’s redeeming love and presence is drawing near. The loving, redemptive presence of Christ gives us grace to persevere in hope, to remain aware, to keep from falling into despair in the face of our own struggles and failures or in the wake of COVID mutation after mutation and midst fears and injustices of every kind. Our text brings us good tidings that our redeeming God is near. The story we tell isn’t that Jesus came once upon a time, gave us a great annual holiday, dropped some wisdom, left the building, and abandoned us until some future pyrotechnic event. Christ is adventus, is arriving, every day. Perhaps when Jesus says “when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near” it means that in every moment of distress in our lives, a door opens for us to enter the Kin-dom, to embody the way of Jesus such that the Kin-dom is made real in that moment… Imagine a portal that is always there and all it takes for the portal to be unveiled is for us to stay awake and alert to Christ’s presence and receive the grace we’re given to respond with love, care, and justice instead of as impatient, distracted, fearful jerks. You know the Kin-dom is near when you’re given an opportunity to reach out to hurting ones, to be a companion with those who are nurturing new life or grieving in the face of death, to celebrate with siblings when justice has been done and to mourn at the pain of justice denied. You know the Kin-dom is near when the oceans roar and signs in the earth show distress, and you can do something to participate in God’s work of mending the earth. And let me be clear, it’s not just in the big events of the world that the Kin-dom “portal”—the Kin-dom opportunity—is near. It is there at the kitchen table, as you tuck the kids in to bed, on your daily commute, all along the path of your daily rounds. In this in-between time, today and every day, Christ is arriving through the presence of Holy Spirit to inspire, agitate, and encourage us, and to help us live and love and choose and give as citizens of the Kin-dom of God even in the mundane and murky moments.  So be alert. Pay attention. Raise your head. Look for the familiar face, the familiar presence of Christ. Look for the ways that God is at work—even in small ways. Remain open to the nudging of Spirit always providing what you need to keep faith, hope, and love, to do what is needed, what is just, what is truly yours to do for the Kin-dom. Bask in the light that has already come and cling to the hope that someday—probably when you’re busy making other plans—the unfinished, unfilled promises and possibilities of your life, your relationships, your church, our world, will be fulfilled and redeemed…fully.  And…finally! https://foundryumc.org/archive

Nearness - November 28th, 2021

“Pursued in Love…Always” A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, November 21, 2021. Reign of Christ and Consecration Sunday, “Prepare the Table with Justice and Joy” series.    Texts: Psalm 23, Revelation 1:4b-8 Over the past seven weeks, we have been guided by the Lord, our shepherd, in Psalm 23. And on this last Sunday of the Christian liturgical year, the last Sunday before Advent, and the day often celebrated as the Reign of Christ or Christ the King, we receive the final verse of the Psalm. The familiar-to-many King James Version reads: “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.” Years ago I learned that the verb translated “follow” is more intense in the original Hebrew: “Surely goodness and mercy shall pursue me…” This is not only an image of these graces passively lurking about or showing up here and there. It’s that God’s goodness and mercy “will run after me and find me wherever I am!” It strikes me that this is where we began the journey, with the ancient image of God, not as a conquering king, but as a humble, strong, shepherd and the affirmation that God is with us, no matter what.  When I was a teenager, our youth camp worship would use “sing along slides” to guide our singing of a variety of songs, including pop songs. As I prepared for today, meditating on this profound promise of God’s loving presence, I was transported back to evening worship in Miller Hall at Canyon Camp and again heard God in the distinctive form of Cyndi Lauper’s voice: “If you're lost you can look and you will find me/ Time after time/ If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting/ Time after time.”  The Lord, our shepherd pursues us, time after time, wherever we are and no matter how we got there. And, if we are willing to follow, God’s goodness guides us into places of beauty, green places of nourishment, still places of peace, places where our soul may be restored; God’s goodness guides us on roundabout paths that get us where we need to go, guides us through the valleys of life, makes sure we eat something when we are overwhelmed with fear, danger, or grief, and tenderly loves us, anointing us as valued and called. An important word in verse six is the word translated “mercy,” in Hebrew it is hesed, and usually is translated “lovingkindness.” Rabbi Harold Kushner thinks of it as “unearned love.” Unearned love. God’s goodness and unearned love pursue us… What an extraordinary challenge to the culture in which we live.  