It's All About the Children

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist


Job 42: 10-17 

 
Two Sundays ago, as our Stewardship Season officially began, we encountered in our Scriptures a rich man approaching Jesus, asking, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” We imagined together what it might mean for us at Madison Square to do just as Jesus recommends: to sell off everything we might think we depend on. The endowment, the mineral rights, the building and the property. And to see what the Spirit might have to teach us in their place.

It was not my intent to make us gasp in horror, although that might have been a legitimate response. It was my intent to prepare us spiritually for the lesson of the Book of Job that came before us last Sunday, about a man who did not have the choice to sell his possessions like the rich man in the Gospel of Mark did. Who instead lost it all in one great tragic moment through absolutely no fault of his own.

It was my intent on both Sundays, as we have entered this Season of Stewardship, to start by instilling within us a heart of compassion for anyone in our midst who may have also lost it all. Who may have nowhere else to turn. Who might even one day be our very selves. In spite of our careful planning or our great education or our fabulous family. Because Job had all of that, too. But he had to learn the hard way that he could not place his faith in those things.

It was also my intent on both Sundays, as we have entered this Season of Stewardship, to instill in us a heart of compassion for our Job-like neighbors right across the street. Who have every right to feast at the same table of grace that we do once a month. Who may, in fact, have a thing or two to teach us about the grace of God. Which is why we are going to follow Jesus out to the park on the first Sunday in December for our Sacrament of Communion. And open our hearts to learn from our neighbors. And just see what opportunities—and maybe even challenges—the goodness of our God opens up for us.

And it has been my bottom line intent, in all of this preaching and teaching and singing and praying in this Season of Stewardship, that we might encounter for just a brief moment—in the shuddering thought of losing it all—the depth of divine grace that really has been with us from the dawn of creation. Just because we exist. Just because God exists. And will not ever let us go. Not ever.

This is, of course, what Job learned last Sunday. And what I think he tries to convey to his family and friends this Sunday, as we return to the very last chapter of his Book and discover that he gets it all back in the end.

In double portion.


Now before I go any further I should warn us that we could read the first two chapters of Job and the last chapter of Job and learn the exact opposite lesson of what the book is trying to teach. We could think that the point of the book is that we should suffer patiently through trial and tribulation. Never questioning God. Believing God will give us back what we think we “deserve” materially in the end.

That isn’t the point of the book at all!

Job has not forgotten everything that happens in between the second chapter and the forty-second chapter. And neither has God. The supposedly happy ending only comes after Job has defiantly declared his innocence, wept in despair, shaken his fist at God in fierce anger and frustration, and learned the hard way that it’s not “all about him.” The happy ending only comes after Job is transformed by what he has endured!

He has learned the gift of compassion for anyone else going through what he has gone through. He has learned the gift of praying for the very same friends who had patronized him so profusely with their self-righteous spirituality and utter lack of compassion for him. And he has learned to pay attention to those in his midst who never had a hope for the kind of great wealth—the kind of great inheritance—he had taken for granted all along. Meaning his daughters. Whom he acknowledges by name:

Jemimah . . . meaning “with God.”

Keziah . . . meaning “God’s fragrance.”

Keren-happuch . . . meaning, loosely translated, “the beautifier.”

It may not seem like a big deal to us in the 21st century United States of America for a man like Job to pass on his inheritance to his daughters as well as his sons. But it is a huge deal for the Bible! It only happens one other time that I am aware of, in the Book of Numbers, from a father who has no sons to claim his inheritance and needs to keep his land “in the family.”

But here in Job sharing the inheritance with his daughters is not about carrying on the family name. He has enough sons for that. Sharing the inheritance with his daughters is about justice. It is about the fact that Job has learned through his own brief dramatic loss what his daughters have been experiencing all along. Without an inheritance of their own. Without a name of their own. Completely dependent on the whims of the powerful for their own fortune or famine. Job’s experience of learning he cannot depend on his wealth to save him has heightened his sensitivity toward others who never had wealth of their own in the first place.

This is what I think Jesus was hoping the rich man in Mark’s Gospel would learn, too, by giving it all away on purpose. Thisis what I think God might be asking us to re-learn in this intentional Season of Stewardship at Madison Square.

Who in our midst is like the daughters of Job? In need of an inheritance that doesn’t just come naturally by cultural imperative. With whom might God be inviting us at Madison Square to share our great inheritance? The ones who wouldn’t get any inheritance otherwise?

We only have to look as far as our own Madison Square Child Development Center for an answer. It began as a mission of this church in 1974 for the specific purpose of educating children with few other options. Even today, as we look toward 2013, the Madison Square Child Development Center is the only Four-Star Texas Rising Star Early Childhood Education Provider in downtown San Antonio that accepts children whose tuition is covered through the Child Care Services of San Antonio. About half of the students are covered by CCS, and they sit right alongside children of judges and educators and business professionals in receiving an inheritance of grace and learning and opportunity that would not be available to them if we were not here, following the teaching of Job to make sure the inheritance goes to all of God’s children and not just some.

Their names, because they matter, are Jeremiha, Zoe, Sophia, Laela, Benjamin, Nathaniel, Rebekah, Sebastian and Nora. Jake, Salomon, Avianna, and Pistol. Malakai, Thomas, Vanity, Neveah, Michael, Nadalline, Shalom, Jesus, Ariealla, and Maya. Jayden, James, Dominick, Madisyn, Sofie, Abigail, Savannah, Joshua, Jordynn, Isayah, and Conner. Simon, Caleb, Cash, Ruthie, Marisa, Daniel, Nola, Aryanna, Ezekiel, Michael, and Noah.

And they are beautiful!

It is not inexpensive to educate these children. The church subsidizes many of the CDC expenses through our building and grounds and personnel budget lines. Up to $40,000 per year. Which may sound like a lot of money until we remember that a healthy 5% annual draw on the Madison Square Primary Investment Fund—the one I encouraged you to consider “giving away” two Sundays ago—just so happens to total $40,621.

May I suggest this is a perfect way to pass on the Madison Square inheritance? At least according to the Book of Job.

I’ll even take it one step further. What if—just asking what if—Madison Square Presbyterian Church set a goal within the next five years to give away all of the inheritance that comes to this congregation from the Primary Investment Fund and the mineral rights gifts to mission projects for those who have no other hope for an inheritance? Like Job’s daughters.

