may 10, 2009

Anna Blaedel
First UMC, Osage, Iowa
10 May 2009
John 15:1-8
1 John 4:7-21
Mother’s Day


This morning I want to tell you a story about my mom. As is the case with so many things in life, she is better at telling this story than I. Perhaps some time she will share it with you, in her own words. Until then, bear with me, telling a bit of her story of “coming to faith,” as she calls it. Hers is a story of conversion, into Christian discipleship. And without this story, without her or her faith, I would likely not be in this pulpit, or any pulpit, today.

My mother is a woman of deep faith. Though she was raised in the Methodist Church in Burlington, Iowa, as a child, dropped off for Sunday School each week, her family rarely made it to church together. According to my mom, the family only worshipped together when one of the five children was in a church program during the service. As so often happens, as my mother grew up she stopped going to church, stopped seeking out ways to deepen and practice her faith. My mom remembers thinking that she grew up with good Christian values, that she was a good person, after all, and had no real need for it. It being God. Or faith. Or the gospel. Or the collective life of the Church. She believed in God, but didn’t feel committed to her faith or its practice. In fact, it wasn’t until my family moved to the Bible Belt that my mom dedicated her life to doing God’s work in the world, deepening and proclaiming and practicing her faith in her daily life.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, and in any good conversion story, you need to know more about what she was converted from, and what she was converted to. Let us pray: O God, may the words of my mouth, and the meditations of all of our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, our strength, and our redeemer.

My family moved to De Ridder, Louisiana, when I was 4, and my sister was not yet 2. You should know, De Ridder is in the Guinness Book of World Records, for having the most churches per capita, of any place in the world. Unlike most people in De Ridder, my parents were not churchgoers, not at the time. But with this move, their world was turned upside down. New in a small town, they knew no one and had no community of support. My parents’ marriage was already on the rocks, and now overwhelmed and stretched almost to the breaking point they found themselves on the verge of divorce. My mom’s father, her core source of strength, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Their life was falling apart, their need was suddenly great, and they did not know where to turn. One Sunday, “because there was nothing else to do in that blankety-blank town,” they went to church. And their lives, my life, have never been the same since.

In the United Methodist Church in De Ridder, my parents encountered God’s grace, made known to the world through the love of neighbors. People brought meals to their door, because they were new. When they found out my parents’ lives were falling apart, people began to pray. Whole churches prayed for my family, and for my dying grandfather. While this initially struck my mom as awfully presumptuous, she began to see it as an act of love. She and my dad committed to looking for and finding the sacred worth in each other, and found that doing so saved their marriage. Neighbors cared her as she watched her father die, and promised to comfort her following his death. When we got word that my grandfather was near death, my dad happened to be out of town at a medical meeting. It was our neighbors who drove my mom 3 ½ hours to the airport in the middle of the night, and our neighbors who stayed with my sister and myself so our mom could be with her dying father. It was there that I was baptized into the Christian faith, along with my sister. We moved from De Ridder after only 10 months there. In De Ridder, my mom learned three lessons she would spend years instilling in me. 1) Fear is not of God. 2) Everyone is created by God, beloved, filled to overflowing with sacred worth. 3) Love your neighbor, no matter who God gives you as your neighbor.

When the Army moved us from De Ridder, Louisiana to Fayetteville, North Carolina, these lessons of faith were quickly challenged. Shortly after we moved into our new neighborhood, we got new neighbors ourselves. Our new next door neighbors—a radiologist and anesthesiologist—were wealthier than most of the neighborhood. My sister and I quickly made friends with their two sons. They were the kind of neighbors children love. They had a swimming pool in their backyard, complete with a slide. They had the best toys available. They even had a black lab, kind and gentle and patient enough to put up with us trying to sit on his back and ride him like a horse. Yet, we were the only kids in the neighborhood allowed to play with the children living next to us. They were black. And while this was only about 20 years ago, racism was and is still alive and strong, and many people couldn’t, many people still can’t, look past skin color and see sacred worth. Recall the Word of God in 1 John, chapter 4. “Those who say ‘I love God,’ and hate their brothers or sisters are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from Jesus is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.”