The common wisdom is that nothing in the world is free, that we have to look a certain way, act a certain way, have certain things to be loved. We have to have this to get that. How many children are taught—implicitly or explicitly—that they are bad, wrong, worthless, unlovable because they don’t meet their parent’s or teachers’ expectations? How much energy flows into trying at every age and stage of life to earn or prove or buy our worth and lovability? How much money gets made by clever people who exploit our insecurities with the lure of “miracle” products and schemes? How often do lives full of potential get coopted and corrupted by gangs—on the streets or in the lunch room or in the marbled and paneled halls of power? The exploitation in all these things depends on human insecurity, on the lie that any one of us is unworthy of love, goodness, and mercy.  And when everything we’ve tried still leaves us feeling unloved or devalued, we can fall into all sorts of destructive things. Our own insecurity can trigger an impulse to knock others down so we can stand over them, our boots on their necks, to feel bigger or like we have some power. Our own insecurity makes us turn on ourselves in self-loathing and on others with envy and resentment, all out of self-defense for our wounded hearts. Whether or not you figure out how to navigate the worldly macro or micro accounting of earned interest in who you are, it is a struggle to believe that there is any such thing as unearned interest, unearned love. In this world, the relational economy is so often quid pro quo, based on exploitation, or simply governed by run-of-the-mill human brokenness.  But God’s economy is altogether different. The Lord, our shepherd—as we’ve been singing these past weeks—is the king of love not the king of empires or courts or councils or turfs. And the Kin-dom of God doesn’t require three forms of legal documentation where all the names exactly match for entry. Because God knows your name and loves you and wants to be close to you! Kin-dom economy with a shepherd in charge is truly different than what we’re used to. Jesus didn’t test people’s theological knowledge or work history before giving them food. Jesus didn’t pay the latecomer less than the first to clock in. Jesus didn’t play with the devil’s shiny advertisements for comfort, prestige, and power. Jesus didn’t do violence or execute people, Jesus allowed himself to be publicly executed so that we might finally recognize that buying “peace” or “justice” with another human life yields neither peace nor justice. Jesus didn’t raise an army, Jesus raised lives. Jesus embodied God’s love and revealed again and again that only love has the power to bring about the healing that will truly set us free. The Lord, our shepherd, pursues us not to blame or test or bully us. God pursues us because God loves us and wants to be with us, to help us, to give us what we need to live lives filled with beauty, meaning, justice, and joy. God’s love for you and for me is absolute and it is unearned. God, in love, is always present, always reaching out and waiting for your heart to open wide to receive the overflow.  As the sheep of God’s pasture, as citizens of Christ’s Kin-dom, we are taught that we love because God first loved us. All our acts of goodness and lovingkindness, all our acts of justice and unearned love, all our acts of generosity and care, all our acts of praise and thanksgiving are in response to God’s abundant grace. As we, like a cup, receive and are filled with God’s goodness and unearned love, we overflow in acts of gratitude, justice, and joy.  Because God prepares the table for us, we prepare the table for others. And, by God’s grace, our offerings will create the best “pot luck” ever! By God’s grace overflowing in generosity, we will set a table with love of God and neighbor as the centerpiece, a table that is anti-racist, fully inclusive and affirming, creative, committed, courageous, and full of friendship, support, and laughter; we will set a table big and wide enough so that everyone has a place. On this Consecration Sunday, we’re reminded that God gives us everything, holds nothing back, pursues us in love, time after time, so that you will have life and so that we as the people of God called Foundry can prepare the table with justice and joy. What will you return in gratitude? https://foundryumc.org/archive

Pursued in Love…Always - November 21st, 2021