I haven’t run this by the session or the stewardship committee. And it may take longer than five years to do it. But imagine what kind of stewardship of God’s grace this congregation could offer if every dime of the church’s operating expenses came from the pledges within this worshiping community and every dime of the inheritance went directly to mission?

I think it could happen! I know it can happen! I am convinced there is an enormous wealth of untapped talent and time and treasure in this congregation just waiting for a chance to break forth for the good of God! It may require us to spend a little less in other areas of our lives. Skip our Starbucks once in a while for the sake of the kingdom of God. But wouldn’t it feel fabulous! For us and for God?

Just think about it. We, too, could be like Job. Transformed by God’s grace. Blessed beyond measure. In order to be a blessing beyond measure. And shouting Alleluia for the inheritance we get to pass on.

Just think about it.

Amen.

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist


Job 38:1-7, 34-41, 42:2, 5
Psalm 139:1-18


When I was in seminary, the great professor and preacher known to the world as the Reverend Doctor Peter J. Gomes would remind us over and over again, with his deep gravelly preacher voice, in his fancy doctoral robes with Puritan preacher tabs at the collar, and that great Peter Gomes air of dramatic intensity, that our job as pastors would be “to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”

We would laugh every time he said it, and we would laugh at the way he said it, but we knew deep down that he was right. And we knew that it might not always be clear who among us would count as “afflicted” or who would count as “comfortable.” And we knew that even if we did suspect who was who, in a general sense, that it was also true the ones among us who might appear to “have it all together” on the outside would often be crying out for help on the inside. And the ones among us who might seem to be struggling beyond the telling of it might in fact be doing just fine, thank you very much.

Appearances simply don’t tell the story of the soul, do they? What shame or pain or guilt or even secret joy we carry deep within. And the designation of comfort or challenge for any one individual might very well change from week to week or month to month, or maybe even from minute to minute. Or it just might even be both at the exact same time. At least if you’re anything like me.

Which is why I bring the reminder of Peter Gomes to all of us every Sunday when we come to the Prayer for Illumination in our worship service just before the reading of the Scripture. Did you notice? In our Prayer for Illumination, every Sunday, we pray for both the comforting Word and the challenging Word, speaking to us through these words of ancient Scripture, shaping us as God’s “beloved community,” with an emphasis on community.

Which brings us to the Book of Job. In the beginning, this man has it all. He is, the Bible says, “blameless and upright, fearing God, turning from evil.” He has a huge family to carry on his lineage: seven sons and three daughters. Which in biblical numerology simply means Job has “the perfect family.” He has also amassed great wealth in ranching and farming, which allows him to hire hordes of servants and to throw lavish parties that win the love of all his friends and neighbors. And to sponsor great religious festivals during which he always worships God with great ferver and prays for God’s continued blessing on him and his family . . . 

The thing is, Job has got it together! He is, in the words of Peter Gomes, quite “comfortable.” Devout. The envy of his peers. Which then goes on to beg the big question of the book: Is Job’s devotion to God because of his blessing? Does Job expect the wealth and honor he has gained as some kind of “divinely sanctioned quid pro quo” in response to his righteousness? This belief would certainly fit right into the prevailing theological sentiment of his time. And maybe even of our time.

Until it all falls apart.

Out of nowhere, with no notice at all, on one terrible day, disaster descends on Job.  His ranch animals are slaughtered. His servants are massacred. His children are killed in a tornado. Every bit of Job’s blessing is gone!
And then the question becomes: will Job still celebrate the goodness of the God of all creation now that he is afflicted? In the midst of his very real agony? Or will he cry out in anger and betrayal and just plain pain?

It turns out that Job really is human. Just like the rest of us. Even the very human Jesus cries out, “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?” As we all should, in my audacious opinion. Because God really can take it when we are fully real about what is going on with us beneath the surface. The hurt, the shame, the anger, the fear. As far as I am concerned, one of the worst legacies of the Christian tradition is this misplaced idea that we are somehow lacking in faith when we tell God like it is when it hurts. Don’t you think God already knows anyway?

Of course Job’s so-called “religious friends” don’t agree with me. They are convinced Job must have done something dreadful to deserve such disaster, and they shut him down every time he expresses himself honestly. They are convinced God must be punishing Job for some unexpressed sin for which he must repent. Over and over again Job protests his innocence. Over and over again his so-called “religious friends” demand his confession. Until finally Job has had enough of the whirlwind and blows up at his friends and at God. If things are this bad when I’ve done nothing wrong, Job wants to know, how bad will they be if I do deserve divine retribution? And the question is never quite answered. By God or by Job’s so-called “religious friends.”

The answer that does come, from God, out of the whirlwind, is one of incomparable compassion, accompanied by incomprehensible detachment. The God of the whirlwind does not try to explain the inexplicable, to justify Job’s suffering, or to take it away. The God of the whirlwind simply is. The God of the whirlwind simply exists. From the beginning of time until the end. Laying the foundations of the earth. Numbering the clouds. Creating the plants and animals, some of whom happen to be human. With wisdom in our inward parts but not nearly approaching the great wisdom of the God who created it all.

It is a cycle of life that includes us but that is not dependent on us, as much as we would like to pretend that it is. The answer that comes from God out of the whirlwind to the suffering of Job is simply I Am. And You Are. Fearfully and wonderfully made. And the world goes on. And that, in the end, is all we really can depend on. And that, in the end, is enough.

The desert mystics call this grace. This compassionate incomprehensibility of God that can only be known by losing it all. This divine detachment from all the ups and downs of our individual human lives can only be celebrated when we have nothing more to lose. The desert mystics call it, unbelievably, “grace.” And so does Job!

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, Job concedes in the end. I can never understand you, God. But now I see you. Even in the whirlwind. And you are good!

It is a far cry from the “God’s eye is on the sparrow” song that keeps so many of us going through the tough times. But as Mark Marty reminded me yesterday, enlightenment comes when we are able to hold two competing truths in tension at the same time. On the one hand God cares enormously for each small part of our lives. And on the other hand it’s just not all about us, at least according to the Book of Job.
Either way, it’s a grace. Either way, we are fearfully and wonderfully made. Either way God’s works are wonderful. That we know very well. Which is why this really is a sermon about stewardship, believe it or not. In a week when we will all receive a letter in the mail inviting us to consider our gifts of time and talent and treasure to offer the church. The hope is that you will give as generously as you are able in each of these areas, and perhaps even more generously than you think you are able, and see how God can use it for good.

