Posts
I stood in the freezing patio a year a half ago glued to a phone call with a handful of you as we debated—should we do church in person that coming weekend or not? There was this strange new coronavirus floating around that had seemed to have arrived in Chicago. Many churches were canceling services. We decided that, given we might not be able to meet in person for a good 4 or even 6 weeks while this thing blew over, we should, indeed, meet for church that Sunday. Little did we know we were about to embark on a 59 week stint of virtual church.
Here in Chicago, we all watched with unease as transmission rates rose and shop and restaurant windows darkened. Months passed, and over time, we all knew folks that had been sick with covid. We all knew folks that were newly unemployed. We all knew of food pantries that were maxxed. As our normal patterns were disrupted, a deeper normal was challenged when the voice of the Black Lives Matter movement rose up that spring calling attention to police brutality and systemic racism.
The waves began to rock. The politicians began to growl. And we began to wonder about who we really were as people, families, as a society. Accusations of fear buzzed constantly. People pointed fingers and we drove in the wedges between people. We hunkered down, some of us lonely, some of us frazzled, some of us grief-stricken and anxious. Our family bonds groaned under the pressure. Our world doubled over as we watched the curves on all the graphs rise and fall. As we watched election results play out. Even with a vaccine, we still weren’t sure footed at first. When Spring came, it was like we all kind of stepped out squinting and blinking trying to get our bearings.
Our story from this last year and a half, with the earth rumbling under our feet is an old, old story. Last November, almost a year ago to the day, Marcia, a member here, shared a reflection in a zoom worship service and reminded us, “God has seen this all before. God has seen violence and scarcity of food and floods and famine and war and uncertainty.” She’s right. We trace this ancient story through the pages of our scriptures and, yes, God has seen this all before. The people of God have repeatedly faced difficult and even harrowing times.
The Israelites were enslaved in ancient Egypt. Then, they wandered in the wilderness for 40 years disoriented, uncertain, anxious, sometimes they got it right out there in the wilderness sometimes caught up in petty arguments, but they were always looking for hope. Generations after their wilderness trek, the people of God were marched out of Jerusalem across the desert to Babylon where they were held captive. During the time of Jesus, the sky ripped in two, and nation rose against nation, eventually, the Jerusalem Temple was destroyed by the Roman armies, and the Jesus-followers scattered, terrified. Throughout all of this, the ancient people were disappointed, confused, heartbroken, disorientated. They grieved and doubted. They suffered and felt alone. And yet, God’s Spirit never left them. Generation after generation, God has guided the people through “the valley of the shadow of death” to life.
That phrase, “the valley of the shadow of death” is from Psalm 23, which is probably the most famous song in the Book of Psalms. It’s a song of comfort. It’s often read at funerals, but if you read it closely, it’s also a wilderness song. It’s a song of difficult days. The musician that wrote that psalm wrote of “the valley of the shadow of death.” She speaks of “evil,” and of “enemies.” That “rod and staff” that comfort her?—they tell us that there is trouble lurking near by. Shepherd’s rods were used for warding off and smacking off predators, their staffs were for helping hook around and rescue lost sheep that were trapped in crevices or brambles and lifting them out. In other words, Psalm 23 is a song of comfort-in-the-midst-of-difficulty. A song of hope-in-the-midst-of-despair. Our ancestors found – even in the throws of enslavement, of exile, and of what felt like defeat – new ways to sing to God, new ways to stay together as a community, new ways to praise God, who never promises to shield us from the valley of the shadow of death, but rather promises to be with us in it, to give us strength, and to shepherd us as we move through that valley.
And so our ancestors sang new songs, songs of comfort and hope, songs of praise and thanksgiving. And all of that brings us to our reading today, Psalm 98 which we just heard a few moments ago: “O sing to God a new song, for God has done marvelous things!”
When we praise God from the heart, our song of praise lifts us up out of the mire of circumstances and struggle, so we can remember who we really are: beloved children of the God of Love and Grace. We are made to praise - and not just in good times! Praise is like this ladder for our spirits, it helps us climb up out of the shadows and into the light to get a new perspective on things from high up there. It’s like climbing up that ladder and sticking our head out of the clouds to feel God’s glory on our faces, even if only briefly. Praise brings us back in touch with the truth of our situation: That we are God’s beloved. Praise God from whom all blessings flow, joyful, joyful Lord we adore thee!
We can and should sing the old, familiar songs, of course, but in times like these that we are living, we have to sing them in new ways, just as our ancestors did. When they were re-located to a new city, they had to sing the song differently. When their temple was destroyed, they had to sing the song differently. So too, do we.