“Abundance!” A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, November 14, 2021. “Prepare the Table with Justice and Joy” series.  Texts: Psalm 23:1-5, Mark 12: 38-44 “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”  Last week, I noted that the psalmist shifted from speaking about God to talking with God. And verse five continues in that direct communication and in a very personal way. I want to invite us to draw near to the metaphorical table God prepares and to explore each part of what we find there. God prepares a table for us… Think for a moment about what it takes to prepare a table for others… Or think about what it’s like when someone prepares a table for you that makes you feel cared for: your needs are known, allergies remembered, favorites waiting… things have been done to make room for you and anyone or anything you need to bring with you—a partner, child, accommodation for any physical needs… A table prepared with love is filled with beauty, bounty, thoughtfulness, and reflects generosity of time and resources. Now think about what this: God prepares a table for you. Imagine that table in your mind’s eye… In the presence of my enemies… What’s that about? It’s not about showing off, not about “my God loves me and not you” or about winning a prize and lording it over our enemies… It’s about God’s care and protection and sustenance even in moments of challenge and danger. In the midst of things, feelings, temptations, or persons that threaten us, God provides for us. When we are eaten up with fear or worry over broken relationships, when we feel alone, misunderstood, under attack, or simply not being able to receive what we need from others, God makes sure we eat! God sustains us. God prepares the table that gives us what we need.  We may be given a listening ear. It may be a “come to Jesus” talk we’re given at the table. It might be some humble pie we need to consume. It might be extra protein to build our strength or soup to heal an illness. It might be comfort food to soothe our weary soul or broken heart. God’s table is abundant with grace sufficient for every need. God anoints my head with oil… In India I was invited into the small home of a new friend in the Dalit village where we stayed overnight. After being there a short time, the woman asked if she could do something with my hair. She poured perfumed oil over my head and then adorned my hair with a flower garland. In ancient Indian sanskrit, the word sneha means “to oil,” as well as “to love”—and to oil another’s hair is a tradition of bonding. What I was offered that afternoon in India was such a generous gift, an act of hospitality, a tender loving act, an honor.  In the Bible, anointing is associated with honor of a different kind. It has to do with chosenness—as a king, queen, or messiah (“anointed one”). But its more general connotation is that the one who receives the oil is simply special, designated for greatness, called to do something big.  Holy oil is used by many Christian traditions at the moment of Baptism or Confirmation, a ritual act that hearkens back to the biblical stories and, for Christians, connects us to our calling to follow God’s anointed one, Jesus. At the table prepared for us by God, God anoints our head with oil! Us! You and me… not just one of us, ALL of us… we are identified by God as special, as those called to be and to do something big, what only we can. We are special in the eyes of God, valued and beloved. // [move to table and pour water into chalice, overflowing to small bowl, overflowing to larger bowl…] “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil…” In these opening words of verse 5, the psalmist affirms that no matter what other people think of you or do to you, God provides for you, sustains you, values you, calls you, and loves you. No wonder the next line is “My cup runs over!” This is a metaphor for gratitude, an awareness of the fullness of what is given. The abundance of God’s table, God’s provision, God’s grace, and God’s love is more than can be contained. Sometimes in our lives we can get caught in a glass half full, glass half empty debate… When we’re overwhelmed and weary, the glass can seem not only half empty, but all the way empty… It’s easy to lose the larger perspective. Psalm 23 calls us back to that larger vision. Rabbi Harold Kushner says, “Much of the time, we have as little control over the events of our lives as we do over the weather. But as with the weather, we have a great deal of control over the way we choose to see those events and respond to them. Reading between the lines, we can infer that the author of the Twenty-third Psalm did not have a life free from pain and problems. He has had to confront enemies. He has known the feeling of finding himself in the valley of the shadow of death. He can praise and thank God for all that God has done, not because life has been easy but precisely because life has often been hard and God has seen him through the hard times. If his eyes are dim with age, he thanks God that he can still see…If people close to him have died, he is grateful to have known their love. For the psalmist, the issue is not whether the cup is half full or half empty. Because he has learned to see everything in his life, including life itself, as a gift, his cup of blessings overflows.”   