But the fourth chapter of First Peter in the New Testament tells us that stewardship is less about a specific checklist of time or talent or treasure and more about making good use of the good grace of God. Sharing it with one another. Companioning one another better than those so-called “religious friends” of Job did. With a deep heart of compassion for the “affliction” our neighbor might be suffering and we don’t even know. Comforting where we can. But also challenging where necessary . . . 

This is why I dared to suggest last week that we might have something to learn as a congregation if we followed the teaching of Mark’s Gospel to give up the possessions we depend on so much here at Madison Square. It’s not because I think it’s bad to have money or property to inherit from our predecessors. Or that we’re all going to the bad place because we accept the proceeds of Big Oil! It’s that I think we could learn something about God’s grace if we really do end up losing it all. The way Job did. The way the rich man in Mark’s Gospel might have. It’s that I think the wisdom we might gain on the other side of that loss could be a greater gift than anything we could possibly measure another way. The way it was for Job.

So when you get that stewardship letter this week, consider the grace of God that has overwhelmed your life with joy, whether you are comfortable, or afflicted, or comfortably afflicted. And pledge as generously as you are able in your time and talent and treasure in the year to come. And know that God is speaking to you, too, through the whirlwind, saying, “I have searched you and known you. I have discerned all your thoughts and am acquainted with all your ways. In my book were written all the days that were formed for you when none of them as yet existed. We have come to the end; I am still with you.”

I pray it may be so. Amen.

Threading the Needle

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist

Mark 10:17-31

So how many of us were here two weeks ago for the best Power Point presentation ever on the Madison Square Church finances? It was amazing, wasn’t it? Good news after good news followed up by even more good news! In fact, there was so much good financial news for Madison Square in that Power Point presentation that our fabulous church Treasurer actually apologized to us for not having any bad news to send us reaching into our pockets to fend off a pending financial crisis.

He left the bearing of the bad news to me . . .

So here it is. Brace yourselves.

Because of the generous inheritance we have received from our predecessors in these pews, Madison Square can rely on a $1.8 million endowment to keep the church afloat during good times and bad and to support missions and programs and staff and building maintenance we could never afford on our own. And because of the generous inheritance we have received from our predecessors in these pews we get to worship in this gorgeous historic sanctuary that just feels like “home” the moment you walk through the door. And we have a three story multi-purpose educational building next door housing a Child Development Center that offers a high quality downtown education to kids who couldn’t get it anywhere else. And both of these buildings are completely paid off. And because of the generous inheritance we have received from our predecessors in these pews, we receive a substantial perk to our annual budget from oil and mineral rights. And when we combine this generous inheritance with the deep-pocketed and heartfelt generosity of every one of us worshiping today with this fabulous community here at Madison Square, we become an incredibly wealthy church.

By any reasonable global economic standard we as members of the community of Christ here at Madison Square are flat out rich!

So here’s the bad news of Christ, Gospel of Mark version:

Anyone want to try to fit a camel through this thing? [my mother’s sewing needle]

“How hard it will be,” Jesus says, “for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God. [Because in the kingdom of God] many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.” Including, I am afraid, Presbyterian churches.

Now before I go any further let me just say that I am well aware we are an economically diverse congregation here at Madison Square. In fact I think that is one of this community’s greatest strengths. We welcome the full spectrum of economic diversity within these walls. And, I might add, this is somewhat unique in the mostly middle to upper middle class professional Presbyterian world.

Yes our church finances at Madison Square may be off-the-chart stellar, but I am just going to hazard a guess that our personal finances are all over the place. Some of us are struggling to face unemployment or underemployment with the firm conviction that God will provide some way, some how, even if we can’t see it yet. And yet some others of us are blessed with a steady stream of income that offers a comfortable cushion to thrive. But we hold on to an equally firm conviction that these gifts from God cannot be hoarded for our own gain but must be shared wisely to care for those who just plain didn’t get so lucky. And with most of us we are somewhere in-between these two extremes. We may have enough to get by for the moment, but we always seem to worry about what’s next. Trying to figure out how in the world our expenditures always seem to rise to meet our income. Swimming (or drowning) in debt. Fearing we might not ever truly have “enough.”

When it comes to our own personal financial position we might not place ourselves in the rich man’s perspective in the biblical text for today. But as the Body of Christ we are more than mere individuals in these pews. We are a community. And as a community we really are rich. So what can we learn together from this man in Mark, and Jesus, and a camel and a needle that can help Madison Square inherit eternal life? Which means, in Mark’s Gospel, to inherit “the kingdom of God.”

God alone is good, Jesus might tell us, as he told the rich man. Regardless of the “good news” of your church budget. You know what to do, he might say to us. Follow the commandments. Love God and love your neighbor. Yes, of course, we might say in response. We’re already doing that, aren’t we? But instead of the rave reviews we expect it may very well be that Jesus, loving us as deeply as he loved that rich man, could tell us that we still lack one thing. And that we should sell what we own and give the proceeds to the poor: the $1.8 million endowment. The building and the property. The mineral rights and the dividends from oil. And then keep following Jesus on the “good news” journey down the river of our baptism that flows from the throne of God.

And we might gasp in horror.

Think about it. What if Jesus really did ask us to give up the “good news” of our financial position at Madison Square for the sake of the good news of the kingdom of God? Would we go away grieving all that we would lose? The things that make Madison Square the church home we love? Or would we relish the chance to let go of what we think is good in order to build up treasure in heaven?

The thing is it can be easy to get complacent when we live off an inheritance. On the one hand, we can expect that things “will always get taken care of” so there’s not much we have to do for ourselves. Or we can get so carefree with our spending in thinking the river will never run dry that we ruin the water table for every generation to follow. Or we can become so captive to our wealth we are complicit with the power that creates wealth unjustly and the law of accumulation that requires others to live with less. Or we can come to place our faith and trust in those things that stoke our wealth—and grant us false security—instead of in the God of all creation who gave us this generous inheritance called life in the first place. In abundance. Meant to be shared. As a gift of grace and not something we earn on our own. Which is what I think Jesus was getting at with the rich man and the camel and the eye of the needle.

