I don't usually post my sermons here, but today's livestream wasn't working at church so decided to share the manuscript for today's sermon below for those who missed it, as well as videos with the two songs I shared in the sermon.

Proper 27, Year B
November 10, 2024
Click here for today’s scripture readings

Friends,

God’s math is not like our math.
God’s wealth is not like our wealth.
God’s power is not like our power.
God’s glory is not like our glory. 
God’s victory is not like our victory.

I don’t want to assume that I know how you’re feeling about this week’s election, nor do I want to assume that everyone in this church is feeling the same way.

I want to acknowledge that sorrow, pain, anger, and anxiety are among the diverse and complicated and utterly valid feelings that members of our Church are experiencing this week.  Others might actually be feeling relieved or hopeful, or misunderstood, or judged, or confused.

But I know that at least some people are really afraid.  If you are among those who are feeling afraid: I want you to know this:  you are not alone. God’s got you. And this Church loves you, and we will do all in our power to support and protect you, and your loved ones, and all the other vulnerable people for whom you’re afraid.  And if that’s all you can handle today, that’s fine. You can just sit and breathe or pray or nap for the rest of the sermon. 

But if you’re able to hear more, I want you to hear this: Whether you’re devastated or thrilled or ambivalent about the election results, the bottom line is that, as Christians, we can never put our ultimate faith in any election, or politician, or government…nor in education, or wealth, or public opinion… nor in religion or reason….nor in any leader or  any institution–not even the Church!

As Christians, the ultimate source and the object of all our faith, hope, and love; the ultimate source and the object of our deepest trust can only ever be God.  All week today’s opening hymn rang in my ears:

All my hope on God is founded;
he doth still my trust renew.
Me through change and chance he guideth,
only good and only true.
God unknown, he alone, calls my heart to be his own.

This next parts a little harder for us  to hear…

Human pride and earthly glory,
sword and crown betray our trust;
what with care and toil we buildeth,
tower and temple, fall to dust.
But God's power, hour by hour, is my temple and my tower.

Today’s Gospel Lesson (Mark 12:38-44) offers us a snapshot of several different characters, who each put their faith in different sources of power.  

First we see certain scribes….

Who like to walk around in long robes, (putting their faith in the power of appearances)

 and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces (putting their faith in the power of their rank and reputation)

 and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets  (putting their faith in the power of prestige and position)

Who devour widows’ houses (putting their faith in the power of acquisition and control) 

and for the sake of appearance say long prayers (putting their faith in the power of their piety)

Next we see some rich people who are making a big show of 

Contributing large sums to the treasury (putting their faith in the power of their wealth and influence or maybe even their own generosity)

And then we see one poor widow…

Coming to offer two small copper coins, which together are worth maybe a penny (putting her faith in the power of…well what, exactly?)

Jesus tells us that this widow
In her poverty, has put in everything she has, all she has to live on…

Surely she’s not putting her faith in two small copper coins?  Which means, I guess, that with this one small offering of her whole meager livelihood, the widow is putting her whole faith in the power of God.   

In the small act of offering what little she has, the woman puts all her faith in the power of God to sustain her life, the power of God to sustain the world, even when she has nothing left to give.  With no wealth, no status, no one to protect her, the power of God is her only hope.  

Now let’s not be too hard on those scribes and rich people (or on ourselves for that matter):

There is nothing inherently wrong, with long robes, or long prayers, or large donations to worthy causes.

There is nothing inherently wrong with polite greetings and good seats (although I daresay that devouring widow’s houses is never a good thing.)

And there is certainly nothing wrong with supporting leaders who reflect our values, and being pleased when they are chosen to lead and disappointed when they are not.

I know that I’m happy anytime I can make a large contribution to a worthy cause.

And I often have the best seat in the house here at church.

And this week I hope that it goes without saying that I obviously prefer that throughout the world we have leaders who make good choices and speak good words and enact good policies that support the peace and flourishing I believe is God’s will for all people and for the earth, itself. 

But I have to remember: no human “good”, no matter how good it might seem,  has the power to save us.