Soon the Army moved us again, from Fayetteville, North Carolina to San Antonio, Texas. When my mom met our new next door neighbors, she was scared. Sally, the mother, wore a backward baseball cap, and always had a lit cigarette between her fingers or her lips. In her very first conversation with my mom, Sally rolled up the sleeves of her shirt to show my mom the bruises on her arms, bruises her oldest son left when his anger burst out of control and he hit his mother. My mom was scared for her safety, for the safety of her two little girls. She talked to my dad about moving. And when, because of Army housing logistics, moving wasn’t an option, she prayed. My mom heard God speak to her. “Love your neighbor.” Surely you don’t mean these people, God. Not these scary, violent, bruised people, my mom pleaded. “Love your neighbor, whomever I give you as your neighbor,” she heard God reply. So my mom set to work, trying to learn how to love them. We learned that Aaron, the son who left bruises on his mother’s arms struggled with Bipolar disorder, and that he was learning to control his outbursts with medication, and behavior therapy. It was Aaron who gave me a ride to a dentist’s appointment when my mom’s car broke down. It was Sarah, Aaron’s little sister, who practically joined our family. It was their father, the lay leader at the community’s Jewish synagogue, who went with my mom to her Bible Study to teach about the Hebrew Bible, the Christian Old Testament, and who gave my mom a beautiful Study Torah when we were to move again. “Those who say ‘I love God,’ and hate their brothers or sisters are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from Jesus is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.”

By the time we moved from San Antonio, Texas to Ames, Iowa, (only the Army moves people as often as the United Methodist Church moves us pastors!) my mom knew that a central call of her Christian faith was to love her neighbors, difficult as this task might first appear. So, when touring the house that would become our home, she asked the realtor about the neighbors living closest to us in the house immediately behind us. The realtor became silent, and the tension was palpable. “Well,” she said, “it’s, um, two men.” Long pause. “You mean, they’re gay?” asked my mom, sensing this was the story behind the awkward silence. “Yes,” said the realtor, quick to follow this with, “But they’re very nice people.” Two gay men. Parents, with two adopted sons. My mom took a deep breath. And found herself thinking, “Well, God. You’ve given me a new challenge. I’ve never known any gay people. (So she thought, at the time). If I’m going to be able to love them, I need to get to know them.” And she did, and so did all of us. And, my family learned better how to love each other from them, these two gay men and their family. “Those who say ‘I love God,’ and hate their brothers or sisters are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from Jesus is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.”

Before I ever read the passages from scripture we hear as this morning’s lectionary texts, I learned their teachings from my mom.

And it shouldn’t surprise me, or you, that these core teachings of the gospel were passed down to me from my mom. The bible abounds with passages depicting God as mother, caring for, teaching, guiding, and loving her children. A mother bear, in Hosea, a mother eagle, in Deuteronomy. As a comforting mother and nursing mother and woman in labor in Isaiah. As the Queen of Heaven in Jeremiah. As a calming mother in the Psalms, and as a mother hen in the gospels of Matthew and Luke. Does this surprise you? I promise you, it’s there!

In the 15th chapter of the gospel according to John, the image of the vine is the central symbol. Jesus is the vine, and our Creator is the vine grower. The vine is meant to show how the life of Christian community is shaped by love, intertwined with the abiding presence of God, and of Jesus. Love defines the community’s relationship to one another, and with God. To bear fruit is to keep Jesus’ commandment to do acts of love. Our Creator’s love for Jesus is mirrored in Jesus’ love for the disciples. And Jesus asks us, commands us, the living body of Christ, to mirror this love through our lives, in word and action.

And then, this poetic, prophetic text from 1 John, chapter 4. To affiliate with God, we learn, is to affiliate with love. Those related to God practice love. I learned this bible verse not long after my parents came to faith in De Ridder. My mother played children’s Praise tapes on our family’s summer car trips cross country. And I still remember the tune that carried these words of love…

(sung) Beloved, let us love one another
for love is of God, and everyone who loveth, is born of God
those who loveth not, knoweth not God, for God is love.
Beloved, let us love one another. 1 John 4:7-8.

From God to my mother, from my mother to me, from me to you. Three lessons in faith, and faithfulness.

One. Fear is not of God. The call to faith requires courage, to be sure. But fear (of what others will say, of what will be required of us, of the changes love may call us to make) does not help us live faithfully. Remember the words from scripture: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear…”

Two. Everyone is created by God, beloved, of sacred worth. If it were not so, would it be written, over and over and over again? “Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.”