What would we do, who would we be, here at Madison Square, if we had none of that? If we decided to thread our needle through the wisdom of the kingdom of God that says the only way to overcome the crucible of wealth is to give it away?

Would we fall apart without our organ? I LOVE our organ! But is it possible we might find a greater trust in the God we’ve been worshiping all along through the accompaniment of our organ? Would we pull back on our mission giving in order to pay the bills? [Which is what a whole lot of churches are doing these days.] Or would we find a greater solidarity with those who have never had a hope for the kind of inheritance we take for granted and give away even more? Would we moan and groan about “what isn’t getting done” in comparison with the past? Or would we share even more of our own time and talent and treasure in order to fill the gap?

Here’s the really good news for Madison Square: we already know the answer. We’ve already lived the answer. In the past year every one of us has offered time and talent and treasure we might not even have known that we had in order to build up the kingdom of God through this community. Elders and Deacons have spent hours upon hours focusing this ship forward, visiting the sick and injured, getting our financial house in order, filling staff vacancies, supporting the Madison Square Child Development Center, bringing food to support Christian Assistance Ministries, volunteering with Habitat for Humanity, and creating a worship experience that fosters hope and facilitates mission.

Every single person who has been asked to lead worship as a liturgist has said yes. We haven’t had a repeat yet! Everyone who volunteers as an usher “welcomes home” the people of God in a spirit of generous hospitality. Everyone who volunteers with our children and youth carries the inheritance forward for the generation yet to come. Everyone who gives just a little bit more time and talent and treasure than they think they can afford receives back a hundredfold in blessings in this life and the next. Just ask yourselves if this is true. It is!

The really good news for Madison Square is that we don’t actually need that inheritance at all in order to follow Jesus down the river of grace that is the abundant life of the kingdom of God. We would do it anyway. We are doing it anyway. And we will keep on doing it because that is just what we are going to do. It’s the only thing that ever had any hope of saving us, in the end.

Because the best news of all for every one of us is that the good grace of God is just like that inheritance we have received from our predecessors in these pews. A pure gift. A complete and utter gift. Through nothing we have earned on our own. And nothing we can do or not do in return. But simply shout alleluia. And say thank you. And then pay it forward to those who need it even more than we do.

And that is what the good news of the kingdom of God is really all about. It may feel impossible for we who are mere mortals. But not for God. For God all things are possible. Including a very rich camel threading the eye of this needle so that all may be one in the household of God.

May it be so for us at Madison Square in this season of stewardship. Amen.

Coming Out and Coming In

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist

Esther, selected verses

Solidarity Sunday, Peacemaking Sunday

 

Don’t forget who you really are, Esther. Hadassah . . .

Do not ever forget who you really are!

This is how I imagine Mordecai preparing his cousin for her life as a queen in the land of their conqueror. Yes, you must hide your identity in order to succeed, I can hear him telling her. In fact, the very name “Esther” is related to the Hebrew word that means “to hide” or “to keep secret.” So yes, you must keep your true identity a secret, he surely says. And yes, you must use your “feminine wiles” to win the king. But do not ever forget who you really are. And whose you really are.l

Hadassah . . .

“Hadassah,” as I have learned this past week, is a myrtle plant. And the leaves of the myrtle plant, I have learned this past week, have a sweet fragrance that is released only after the leaves are tested and stretched and challenged. So that what has once been beautiful to look at may now appear bruised and broken but is instead a great gift of calming comfort to all in need of a blessing of grace.

So do not ever forget who you really are, Hadassah who becomes Esther. And do not ever forget who you can become when you are tested and stretched and challenged and graced.

Which of course really does become the invitation for Esther the Queen once she learns of the plot to destroy her people. And her mettle is tested, and her courage is stretched, and her wisdom is challenged, and her true identity is graced as she “comes out” to the king. Over a meal. And begs him to save her people.

When I shared the story of Esther with our youth this morning, I left them hanging here. What do you think happens next? I asked them.

They were pessimistic. I wanted the happy ending.

Which of us is right?

The king does feast at the banquet of Esther’s table day after day after day, eating of the bread she has prepared in wisdom, drinking of the wine she has mixed in hope. The king does say yes to her plea to save her people. And they all live happily ever after, thanks to Esther’s bravery and courage!

Except the story keeps on going . . .

The problem with the Book of Esther, the problem with the human race, the problem with us, is that our violence does not truly end with a banquet, even though it should. Right here. In communion. Instead the violence changes hands.

The problem with the Book of Esther, the problem with the human race, the problem with us, is that the one who may appear to be all-powerful is in fact powerless to stop the consequences of his own violent power once it has been set in motion. Once the king has ordered a violent uprising against the people of his own queen, he cannot simply call it off. The anger is stoked. The masses are armed. The damage is done.

Or so they think.

In order to save Esther and her people, the only thing they think they can do is arm them in return. So that they might defend themselves. Which they do. Which they must! But which, in doing so, leaves “seventy-five thousand of those who hated them” dead at their hands.

Not exactly a cause for celebration.

The problem with the Book of Esther, the problem with the human race, the problem with us, is that the violence does not end unless we make an active choice toward nonviolent resistance to the violence we condemn. Which is, of course, what Jesus did. Teaching us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us and do not return evil for evil. Even to the point of death.

But if we are to say the way of Jesus is somehow “better” than the way of Esther, then we would also need to confess at the same time that we—who live in a largely Christian nation, with political campaigns making bold claims about representing “Christian values”—are at this very moment still fighting wars in self-defensive retribution. Just like Esther. And that we, like Esther, might very well be causing more death in response to the threat we fear than was ever threatening us in the first place.

And if we are to say the way of Jesus is somehow “better” than the way of Esther, then we would also need to consider how contemporary the Book of Esther sounds in light of the Holocaust. And to remove the log from our own “Christian” eyes before we start pointing out specks in the eyes of others.

This is why, in the end, we must come back to this banquet, on this World Communion Sunday, on this Peacemaking Sunday, on this Solidarity Sunday. We have a confession to make to the Prince of Peace about how very far we have fallen from the peace that passes understanding. We have to beg God to show us yet again the way to resist the violence that would claim us all. And to re-member who we really are. Which is, in the end, also “Hadassah.” That beautiful, sweet, fragile gift of grace. Always intended to bloom with joy. As a garland of peace. Through every land and nation. For just such a time as this.