As my friend, Martin, says “The Kingdom of God was never on the ballot.”

No earthly “good” is worthy of our ultimate faith, hope, and love. 

Neither long prayers, nor large pledges, nor left-leaning politicians nor all our best efforts, nor our last 2 copper coins, for that matter, will ever be sufficient in and of themselves to usher in the Kingdom of God (though they might each, in fact, have some small part to play.) 

But God, The Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer of All

God, the Earthmaker, Painbearer, Lifegiver

God, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

Can save, and will save, and is saving the world…in the midst of all our sin and sorrow, fear and anxiety, chaos and confusion, mistrust and misunderstanding, disaster and disappointment and disagreement.

This Saving God, is revealed to us
As three in one and one in three
(did I mention God’s math is not like our math?)

This Saving God, is revealed to us
 as a poor baby born in a manger in an occupied territory in the Holy Land
(did I mention God’s wealth is not like our wealth?)

This Saving God, is revealed to us
as a migrant child fleeing persecution with his frightened parents,
as a poor carpenter, an itinerant teacher, an unconventional healer; 
as a friend of women, and outcasts and sinners 

This Saving God, is revealed to us
as an enemy of empire,
(did I mention God’s power is not like our power?)

This Saving God, is revealed to us
wearing a crown of thorns, 
(did I mention God’s glory is not like our glory?)

This Saving God, is revealed to us
Beaten and bleeding and dying on a cross
(did I mention God’s victory is not like our victory?)

This Saving God is present and active, 
Here and now
And in all times and places
Breathing life and peace and love and hope into all people
Reconciling all things 
Making all things new.

The Loving Purpose of God, revealed to us in Jesus Christ, is like a deep, mighty, river  that courses through the desert and runs to the sea.

This river flows over and under and around and between and eventually even through every obstacle in its path.

And while the flow of water might be temporarily slowed or diverted, the river always finds its way to the sea.

The River is flowing, Flowing and growing, the River is flowing down to the sea.  

So, too, God’s eternal, unstoppable purpose continues to flow through God’s whole Creation.

By the life-giving waters of Baptism we have each been swept up in that flow. 

Whenever we allow ourselves to be immersed  in this River, the River swells, the Waters rise, and a little more of the desert is engulfed in its flow.

If we continue to immerse ourselves in the River, the Water will hold us and carry us onward, to exactly the right place at exactly the right time to do exactly the work God has given us to do–as we welcome others– from up on the riverbanks, and out  in the desert– down into this river that runs to the sea.

Allow yourself in this moment to just float in the water.  To be held and then carried in the flow of God’s love.  

The River is flowing, Flowing and growing, the River is flowing down to the sea.  
​
Put your whole faith in the power of God’s mighty, unstoppable river; the only true source of  liberty and justice for all. Amen. 

The practice of “Getting Ready” is an important component of Godly Play.  When they were sojourning in the desert with the Ark of the Covenant, the People of God needed a variety of tools and practices to help them get ready to come close to the Ark.  Likewise, we need a variety of tools and practices to help us get ready to come close to God and one another–in the Godly Play Circle, in worship, and in everyday life.

A few years ago, when I first read Resmaa Menakem’s book, “My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies” with a group of colleagues from Music that Makes Community   began to wonder how I might use the process of “getting ready” for our weekly chapel with St. Mark’s Montessori preschool students as an opportunity to help children experience and internalize some basic tools for regulating their own nervous systems in ways that might serve them and the world beyond chapel.  Menakem suggests that discovering and utilizing somatic practices to soothe our own nervous systems and connect with others in mutually soothing and nurturing ways  is one important thing that white-bodied people can do to interrupt the cycle of racialized violence against black-bodied people. In this way, our intentional practices of “getting ready” might actually be part of our larger anti-racist commitments and practices. I began experimenting with integrating some body and breath practices Manekem recommends in his book (See My Grandmother’s Hands, pp. 137-147, 155-159, 173-174, 184-186, 191-193.)  into my weekly chapel sessions. For example, breathing, humming, rocking, singing together may help calm our nervous systems and co-regulate our nervous systems with others. Stretching our bodies and allowing our focus to move above, below, and especially behind us may help activate the vagus nerve and help establish a sense of safety and orientation to our physical environment. 