Three. Love your neighbor. No matter who God gives you for a neighbor. Black, white, Asian, Latina. Mentally ill, or addicted. Christian, Jew, or Muslim. Straight, or gay. The greatest commandment. The law that trumps all others. Love God, and love your neighbor. “Those who say, ‘I love God,’ and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from Jesus is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.”

I do not claim to know all there is to know about the Bible, about God, about faith, about how to love, and how to be loved. I certainly do not know all there is to know about being a mother. But I do know this: that it all boils down to love. The Word of God. The gospel. Jesus’ commandments. God, the Father and Mother of us all. How to live faithfully, and become Christian disciples. It all boils down to this: Beloved, let us love one another.

May it be so. Amen.

"little children, let us love..."

Anna Blaedel
3 May 2009
First UMC, Osage
Psalm 23
1 John 3:16-24

Hear these Easter words, written by Rev. Odette Lockwood-Stewart:

"Whether the world is ready or not,
Whether the church is ready or not,
Whether you and I are ready or not,
Christ is risen.

Resurrection means that truth will not stay buried,
That justice cannot be kept down,
That love shall not be destroyed by death.
Christ is risen.

Resurrection is a frightening thing.
But the amazing good news of Easter is that even fear and terror can lead to new life."

Ready or not, Christ is risen. Ready or not, we are called to live as Easter people, Resurrected and Resurrecting. Let us pray…

Alice Waters passed by a run down school in Berkeley every day on her way home from work. Broken windows, graffiti, peeling paint, a meager blacktop playground, and old crumbling concrete left the school looking so neglected, Alice wondered if it was abandoned. It wasn’t. Nearly 1,000 middle-school children were enrolled there, grades 6,7, and 8. She saw a school, falling apart. And with it, the lives and futures of hundreds of children. Because Alice is a chef, and the owner of one of the Bay Area’s most delicious restaurants, where others saw an empty, abandoned lot in the schoolyard, Alice saw a place to grow lettuce or fennel or tomatoes or blackberries.

She started talking with the overwhelmed principal and overworked teachers. They planned a community garden that no one really thought would be possible to create and sustain. People doubted whether middle schoolers would ever do the work of pulling weeds, or be willing to eat kale. But they were so desperate for something different, they couldn’t help but give it a try. They started a community garden, and committed to serving their own food in the cafeteria. Science teachers used the garden to teach things like photosynthesis. History teachers used the various grains to trace the histories of different people and cultures throughout the world and throughout history. Chemistry teachers charted the chemical reactions at play in raising dough and baking bread and cultivating compost.

Over time, their understanding of these “at risk” kids began to deepen. One girl’s mother told Alice this girl had a pair of special shoes just for gardening, and that she loved her garden days so much she always set out those shoes the night before, to remember them. Alice had to hide her astonishment, because that girl never let on at school that she liked the garden one bit.

Another boy refused to participate, no matter how many people tried to encourage him. He simply sat and watched the others. At the end of the session, at a gathering for parents, the boy’s mother walked up and said, “Thank you so much for being so nice to my son. The garden has completely changed him!” Surprised, but wanting to be polite the teacher asked, “How do you mean?” “Well,” she said, “my son used to come home and play video games and watch TV all night. Now he comes home and talks and talks about the garden and everything happening there. He talked to the family and our friends and neighbors, and has started writing stories about gardens and plants.”

Another time, two girls were given the parts for a new wheelbarrow. They were handed a wrench and a screwdriver, and left alone to assemble it. They did a fine job, and the teacher thought nothing more about it until the end of the year, when the two girls said this was the highlight of their year. They said nobody had ever trusted them to do something like that before.

Then came the day that the cook let students make pancakes from scratch. As each class came into the kitchen, they found nothing on the tables except the recipe, written out. Dividing into groups, they had to do everything: find ingredients, measure the right amounts, mix the batter, turn on the stove. One of the teachers found this frightening and said to the cook, “I’m so worried they won’t be able to do this. It’ll make them feel badly about themselves.”