I pray it may be so. Amen.

Memory and Hope

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist

 

Nehemiah 8:1-15

Matthew 22:34-40

“Este es el libro de memoria y . . ?” This is the book of memory and . . ?”

Is it esperanza/hope? Is it promesa/promise? Or is it simply memoria/memory, with nothing more to say? Those of us involved in the worship planning at Madison Square have engaged in an ongoing conversation over this question—bordering on debate—over the past year.

I think I might be winning! ;-)

I have been the one advocating esperanza/hope. Why? Because, quite frankly, I need it. A reason for hope in my life. I need that “thing with feathers,” as Emily Dickinson calls it, “that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all.” I need that thing that keeps us going when we think we have no “going” left to “go.” I need that thing that inspires us to greatness, on the one hand, and puts us back together again when we are shattered, on the other.

I am guessing I am not the only one. I am guessing almost all of us have an experience of holding onto hope when even hope seems hopeless. The question is, do we find that thing called “hope” in the Bible?

The answer is yes. And then if we’re honest, maybe no. And then finally and emphatically . . . yes!

Take Nehemiah, for example.

As a book of memory—recounting a story that is in some mystical way also our story—Nehemiah takes place as the people of God return to the land of Judah from a long and tumultuous exile in Babylon, about five hundred years before the birth of Christ. The lives of this community have been shattered to the core. The liberating miracle of the Exodus from Egypt is an ancient memory. The glory days of King David and Solomon ring bitter and hollow for a people who can never hope to attain such greatness. Instead they know only war and deportation, their house of worship destroyed, their leaders vanquished, their children cut off from their culture. They have every reason to give up on hope.

But they don’t.

God raises up a new generation of leaders from within the exiled community, teaching them to sing the old songs in a strange land, to adapt the old rituals to a new worship home, to tell the old stories toward a new hope for a new day. And now that day has come. It is time to return and rebuild. And they do!

By the time we get to chapter 8 of the book of Nehemiah, two new leaders—Ezra the scribe and Nehemiah the governor—have stepped up to steer the community through this rebuilding. They have led the people in fierce debate over the direction they wish to go as a community of faith. Some of it has been bitter. All of it has been heartfelt. But they have finally come to a place of decision, and they have coalesced around a new vision, and they have pooled their resources together to rebuild the foundation of the temple. And they are ready to move forward together.

So what does Ezra, their new leader, do to get them started? He gathers the people to study the Bible! Or at least what exists of the Bible to-date. And he includes ALL of the people. Men and women. And children, too. As many as have the capacity to understand what they are hearing. And—get this—Ezra reads to them from early morning until midday, day after day, until the entire Bible as they know it has been read aloud. Now how’s THAT for a really long worship service?

As a new day is dawning for them, they come to this Bible for a word of memory and hope, listening for a Word of God speaking directly to them through the words of their Scripture. Just as we do every time we gather in worship to be formed and re-formed, according to the Word of God.

So what do they hear God saying through these words of ancient Scripture? The same thing we do? “Do not weep. Do not mourn. This day is holy to your God. Eat. Drink. As one community. And if you have something to share give it to those who need more than they have. And rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice! This is the Word of our God! As Ezra and Nehemiah sum up the entire Bible as they know it in just a few sentences, this is what they come to: This is the day that our God has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it. Eat. Drink. Be Merry. And SHARE!!! Period!

(That’s actually a really good Stewardship Slogan!)

Now if you are anything like me you’d like to just close the book here. Right?

But we can’t. The problem is, as much as Ezra and Nehemiah get it right in chapter eight, they get it awfully wrong if you keep on reading to chapter thirteen. In the very legitimate interest of protecting the integrity of their community’s identity in resistance to outside oppression, they give in to the temptations of xenophobia, interpreting their Scriptures as a code of purity, rather than a code of justice. They go so far as to demand that the men of Israel who have married foreign women must divorce them and leave them destitute. To the point of sending their children packing. It is one of the most shameful parts of the Bible, as far as I am concerned. It sounds an awful lot like the ways our current U.S. immigration policies separate undocumented parents from their documented children. And, in fact, there is much in the way of violence and xenophobia in both testaments that should rightly make us cringe today. And may very well have been used as a weapon of oppression against us. I know I have been on the receiving end of this.

But the truth is that any one of us can use the Bible as a proof-text for just about any position we want to hold, whether it is advocating divorce (as Nehemiah does) or prohibiting it. Whether it is demanding the oppression of women or celebrating women as the bearers of the tradition. Whether it is justifying the hatred of same-sex partners or proclaiming an ethic of fidelity and partnership, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity. I had one professor in seminary who went so far as to warn us that the Bible can be hazardous to our health, pointing to the history of biblical justification for slavery as evidence.

John Calvin may be right in arguing that humanity needs Scripture to serve as a kind of “spectacles” because our inherent knowledge of God is stifled inevitably by human sin. But in light of our history as biblical people, I would add that our reading of Scripture is also stifled inevitably by human sin. It is far too easy for any one of us to take liberties with Scripture in order to justify our particular preconceived agenda. Yours truly included.

So what do we do with the Bible?

I have two words of guidance from our Reformed/Presbyterian tradition. First, we believe that Jesus Christ is the Living Word of God made flesh, full of grace and truth. And we interpret all of Scripture—every chapter and every verse—through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. And lo and behold, Jesus himself, gives us the very tools for this interpretation! Coming directly from the Bible as it existed in his own time. Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18. The same words Ezra and Nehemiah were teaching the people five hundred years earlier.

“You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.” Jesus says. “And you must love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hand all the law and the prophets.” This is the key for interpreting the entire thing. To paraphrase the great 4^th century bishop St. Augustine, “if you read any part of the Bible and it teaches you to do anything other than love God and love your neighbor, then read it again; you didn’t get it right the first time.” This is the first rule of biblical interpretation, according to the Presbyterian tradition.

The second is like it. We interpret all of Scripture in community, rather than in isolation. Trusting that together we may discern God’s Living Word more faithfully than we can separately. Trusting that others will point out when our interpretations fail to live up to the command to love God and neighbor. Trusting that others will give insight into the cultural and social limitations of our own perspectives so that we may more faithfully bear witness to God’s love for the entire world. In this way, as feminist theologian Dawn DeVries argues, the Bible becomes “the means of grace through which God’s Word is ever and anew received in the Christian community.” Whether we need a memory to remind us who we really are. Or if we come desperate for a word of hope to get us through the day.