In addition to equipping people of all ages with strategies for self-soothing as a necessary component for healing racialized trauma and creating more safe and just communities, I suspect that a robust repertoire of intentional, embodied practices for “getting ready” may also serve to make our Godly Play circles, churches, and communities more hospitable and supportive for many neuro-diverse individuals and people who have experienced trauma, as well as most neuro-typical individuals. 

I believe practices of getting ready are essential to prepare people of all ages for both action and contemplation, and to equip us to live into the fullness of our created potential as God’s people of faith, love, peace, and justice in this world. I hope you’ll join me in experimenting,  expanding and integrating new practices of “getting ready” into our collective toolbox for Godly Play and for daily life. 

Below is a video in which I lead some of my favorite “Getting Ready” practices, as well as a sample script.  Feel free to use and adapt these in whatever ways best serve your context and communities.  And join me in continuing to wonder….

I wonder what part you liked the best?
I wonder what part was the most important?
I wonder what part was especially for you?
I wonder what we could leave out and still have everything we need?
I wonder what is missing?  I wonder what else we might need to include in order to have everything we need?

Link to Video: Getting Ready with Mother Sylvia (~15 minutes)

We come together so that God can fill us up with the gift of peace from the top of our heads to the tips of our toes…and so that we can share that peace with one another and with the whole world.  God’s gift of peace is always available, but we have to be ready to receive it.  ​

Rocks (Recalling & Sharing the Hard & Heavy Things)

The Rocks can help us get ready…

Jesus says, “Come to me all you who are weary from carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”   This rock reminds us that all of us have things in life that are hard, or rough, or heavy sometimes….”

(Pass a rock around the circle and invite children to share a “hard thing” from their week, if they wish)

Water (Recalling & Sharing the Blessings & Joys)

The Water can help us get ready…

Jesus says, “I am the living water, let anyone who is thirsty come and take the water of life as a free gift.”  The water reminds us that God’s love and life and goodness and blessings flow over and under and around and between and sometimes right out of the hard and rough places in life…

(Pass the pitcher of water around the circle and invite children to share a “blessing” from their week if they wish.  Once everyone has shared, invite children to touch the water and make the sign of the cross.) ​

Oils (Fragrance, Engaging the Sense of Smell)

The fragrant oils can help us get ready…

We can put a drop on our hands (or inside our masks) and take some nice deep breaths. 

(Offer to place a drop of oil in the palm of the hand (or inside the mask) of each child.) 

These fragrant oils remind us of the cloud of sweet smelling incense that the people walked through in the desert, whenever they wanted to get ready to come close to God.  

The oil also reminds us of the precious gifts of frankincense and myrrh that the Magi brought to the baby Jesus, and the sacred oils that anointed the kings, and priests, and prophets of old, and the holy oils, or “chrism”  that anoint us in Baptism.  
​

Song (Engaging breath, body, sound, vibration)

“O sing to the Lord a new song;
   sing to the Lord, all the earth. “(Psalm 96:1)

Singing together can help us get ready…Let’s sing together…

(Lead a good “settling” song: Shalom My Friends, Be Still and Know, Open my Heart, etc.  You can find a list of good "settling" songs on this Godly Play Songs & Stories Resource Spreadsheet.  See Sheet 2: Songs by Function/Theme.) ​

Body & Breath 

Now let’s gather the peace we’ve created by singing…

Reach up high overhead and gather some of the Peace from the Heavens, rub it together between your hands, bring your hands to your head–feel the warm peace fill your thoughts and your mind. 

Reach out to gather the Peace from in front of you, and reach around to gather Peace from behind you, rub it together between your hands and bring your hands to your heart–feel the warm peace fill up your heart. 

Reach down to gather Peace from the Earth, and Peace from each side, rub it together between your hands, then rub that peace into your belly and your back,  your head and your face, your arms, and your legs.  Feel the warm peace filling up every part of your body.  