Kushner goes on to remind us of the story from 2 Kings 4 in which a woman begs Elisha for help because her husband has died leaving her and her children with many debts. She says she has nothing to eat, but only one small jar of oil. The prophet tells her to gather as many vessels as possible and to pour the oil out. Her children gather jars and vessels from the community and the woman pours. The oil keeps flowing until the last container is filled. Rabbi Kushner says, “Our ability to enjoy God’s blessings is more a function of our capacity to receive them than of any limitations on God’s ability to bless us.”  There is no limit to God’s goodness and desire to bless us. Do we have the capacity to receive all that God desires to give?  I love connecting this verse from Psalm 23 with the story of the woman and the oil. It not only provides another example of God’s desire to provide for us, but also reminds us that when members of the community offer what they have, God’s blessings continue to flow. The communal contribution of jars and vessels allowed the oil to continually be poured out, collected, and then used for food and for anointing—to save not only the woman and her children, but to sustain and bless others! It was only when there were no more jars that the oil stopped flowing. Early in this series, I said that there is no reason for us to struggle to sustain the ministry and mission of Foundry. There is such abundance among us. It only requires that each of us truly give as much as we can, even if it seems that our very best is just a small jar of oil or worth only a widow’s mite. Every year, I share with you that I never ask you to do anything that I’m not willing to do myself. I give to Foundry well over a tithe (10%) of my net pay and increase what I give every year, even if it’s only a little, as my commitment to grow toward a tithe of my total compensation. This is a stretch and a spiritual discipline for me, a way of concretely putting my trust in God and demonstrating my gratitude for the overflowing gift and grace of God’s love and activity in my life and in and through Foundry. God prepares a table for you and for me and for us as this Foundry family. The abundance of the table is amazing. There is no need for us get caught in fear about our cup being half empty. God’s blessing flows into our lives in so many ways and as we allow those blessings to overflow in gratitude and generosity, our contributions provide the means for others to be blessed in all the ways that happen through our shared mission and ministry. As we draw the circle wider, as we welcome all to the table, as we prepare a table as Foundry with justice and joy, God’s abundance will not only fill our communal cup, but will overflow. What can you offer to make it so? What will you return to God in gratitude and love? How will you help prepare a table big enough to receive all that God wishes to share? https://foundryumc.org/archive/prepare-the-table-with-justice-and-joy

Abundance! - November 14th, 2021

“Shepherded Through the Valley” A meditation shared by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, November 7, 2021, observation of All Saints Sunday. “Prepare the Table with Justice and Joy” series.    Texts: Psalm 23:1-4, John 11:32-44 I don’t know how old I was the summer my Nana decided to give me a penny for every verse of the 23rd Psalm I could recite from memory. Each day of my visit, I was asked to add another verse. And the version of the Psalm I was given to memorize was the King James version: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” As a little one, I was uncertain why I’d say “yay” about walking through a place that sounded scary and sad. And I had no clue what it meant to say that God’s rod and staff comfort me. I didn’t know then that the King James translation likely mistook the Hebrew word tzalamut which means “deep darkness” for the two words tzal mavet meaning “the shadow of death.” But there is something in the poetry of the King James that captures something so profound, so true that I believe its deepest meaning got through to my child’s heart anyway. In fact, it is in this verse that we really get to heart of this Psalm.  The poetic phrase “the valley of the shadow of death” paints a picture of deep valleys where the light of the sun is blocked by the mountains all around, leaving nothing but shadows. In that shadowy place the Psalmist says “I fear no evil”—not that there is no evil, but there is no need to fear. Why? “Thou art with me.”  In the places of our lives that are overshadowed with fear, uncertainty, confusion, pain, and grief that brings us to our knees, our God is with us. Perhaps amid a life-threatening diagnosis for yourself someone has shown up so that you weren’t alone. Or maybe when a loved one is awaiting test results, is critically ill, or has died, you’ve experienced a person just being there with you in whatever state you’re in, tacitly giving permission for you to be however you needed to be…available to do something or nothing, to talk or to be silent. In my experience, the “being there” is the most important thing. The Psalmist experienced God in just that kind of way. In this verse, the writer shifts from talking about God the shepherd, to conversing with the Shepherd who is with them and who will guide them through the valley.  