The bottom line in the Presbyterian tradition is that our hope really is ultimately in the God to whom the book points but whom the book is emphatically not. The Bible itself tells us that the Word of God has been made flesh among us. The Word of God is a person—Jesus—and everything else must be interpreted through him. And we come to know this Living Word of God through the memories recorded in the words we read and study together in the Scriptures. The memories of real people seeking a word of hope, just like us.

So we gather on yet another Sunday around this book of “memory and hope,” sharing the stories of those who came before us. Because their story is, in a very real sense, our story. And their hope is our hope. That the Living Word of God will comfort our affliction. And afflict our comfort. And shape us even today as God’s beloved community. Both now and yet to come.

I pray it may be so.

Amen.

Pre-Destined for Peace

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist


Jeremiah 18:1-12

Matthew 7:1-5


In the religious life of the planet this has been one long week of judgment. Judgment in the form of an online movie trailer. Judgment in the form of response to the trailer. Judgment in response to the response to the trailer. And so on. To the point of violent bloodshed. To the point that could decide we might as well give up on religion altogether, judging religion itself responsible for inciting the very violence that every religious tradition I know of—including Islam—does, at its core, deplore.

We at Madison Square don’t like to talk about judgment. It is a religious sentiment most of us have fled in favor of grace and a wide welcome to the universal and unconditional love of God. Which is why we are here instead of at any number of other Christian churches that have no problem saying “our way or the highway” or “woe to you who don’t believe like we do,” in condemnation of others to eternal damnation. With the same sentiment that gives rise to offending videos in the first place.

We come to Madison Square to get away from all of that, don’t we? I know I do.

But we do not get to wash our hands of it. Because the clear distinctions we might make here in the United States between “our” Christianity and “that other” Christianity get glossed over worldwide. The same way we gloss over the clear distinctions among vastly different practices of Islam in the Middle East. We do not get to wash our hands of “that other Christianity” as if it has nothing to do with us. Because it does.

The thing is we really are our brother’s keeper in the biblical tradition. United in faith even if we wish it was not so. And I think we can learn something about how to handle that responsibility from the peace-loving Muslims of Libya who emphatically followed today’s teaching from Matthew’s Gospel, albeit from within their own tradition. The one about the log and the speck and the withholding of judgment toward others in order to avoid that judgment in return.

Here’s how they did it:

In response to the worst their religion could arouse the people of Benghazi took to the streets to invoke the best. “This is not the Behavior of our Islam and Prophet,” they said with their signs and the sounds of their voices. “Murder is not Islam.” “No to terrorism.” “Thugs and killers do not represent Benghazi nor Islam.”

It was actually a form of “judgment.” But it was an internal one. From within the community. Critiquing the same community you come from. Which is very much like what the Prophet Jeremiah was doing in our Old Testament lesson. The one that made most of us cringe with its own harsh language of judgment. The one that called upon the people of ancient Judah to reform their own religious behavior before they explained away all that was wrong in their society in judgment of the evil from those “outside invaders.”

When the people of Judah blamed the Babylonians for all that was wrong within their midst, Jeremiah told them to take a look at themselves instead. Are we following the covenant of our own community, he demanded, or have we succumbed to greed and idolatry instead? Are we caring for the widow, the orphan, and the stranger, he asked, or are we just going through the motions of external religious practice? Are we willing to be re-formed into a new vessel of unspoiled clay, he wanted to know, or are we resting on our laurels as God’s “frozen chosen”?

Over and over again, the people of Judah pointed the finger, in the time of Jeremiah. At anyone and everyone other than themselves. But Jeremiah told them to turn inward. To amend their own ways and their own doings first. Which is what the peace-loving Muslims of Libya did. And which is what we American Christians must do, as well, if we are going to be faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

In fact, I would argue that all of the world’s great religions in this global, plural, inter-continental culture we have become in the 21st century must reclaim the peacemaking, self-reflecting, community-critiquing foundations of our traditions before it is too late. Removing the remaining planks of violence and intolerance and injustice from our own eyes—which for us means standing adamantly and emphatically against the youtube video version of Christianity and Jesus that does not represent us—before we bomb the speck out of the eyes of everyone else.

If every one of us did this, if every religion in the world removed the planks from our own eyes and cultivated the core covenants that are so central to all our traditions—the justice and the fidelity and the spiritual renewal that Jeremiah cried out for—we just might finally and forever decide deep down in our bones as the people of this planet that we really are all one clay in the potter’s hand. Formed ofone earth. Dare I even suggest flowing from one font of identity that fills every single one of our bodies three quarters of the way full with the water of grace. Whether we claim Christianity as our tradition or not.

I still hold on to that hope. I still want to believe that we can find a way across our vastly different traditions to swim together through the multiple streams of God’s grace toward that great river of peace that is our final destination.

I believe this because of my faith in Christ. Not in spite of it.

But we have to do the work. It won’t “just happen” just because we want it. So let’s do the work together of removing the plank from our own eyes of Presbyterianism. Starting with the doctrine of pre-destination, which is what I would have spent the entire sermon preaching on if we hadn’t had the week we just had. But it fits because if we are going to do the work of claiming the central core of our traditions in pursuit of that river of peace we Presbyterians have to come to terms with this very “Presbyterian” doctrine.

Now I’m just going to take a wild guess that you have not—at least in recent memory—experienced a sermon at Madison Square that touched on pre-destination. Which is the idea that God has chosen from the beginning of time who will be saved for eternity. And, yes, who will be damned for eternity. It is a harsh doctrine on its face. And it can easily get twisted into condemnation of all those “other” people who didn’t get chosen by God because they aren’t Christian. Which is exactly the opposite of what it is supposed to mean!

Most modern—and post-modern—progressive Presbyterians mostly avoid talking about predestination because we don’t want to talk about judgment. We want to believe that God loves everybody and grace abounds and hell has no place in our theology of love. But I am going to argue today that reclaiming and reforming the doctrine of predestination—rather than rejecting it outright—might give us the critical tools we need to persuade our global Christian family toward greater religious tolerance in this era of interfaith collaboration. And that this greater religious tolerance can be an act of Christian faith and not just a good idea from the world of secular liberalism.