Take a deep breath and breathe in Peace. 

Then breathe out Peace as slowly as you can, letting Peace fill the whole room. ​

Light

(Chanting:)

In the beginning, when God created the Heavens and the Earth
The earth was a formless void, and darkness covered the face of the deep 
And the Spirit of God hovered over the face of the Water
Then God said “Let there be Light”

(Strike a match)

And God saw that the light was good.  
The light shines in the darkness 
And the darkness will not overcome it.  

(Light a candle)

The light can help us get ready…

And now, I think, we are almost ready for our story…

(In a Godly Play Circle, go and get the story in silence, or possibly humming the “song of the day” and return to the circle.  You can find a list of potential songs to pair with certain stories on this Godly Play Songs & Stories Resource Spreadsheet.  See Sheet 1: Songs with stories) ​

Bell

There’s one last thing that can help get our ears and hearts ready to listen for God.  The sound of the bell invites us to get as quiet and still as we possibly can, so we can follow the sound of the bell as it rings all the way into the silence…we can follow the sound of the bell as it carries us down, down into the deepest depths of our hearts, or ride the sound of the bell like a wave that carries us out, out into the vast ocean of peace. 

 Ring the bell.  Follow the sound as long as you can, then begin the story (or other discussion, meeting, session, training, activity, etc.)

“Cross and candles”, the priest said, “the time has come for you to undertake a journey.  If the children of God cannot come to church, you must go to them.  During this time, you must make your home with them, and you must help them make their homes the church!  And they, in turn,  must help you do the work for which you were created!  The children of God will help you lead the People of God into worship, wherever they are!”

And so the Children’s Cross and candles began their journey.  ​

On the first week of their journey, the Cross and Candles made their home with the Ribeiro-Elsenheimer family.  The children in the family kept the cross and candles busy throughout the week...they carried the cross and they sang songs ("We 3 Kings of Orient Are" was among the most popular), they proclaimed the Gospel, and they preached sermons about creatures and caves from high up on their improvised pulpit. With eager anticipation, the children helped the cross and candles prepare to lead worship for the people of God on Sunday, when the Bishop would be joining the people of St. Mark's for his "virtual visitation."  

To be continued....

Check this link next week for an update on the journey of St. Mark's Cross and Candles! 

I'll admit it.  I'm excited.  I love Ash Wednesday. I have always loved Ash Wednesday.  

On Sunday we'll make a bonfire of dried palm branches, which we blessed and carried in procession last Palm Sunday.  And, yes, I do love a good fire.  But that isn't all.

On Wednesday we will use the ashes from the incinerated palm branches to trace the sign of the cross on our foreheads and hear the words "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."  

It is a grave and tender blessing.  This same cross was traced on our foreheads at baptism as a sign of God's indelible loving claim on our lives, "You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism, and marked as Christ's own, forever."  On Ash Wednesday we remember that promise, and with it this truth: "You are beloved.  And you are only human.  You are not perfect.  You are not immortal.  Yet even in your imperfection and mortality; even in sin and in death; you are beloved; you are God's own." 

The other day I was teaching my weekly Music Together class for  young children and their parents.  As we do every class, we turned down the lights for a closing lullaby song, then as the lullaby ended I intoned the words:

At that moment,  my 8 year old assistant, Lucia, flipped on the lights and I looked around the circle of children with wonder and delight and said:

Then looking at each child around the circle in turn, beaming with love, I continued:

At which point my young friend (we'll call him "K") exclaimed VERY loudly, and without missing a beat:

This impulse, this NEED to honestly confess our human failings is deeply embedded in our human spirit.  My young friend's spontaneous confession is a perfect example.  "K" needed to tell the truth about his failing.  He needed me to witness that truth.  And he needed me to assure him of his belovedness, in spite of--in light of--that truth.  

I replied with great seriousness.

"K" is not yet four years old.  He cannot yet read the Book of Common Prayer or pontificate on the intricacies of holy orders.  But even in the middle of music class, "K" knows that I am, above all, his priest.  And somehow, in his tender young heart, "K" knows exactly what a priest is for.  A priest is for hearing confessions.  A priest is for pronouncing God's blessing and absolution.  