In such deep darkness, finding our way over the mountains or through the valley can feel impossible. We can’t imagine ever feeling the proverbial warmth of the sun again. In that space, there are sometimes persons in our lives who know just how and when to gently remind us that the shadows need not be our dwelling place forever, those with the sensitivity to understand how to nudge us to shift, to take a step. The Lord, our shepherd, is present with us in the deepest darkness, God’s rod and staff—assurance of God’s justice and God’s compassion—comfort and help us in that place. And God is like that sensitive friend who nudges us a the right time. The Good Shepherd doesn’t desire that we remain in the places of suffering, pain, and grief.  Of course, it is part of being human to travel those paths—at least if we have any love within us. We will find ourselves in the valley of the shadow of death at one point or another because human life is fragile and precious and it hurts when we come to our end or when those we love die an earthly death and are no longer part of our experience here. Jesus wept at the pain of death and at the suffering that death caused for those he loved. For those grieving the loss of a child, a partner, spouse, parent, sibling, dear friend, it can feel like we are shut up in the grave with the one we love. I know some persons who really struggle to not allow their whole lives—their own identity—to be defined by the loss they have suffered. For many others, to contemplate moving out of the shadows of grief feels like dishonoring the one we love; we may worry that we’ll forget or lose them if we move out of the valley. Rabbi Harold Kushner explains that this is “why the Jewish calendar asks [adherents] to pause five times a year, on the four holiday seasons and on the anniversary of a death, to remember those whom we have loved and lost. It is a way of giving us permission to go on with our lives without having to fear that we will forget, that we will leave precious but painful memories behind.” Our annual All Saints celebration is one of those days in our Christian tradition, a time to give thanks and to remember those whose lives have enriched our own. It is a sad time, particularly for those whose grief is fresh, but also for all of us as we think about how much we miss our loved ones.  But it is also a time of joy for the profound gift of loving and being loved, of learning from and being inspired by those we remember. And this day, as Kushner suggests, can be a reminder that we can go on with our lives, that we aren’t forgetting our loved ones. We have permission to live, to allow God to help us move through the valley and step into a new stretch of our life’s journey. Think about how you want your loved ones to live following your own departure from this life. Isn’t it a beautiful gift to imagine that your life can inspire others to keep loving when its hard, to keep going when the shadows are long and the terrain rocky and steep? Do you want your loved ones to remain stuck, to lose themselves, to stop living when you die? Rabbi Kushner observes that the author of the 23rd Psalm was one who “knew from personal experience what it feels like [to be] in the valley of the shadow. But…also knew that the valley is a temporary lodging, not a permanent home…[They came to learn that God’s role is not to protect us from pain and loss, but to protect us from letting pain and loss define our lives. The psalmist turned to God and God worked a miracle. The miracle was not that a loved one came back to life. The miracle was that the psalmist found their way out of the valley of the shadow. And that is a miracle.” In our Gospel today, Jesus came to the place of death and grieving. He was present with his dear friends and shared in their pain. And he did a miracle that revealed the power of God’s love to bring life out of death, new creation out of the place of grief. Jesus calls all of us out of the place of grief and shadows. Not when others thought it was the right time, but when God knew it was the right time.  As we remember this day, calling the names of those we love and see no more, may we also hear Jesus calling our names, inviting us to honor the loves we have known by stepping out again and again into a new day, feeling sunlight on our face, facing the future unafraid. Because the Lord is our shepherd, and even when we journey through the most painful places we need not fear, for our loving God is with us, we are assured of God’s justice and compassion and, while the shadows grow long and threaten to overtake us, the promise, always, is that morning is coming. And “joy comes with the morning!” (Ps 30:5)  https://foundryumc.org/archive

Shepherded Through the Valley - November 7th, 2021

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