Because the doctrine of predestination teaches that God alone is the sovereign ruler of the universe, and not any religious tradition. That God alone has determined our eternal fate, and not any religious tradition. That God alone is the one who knows what that fate will be, and not any religious tradition. And that nothing we do—or do not do—has anything to do with God’s choice in the matter. Which means that not one of us has any business declaring God’s eternal damnation—or even God’s eternal salvation—on any other person, or on any other group of people, or even on our own selves. Regardless of our religious tradition.

If we really are true to the core of our Presbyterian heritage, we don’t get to judge anything for God. The only thing we get to do is gratefully welcome the grace of God, which is the true core of the doctrine of predestination. It’s about our desperate reliance on God’s grace alone for any hope of salvation, in this life or the next. It’s about confessing in every part of our being that we have no hope for humankind at all—for ourselves or for anyone else—without. God's. grace.

Which I think has been made abundantly clear this week.

In light of where we are in the world today, I would like to add a hopeful addendum to predestination, based on the work of Karl Barth and other theologians who have followed him. It is possible, in keeping with the Scriptures that proclaim God's peaceable kingdom on the other side of God’s final judgment, that we are, in the end, “pre-destined for peace.” All of us. Because the thing about pre-destination—about eternal rejection and eternal salvation—is that Jesus, himself, has already experienced both. In the agony of the cross and through the harrowing of hell and right back out again to a resurrection of joy, Jesus has experienced both damnation and salvation. Once and for all. For all time.

And if we who are Christian have really been baptized into Christ, literally and not just metaphorically, then that means we have experienced both eternal damnation and eternal salvation, too. Once and for all. From the beginning of time to the end. In the fullness of time. All of us pre-destined for both. But not for ourselves alone.

If we are baptized into the rejected AND elected Body of Christ, we have no choice but to find ourselves in solidarity with anyone else in all of creation who knows what it is to be rejected right here and right now! Including those who are rejected by “Christians.”

Because that is where Christ’s rejected Body will always be!

But we also have no choice but to believe beyond belief that the saving love that is God’s final word in Christ is in that exact same place! Where Christ's rejected body is, there, too, is God's eternal salvation. Period. Not because we choose it. But because we need it. No matter who we are or what we have done or what we have left undone. Or where we worship.

It is, I would argue, the final Word throughout the Scriptures. From the mark of Cain in protection of a wandering murderer, to the joyful return of the very lump of clay that careened off the potter’s wheel and was given up for lost in Jeremiah, to the New Testament Gentiles who are seemingly rejected but have in fact been chosen by God from the foundation of the world for inclusion in the God’s family. To you. And to me. And to all of creation.

Rejected. And chosen. At the exact same time.

Having said all of that, I will confess once again not to really know what happens to the spoiled lump of clay that falls off the potter’s wheel. Or to the lump that maybe never got on in the first place. Or to any one of us in the Christian church or out of it. The clay may very well get thrown away for eternity. Or just set aside for a season.

What I do know is this: somewhere, somehow, clay always comes back to the earth. And gets mixed back together with the rest of it. And a potter picks it back up again somewhere along the line and shapes it once again. Always working together with creation to pronounce it "very good."

And so I choose to believe that someway somehow that so-called “rejected” lump of clay will always and forever be the very one chosen by our God. Not because of anything we have done. Or not done. Not because we have been easy to work with or delightfully challenging. But because of the grace of a God who desperately wants this lump of clay we call the human race to finally figure out how to live together as one body. Pre-destined for peace. With the Spirit of God breathing through every one of us.

I pray it may be so. Amen.

Always Being Re-Formed

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist  


Genesis 2:4-14, 18-22



Genesis 2:4b-14, 18-22
On the day when the God of Breath

made earth and heaven,

when every shrub of the field

was not yet in the earth

and every seed of the field

had not yet sprung up—

because the God of Breath

had not caused it to rain upon the earth,

and there was not humanity to work the humus,

but a mist ascended from the earth

and would irrigate all the face of the humus—

then the God of Breath

formed the human dust

from the humus

and breathed in its nostrils

a breath of life,

and it became a human—

a living breathing body.



And the God of Breath

planted a garden in Eden in the East,

and there God put the human

which God had formed.

And the God of Breath

caused every beautiful

and fruitful tree that exists

to sprout from the soil,

as well as a tree of

the knowledge of good and evil.



Now a river flows out from Eden

for irrigating the garden

and from there it is divided,

there it becomes the head of four rivers.

The name of the first is Pishon;

It is the one circling about all the earth of the Havilah,

in which there is gold.

And this gold of the earth is good;

bdellium and onyx are there.



And the name of the second river is the Gihon;

That one is winding through all the earth of Cush.

And the name of the third river is Tigris,

which flows east of Assyria.

And the fourth river,

that is the Euphrates.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now the God of Breath said,

“It is not good to be the only human, all alone.

I will make for the human a corresponding helper.”



And the God of Breath formed from the earth

every beast of the field and all the birds of the heavens,

and God brought them to the human

in order to see what the human would call each creature.

And every name that the human called

each living, breathing creature . . .

that was the creature’s name.



The human called forth names

for all the animals and for birds of the heavens

and for all the life of the field,

but for the human,

a corresponding help was not found.



So the God of Breath

caused deep sleep to fall on the human

and the human slept

and God took the human’s primary rib,

and then its flesh closed in.



And the God of Breath built the rib taken

from the original human

to form a new human—a woman

and God brought her to the re-formed first human—

now a man.

And the re-formed first human said,

“At last, this is the occurrence of substance from my substance and flesh from my flesh;

this one is called woman—

and I am called man—

because woman and man were re-formed—

by God—

from and for each other.”





Can you believe it has been a year? A full year this week since I came to you from Tucson to serve as your second interim pastor. Or your third, depending on how you count.



When I met with your Interim Pastor Search Committee one year ago I told them that if they hired me, I would hope to lead the session and the congregation toward a posture of embracing transition as a way of life and not just a moment in time. That every part of life is a journey of trusting the Providence of God as we travel from one place to the next. That an “interim” period is a time to practice that trust. That our own Presbyterian tradition even has built within it an explicit expectation that we are always in need of the re-forming Spirit of God. That any time we think we have arrived at the perfect church or the perfect theology or the perfect mission or even the perfect pastor, the Spirit of the Living God will emphatically knock us off our self-righteous perch and demand we start all over again! And that this can even be a good thing. Even if it is hard. Especially if it is hard.