Ash Wednesday isn't about shame and unworthiness. Ash Wednesday is about the radiantly beautiful, breathtakingly fragile, and sometimes crushingly disappointing TRUTH of our existence.  God made us human, but we are not God.  God made us good, but we are not perfect.  This is the Good News: that even in the light of our worst mortal failings: We are seen.  We are heard.  We are known.  And WE ARE LOVED.  

I was riding the BART train from San Francisco to Berkeley the other day when I got a text from my sister Katie.  "Can you remind me what you said that one time about lots of clergy not believing in God?"  I waited until I got off the train and hit re-dial.  I didn't know exactly what she was getting at, but it seemed unlikely that a text message would be sufficient to communicate the sensitivity and nuance that I felt an answer to her question deserved.  

It turned out that Katie had found herself in conversation that week with several people--a friend, a patient, a neighbor--all of whom seemed to be deeply longing to return to church after however many years away.  The problem was, they weren't sure they could go to church without being hypocritical, since they didn't really believe in God anymore.  Apparently they assumed that belief (whatever that means to them) in God (whatever that means to them) is  some sort of non-negotiable prerequisite for actively participating with integrity in the life of a Christian faith community. 

Katie and I talked for about a half hour, at which point one of her kids started wailing in the background and she had to hang up.  As she was hanging up, she threw in this quick request "Could you just put everything you said into a video or an essay or something?  Because I'm never going to be able to remember what you said the next time it comes up." 

It's taken me a few weeks, Katie, but here you go.  Straight from the Pastor's mouth.

If you feel some sort of deep and persistent (or even vague and fleeting)  desire to go to church, it is 100% permissible to go, even if you don't "believe in God."   In fact, I'd say, you not only may, you probably should.  

Why? ​

Because I believe that church participation--in and of itself--has the potential to support the health and flourishing of individuals, families, society, and creation.

• Even if it turns out that God doesn't exist, I think it's entirely possible that your life and our world might still be better because you go to church.  Because music is good for you.  Singing is good for you.  Silence is good for you.  Reflection is good for you.  Prayer & meditation are good for you.  Community is good for you.  Service is good for you. Intergenerational relationships are good for you.  Ritual and routine are good for you.  Because regular church participation can significantly enhance your kids' literacy, leadership, and social skills as well as their empathy, musicality, and ability to sit reasonably still and be reasonably polite even when they're bored.  Because regular engagement with scripture and worship can enhance your kids' capacity for critical, imaginative, and metaphorical thinking.  Because being rooted in a community that stretches back into history grounds us.  Being rooted in a community that stretches across the globe broadens us.  Because encountering mystery humbles us.  Encountering beauty inspires us.  Engaging questions sharpens our thinking. Sharing suffering softens our hearts.  Shared practices and shared narratives help us find orientation and meaning and direction.in our lives. And, last but not least, we can do more good working together than we can working alone.     

So if you find yourself among those who feel some little nagging curiosity, urge, or longing to go to church, I say:  just do it!  Don't worry too much about what you do or don't believe.  For now, you can trust that your desire is enough.  For now, you can trust that showing up is enough.  (And if it turns out God is real, you can trust that S/He will take it from there.)  

Love, 
Sylvia+

On January 5th my husband Donnel and I celebrated our 17th wedding anniversary. This anniversary was particularly special, as we were celebrating it together with Donnel's family and friends in his hometown in the Philippines. I can still remember one premarital counseling session 17+ years ago in the library of St. Stephen's Episcopal Church where we explored boundaries and compared patterns of "distance" and "closeness" in our respective families of origin.  

In that session, I remember Donnel describing the difference between our respective cultures and families of origin like this:  "From my perspective, Sylvia's family, and Americans in general, are like hard boiled eggs.  On the other hand, my family, and Filipinos in general, are more like scrambled eggs.  I'm hoping that in this new family we're creating together, we can find a happy medium-- something like over-easy."  