We have found new ways of singing, “new songs.” We’ve found new forms of praise and thanks and delight - new ways of being the church, of being God’s people “together for joy” (Ps 98:8). Who could have imagined these new songs we have composed?
Who would have thought that we would have been able to pivot the church to a virtual platform and not just keep our heads above water, but thrive. We went out on a limb and filmed ourselves in a bunch of quirky little videos and made a worship service out of it. You lit advent candles around your kitchen tables and met around bonfires. Groups met around zoom and even occasionally on each other’s freezing cold patios. We met virtually to discuss books and bible stories and discuss anti-racism. We created music videos to lament racism and virtual love notes for folks who are transgender that we shared on social media. We sang new songs.
We reached out into the community with free little pantries that we established outside. We put together thanksgiving dinner for the friendship center food pantry. We created exhibits like the prayer wall, an outdoor rally day and a trunk or treat event. There were chorus’ of this song that we wrote that I didn’t see coming: We unexpectedly gave $8,000 to the friendship center in the spring of 2020 and $10,000 to a struggling sister church in Humboldt park last Christmas. We sent a kid from a sister church to camp. We tithed our income from rally day a few months ago and gave it to the Lutheran fund for Afghan refuges. We gave $23,000 to the synod this year which sang new songs with us as they started funds for tiny churches that had been whalloped by the pandemic, or supported disaster relief for fires, floods, to help mitigate food insecurity.
And then, it happened in your own lives. How many of you have started singing new songs in your own daily lives: You reflected on your participation in unjust systems, You worked to make sure all our youth know how beloved they are. You supported families who were struggling. You volunteered around the city at vaccine clinics and food pantries. You ran errands for home bound senior citizens. You supported the teams you led at work. You were compassionate to coworkers in a new way. You marched downtown in Chicago, Maddie and Dave: you went and marched in Washington D.C. Wendy Taube, you’ve been working with an organization for international human rights to bring women judges and lawyers out of Afghanistan.
You raised money for important causes through marathons. Your 5th and 6th graders honored the memory of those killed by gun violence last weekend in our All Saints service. Your new songs admitted you weren’t always okay and you gave others courage to sing or say the same. You sent cards and made meals and stretched to be generous with your money and time.
I will sing, sing a new song to the Lord. We sang new songs.
This is who we are as Luther Memorial. A place that listens to God’s voice and adapts. A place of growth in God’s love. A place that keeps our eyes on folks who are vulnerable. This is exactly who we’ll continue to be and become. Now more than ever, we need to reach out and lift each other up. Now more than ever, we need to find new ways to be “together for joy.” Now more than ever, we need to be the church!
The church was made for times such as these: not times of ease and tranquility, but times of difficulty and struggle. Not a stroll along a sunlit ridge line, but a pilgrimage through the valley of the shadow of death. Not a whimper or a whisper of silence, but a new song sung out loud, in harmony with all creation, as the seas roar and hills sing together for joy!
This new year, as we look towards who God is calling us to become we will continue to let God’s hand shape us. We will challenge ourselves to level up and be generous in the face of selfishness, to be compassionate in front of pain, to be reflective in the face of complex problems, to sing a new song of community when the world keeps trying to wrap us up into ourselves. To love our neighbor.
We will continue to reach outward into the community. The staff and council that God has called to serve here are the right fit to help us look outward and compose new songs. The number of kids involved in our older kid programming has grown by leaps and bounds. By the grace of God, you all have done some solid ministry with these middle schoolers and high schoolers over the years.
We want to connect more deeply with our young people as they reflect on how God is alive in this world and who God is calling us to become. We’re going to listen to the new songs they sing. We’re going to make music together as a congregation, and study God’s word together and this is why all of us, as a community, ask each other to share our treasure and invest in our mission as a church today.
Omar and I pledged a couple of weeks ago. Some of you have pledged on line, some of you have turned in a pledge card, some of you have emailed us saying, “I’m not really sure how to pledge…? but this is what my family and I want to do this year. We’re committed.” All good.
Some of you are still thinking about it. maybe you haven’t pledged before, maybe you’re not sure if it’s your style. Your participation matters. Your generosity matters. It supports this ministry. It makes a difference. And God transforms you through your giving.
In a time of difficulty and despair for so many, we are a community of light and hope. In a time of injustice and struggle, we are a community of love and justice. In a time of silence and isolation, we are a community of gathering, a community of song--of new songs and new ways of singing, new ways of being God’s church for God’s world, together for joy.
Thanks be to God!
No comments:
Post a Comment