It is one of the great slogans of the 16th Century Protestant Reformation, which is the religious heritage of our own Presbyterian denomination. That the Church is Reformed and Always Being Reformed. Or as Bill Walker’s Latin expertise argues “always in need of being reformed.”



We have learned a little something about the need of being re-formed in this long-term interim season, have we not? We have hired new staff and then turned around to realize we needed to hire different new staff. We have fixed our financial procedures and then turned around to realize we needed to re-fix our financial procedures. We have gotten serious about faithful stewardship education and rallied around the mission of the Child Development Center. And we have just plain gotten on with our lives after the enormous loss of Ilene and Kenny and Linda and Rene.



It has certainly been a year of re-formation for Madison Square. Healing and fixing, yes. But also joyful, as I hoped it could be. Gathering in focus groups and prayer groups and conversation groups and mission groups to share what we love most about this church. Re-forming our identity in the compassionate heart of the steadfast love of God that will not ever let us go. Singing and clapping and celebrating and communing. And may I dare suggest it has actually been fun!?



Yes, we are a church in need of being re-formed, as our tradition has said all along. It can be hard, it can be fun, it can be everything in between. We can resist it or we can embrace it. But I have learned as much as I have tried to teach that re-formation really is a way of life, as I told that interview team, and not just a moment in time. Just ask my car, which is definitely in the middle of a “Great Re-Formation”!



The good news for all of us, as far as I can tell from the Scriptures this morning, is that God has been up to the work of forming and re-forming, and re-forming Creation from our very origins. If you read closely in Genesis you can see that our re-formation as a new creation occurs almost immediately after our original formation! In fact, God's work of forming and re-forming and re-forming God's good creation—including humanity and the faith traditions that nurture and guide us as the people of God—is woven into the very fabric of creation.

According to this second chapter in Genesis, God made heaven and earth and a mist to irrigate the humus. And it was very good, something to be celebrated! But it was not good for God to be alone. So God re-formed creation by forming a human being, breathing God's own breath into dust from the original humus that God created. And God placed the human in a beautiful garden with trees and fruit, including the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. And the human being and the beautiful garden were very good, something to be celebrated! But it was not good for the earth to exist without running water. So God re-formed creation again by forming a river to flow out from the garden (may I call it the font of our identity?) and divided it into four prominent rivers and cultivated gold and other precious metals alongside each river. And it was good, something to be celebrated!



But it was not good for the human to be alone. So God re-formed creation again by forming more creatures from the earth to live in the fields and to fly in the air. And they were very good, something to be celebrated! But it was not good for the human to be without a corresponding helper. So God re-formed the original human in order to form a corresponding helper, the male and the female both re-formed from the original human in order to provide companionship for one another. And it was very good, something to be celebrated! Finally, we had a human community for support and encouragement. Finally the re-formation seemed to be complete!



But then along came the serpent and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and the need for yet another re-formation. And another. And another. This time because of our own self-inflicted-nonsense. The first re-formation of humanity because God needs a second chance. The ones that follow because we do.



But here is the promise of the ongoing re-formation, whether it is because God needs it or we do. Through every moment of formation and re-formation the God who is nearer to us than our breath, the God whose Spirit is, in fact, our breath itself, is present, is personal, is breathing life and energy and wholeness and hope throughout every part of this beautiful and good and glorious creation. And God isn’t done with us yet! Whatever re-formation you need or I need or that my 2009 Pontiac Vibe needs—the ones we know we need and the ones we pretend we don’t need—God isn’t done with us yet! And God is doing everything God can to make this very good creation just a little bit “good-er.”



Because being formed and re-formed and always being re-formed in this primal story of our creation is not about change for the sake of change. Or chaos for the sake of chaos. Or theological inquiry for the sake of theological inquiry. Being formed and re-formed and always being re-formed is about companionship, community, finding and receiving help. It is about learning to live in joyous relationship with one another over and over and over again. And it is fun!



Being formed and re-formed and always being re-formed in this primal story of our creation never forgets that we are all creatures of the earth, substance from one another's substance, flesh from one another's flesh. And that we really have no choice but to treat one another with reverence and awe and respect in every moment of re-formation, tending to the pain as well as to the joy. Because the reality is that in our moments of re-formation, we very often have wounds in our side where our ribs have been removed, just like the re-formed first human must have had. And the reality is that in our moments of re-formation, we very often lament what we have lost by being separated from our origins, just like the re-formed second human must have done. And the reality is that we are often being re-formed by our anesthetizing God deep in our sleep, completely unaware that our lives have radically changed until we finally wake up and see a whole new life in front of us.



And being formed and re-formed and always being re-formed in this primal story of our creation means that every act of re-formation returns us to the God of Breath who has been with us all along. To the breath of God, which is nearer to us than our own breath. To the breath of God, which makes us a living, breathing body of miraculous creation. To the breath of God that reminds us to breathe through the chaos and the anxiety and the pain and the exhilaration. Which is why everyone from your therapist to your pastor to your yoga instructor will remind you to breathe when the chaos of re-formation brings you to your breaking point. Because that is how the Spirit of God can re-form us the best.



The bottom line of our formation and our re-formation and our ongoing re-formation as a congregation, as a denomination, and as individuals and families with our own lives beyond these walls is that we are indeed a miracle and we should not ever forget it! We are earth and water and the lifelong breath of God, formed into glorious creatures of the earth. Not only created in the image of God but also in our very living, breathing bodies a treasure of irrigated earth formed into human dust and filled with the very breath of God. God's Spirit-filled creature of the earth—a human from the humus—an adam from the adamah, as the Hebrew says, a living breathing body of earth and water and God's divine spirit flowing through us. The very breath of God flowing through us no matter how we are being re-formed! That is always and forever who we really are!



And so we celebrate God's playful and joyous work of re-formation among us with our own attitude of play and joy. With a deep love for the beautiful gift of God's glorious creation that each one of us is in our living, breathing bodies. With a heartfelt gratitude for the companionship we provide one another and for the “corresponding help” we can be to one another in the midst of the challenges that come with change and in celebration of the many opportunities that lie before us.



Because we are still about the business of being re-formed here at Madison Square. And it can continue to be an amazing Alleluia!



I pray it may be so. Amen.