It's not just families that can be like hard-boiled eggs in upper-middle class Anglo-American culture. In my experience, we tend to opt for fairly clearly defined boundaries around everything--our families, our houses, our money, our possessions, our churches, our communities, our lives.  And when those boundaries are dissolved or transgressed, it often makes us very nervous.  

I suspect this was one of the roots of the discomfort and conflict that surfaced in my former parish with the influx of unhoused people into the church.  The boundaries between "us and them", "rich and poor", "inside and outside", "clean and dirty" were transgressed.  And whenever our boundaries are transgressed, there can be a sense that our liberty is in peril and chaos and danger are close at hand.  The current "crisis" along the US/Mexico border is a case in point.  

I get it.  I could feel an uneasy sense rising within me as soon as we arrived in the Philippines.  It's hard to say what the feeling was, exactly.  Anxiety?  Judgement?  Perhaps the most charitable and accurate word to describe what I was experiencing is simply "disorientation."  

It seemed like practically every boundary that was familiar to my upper-middle class Anglo-American context had been dissolved.  In the Philippines, to my Western eyes at least, the boundaries were noticeably permeable and blurred between:

• Wealth and poverty: Geographic areas of wealth and areas of poverty are not so clearly delineated.  "Rich" and "poor", "nice" and "bad" neighborhoods are all mixed up together.  Mansions rise up in the midst of slums.  Shacks with no indoor plumbing are literally adjacent to "fancy-schmancy" resorts.  Professionals live next door to the pedicab drivers who drive them to work each day, and their poorer cousin lives downstairs to help with chores.  

Did all this "mixing up" of people and practices and creatures make me uncomfortable?  Sure it did.  But as the days went by, I actually found myself relaxing into the "chaos" and coming to love it.  There was real beauty and holiness in the mixing. Somehow this messy, mixed-up world felt more lively and alive, more honest and real than the more sanitized, ordered and boundaried world in which I normally reside. 

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. After all, when all is said and done, isn't this the whole POINT of the Gospel in which I claim to place my faith?  I mean, in the Incarnation of Jesus, God chooses to transgress and dissolve the boundary between Divinity and Humanity, between Heaven and Earth.  How messy and disorienting is that???  And we all know how kindly the religious and imperial authorities take to Jesus and his boundary-busting.  Ha ha ha. But, despite religious and imperial attempts to discipline the disorder of Jesus by nailing him to a Cross, Jesus goes on to transgress and dissolve the ultimate border--the boundary between death and life--in his Resurrection.  

As we move into this New Year, I wonder if we might take a page from the Divine Playbook and dare to mix things up a little bit?  Get a little messy?  Will you join me in cracking some eggs?  We don't necessarily have to scramble them.  We could just crack them open for now.  Maybe let some faith and some music spill out.  Maybe let some fresh air and strangers flow in.  Perhaps in the process we'll find ourselves living just a little bit more fully into the Kingdom of God.

A few days ago I arrived in Costa Rica for a 2 week Spanish Immersion course.  I am staying right on the beach in Tamarindo (Pacific Coast.)  Yesterday was my first morning in Tamarindo, so I woke up at 5am to pray, see the sunrise, and walk on the beach.  A few thoughts came to me as I walked along the water that I want to share with you. 

First,  I was captivated by the reflection of the morning sky on the beach and wondered if my Iphone could capture the illusion that I was walking on the water and/or walking on the sky.  Not exactly,  (see below) but it was worth a shot.  

The other thought I had (which is certainly not new, but was new to me) was how linguistic structures and patterns might help or hinder our mental health and spiritual journeys. I was considering how the English language, in particular, might oppose my attempts to live mindfully and  reinforce my tendency to over-identify with or cling to passing emotions and experiences.  

For example, in English 
I AM hungry (Verb=to be)
and
I AM angry  (Verb=to be)
just as 
I AM a woman, a mother, and a Christian.  (Verb=to be)

Whereas in Spanish
I HAVE hunger/TENGO hambre (Verb: Tener)
and
I AM [temporarily in a state of] angry/ESTOY enojada (Verb: Estar) 
but
I AM a woman, a mother, and a Christian/SOY mujer, madre, y cristiana. (Verb: Ser)

For me, at least, it is useful to acknowledge that, while I might HAVE hunger, thirst, heat, cold, fear, etc. I AM not actually hunger, thirst, heat, cold or fear.  