And it’s true: there were runny pancakes, and pancakes that would’ve make great Frisbees, and others that could have been hockey pucks, and others that were delicious, but they were all still pancakes, and you would’ve thought those kids had climbed Mount Everest, they were so proud. The doubting teacher had to leave the room to wipe tears from her eyes. From a neglected, overgrown paved lot, Alice and the teachers and students created an edible schoolyard. The power of resurrection and rebirth, unleashed and unloosed. “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.”

Majora Carter returned to the South Bronx neighborhood where she grew up, and hardly recognized what she saw. Severe pollution from power plants and production factories was destroying the community, and the people living there. The childhood asthmas rates were soaring. Cancer rates were alarmingly high. She learned the Mayor had plans to build a waste transfer station in the neighborhood. Garbage and waste from wealthy, white neighborhoods would be bussed to poor, black areas. Politicians counted on people feeling so hopeless and powerless they wouldn’t find the courage or strength to organize and resist.

The situation was spiraling from bad to worse. Because air quality was so bad, kids weren’t playing outside. Because kids weren’t playing outside, rates of childhood obesity and diabetes were on the rise. Majora Carter began organizing people from the neighborhood. She helped connect issues of poverty, racism, pollution, and poor heath. She witnessed to the hopelessness and powerlessness people felt. She founded a green jobs training program. Folks on the fringe—single moms, ex-convicts, people in recovery from addiction—began restoring wetlands, cleaning contaminated land, installing green roofs, and planning community gardens. Together, they blocked the plan to turn their neighborhood into a waste dump. People began feeling their sacred worth, and power. Crime rates dropped. Majora saw people smiling again, and sitting out on their porches. The power of resurrection and rebirth, unleashed and unloosed. “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.”

Tom Henderson was a sixth-generation famer in South Carolina, who heard God’s call to ordained ministry within The United Methodist Church. As a pastor, he found that too few pastors and people in the pews were thinking theologically about the command to be good, sustainable stewards of God’s earth. He started educating other pastors about issues of sustainability, and food. He began serving as the Sustainable and Urban Agriculture Consultant to the General Board of Global Ministries. He challenged local churches to start community gardens.

Tom wrote, “Community gardening is being used in imaginative and effective ways to address many of today’s societal ills. It is especially effective in combating hunger, and building community. It also brings such side benefits as stress relief, better health and nutrition, a closer physical and spiritual connection with God’s creation, and a deeper commitment to responsible stewardship of God’s earth.” The power of resurrection and rebirth, unleashed and unloosed. “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.”

Casey Payne knows that just making it through the day, day after day, can be a challenge. As a young man learning to live with his black body and his Bipolar brain in a world where racism and stigma and misunderstanding around mental illness abound, he knows what it means to feel isolated. Alone. In need of support and community.

After three mental breakdowns and terrible experiences with doctors who didn’t try to understand him, Casey found hope in Taiwan. The doctor there taught Casey about healthy living, and respected him for who and how he was. Casey found himself on a spiritual journey to build healthy, supportive relationships. Now, he writes about being bipolar, and helps other people learn how to live healthy, full lives. Casey is planning an intentional community in the big house where he lives—inviting other young, black men who need extra support to experience a sense of community and belonging, a safe place in the midst of transition, the company of people who get it, and who care. The power of resurrection and rebirth, unleashed and unloosed. “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.”

Francine Jones was eating lunch at a McDonalds in the middle of Manhattan. Within a few short days in New York City, Francine was shocked by the number of people she saw living on the streets, searching for food in dumpsters and trash cans. So many of God’s least of these, living on the edge without homes, hot meals, or people who care. Francine found she was full before she finished her chicken McNuggets and fries, and recognized that before this trip she would have thrown away this extra food without thinking twice. But she had seen hungry faces. And through the window, she saw a woman shaking her cup of change, asking for food. And she saw her abundance in a new way. And saw the injustice of having too much, when others had too little. And felt the call of faith to respond.

So Francine stepped outside, shared her food, and built connection with a stranger. God’s ambassador from Osage, responding from the heart through an act both small and significant. The power of resurrection and rebirth, unleashed and unloosed. “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.”

"Whether the world is ready or not,
Whether the church is ready or not,
Whether you and I are ready or not,
Christ is risen.

Resurrection means that truth will not stay buried,
That justice cannot be kept down,
That love shall not be destroyed by death.
Christ is risen."

May it be so. Amen, and amen.