And while I might at any given moment be in a state of anger, irritation, excitement, sorrow, happiness, exhaustion, etc., these states are not actually essential or permanent aspects of my being.  

On the other hand I AM a mother, a friend, a partner, a priest, a singer, a dancer, and child of God. 

This first day of Advent I invite you to reflect on the difference between having, temporary "being", and permanent "being."  

Que tienes?  What do you HAVE?
y
Como estas? HOW are you (at this moment)? 
y
​más importante
Quién eres?  WHO are you (in the most enduring sense of true identity and core vocation)?  

Hasta pronto!  

Then Jesus asked them, ‘You see all these, do you not? Truly I tell you, not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.’ (Matthew 24:2) 

We hear some variation of this statement from Jesus in all three synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke.)  Honestly.  It's no wonder they killed him.  Whenever we humans are working hard to build or maintain some monumental program or project or structure or institution or business or church or other modern day "temple", this is definitely NOT a message we want to hear.  

But, like it or not, what Jesus says is true.  And, I believe, nestled in the (often hard) truth of Jesus' words there is always  Good News.  

Jesus asked them, ‘You see all these, do you not? Truly I tell you, not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.’ 

So where is the Good News in this future Jesus promises?

My visit to Holy Island/Lindisfarne (a small island off the Northeast Coast of England) this past summer got me thinking about foundations.  

Just beyond the present day parish church on Lindisfarne are the ruins of the 12th century priory.  The medieval priory was built on the site of a 7th century Anglo-Saxon monastery, which in turn was quite possibly established on the site of some pre-Christian worship or devotion.  

Here's the history of Holy Island in a nutshell:

In 635 St. Aidan founded the first Christian monastery on Holy Island.  A century and half later, in 793, Viking raids forced the monks on Holy Island to abandon the monastery and flee to the mainland.  Some 400 years later, in the 12th century, monks from the mainland re-established a religious community on Lindisfarne and built a magnificent new church on the site of the former monastery church.  A small monastic community continued on the site for another 400 years or so, until 1537, when, to mark the severing of ties between the Church of England and the Church of Rome, King Henry VIII ordered the dissolution of all English monasteries.  Today a Christian community gathers to worship on Holy Island in a church building just steps from the old monastery ruins.  But in due time that building-- and the institutions that support it --will undoubtedly crumble and fall, as well.   

The inevitable crumbling of the church as we know it--along with every other structure and monument we spend our lives laboring to erect and maintain--seems somehow less disastrous when seen from amidst the ruins on Holy Island.  Sure, my present pet project might be destroyed or abandoned, but in 400 (or 4 or 4,000) years another generation might well come and build something beautiful for God on the foundation of what I so painstakingly sought to erect.  

Everything we build, we build on foundations left by those who came before us.  And everything we build--even when it falls--can become part of the foundation on which those who come after us may build.  

When we come to trust that the only true foundation on which we build is none other than Jesus Christ, then we can persevere in working with due care and diligence, but without undue pride or anxiety.  We can do our small part to build something that is beautiful, solid, and useful for a time, in the full and certain knowledge that our most useful, solid, beautiful constructions are also always temporary.  All will be thrown down.  Which is, it turns out, actually fine.  It is, in fact, as it should be.  

In a few days the Church will enter the season of Advent.  A season of darkness. Of waiting.  Of anticipation.  As we mark the beginning of the Circle of the Church Year, can we not only accept, but even rejoice in the dismantling of our old structures, old accomplishments, old monuments, old dreams?  

 I tell you, not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.

Can we watch, unflinchingly, as our old temples fall?  So that can we rejoice in doing our next small part, with God, in creating something new?  

Earlier this fall my husband and I met in Paris for a mini-vacation--our first experience of international travel together in our 15+ years of marriage.  It was delightful and infuriating and hilarious to witness  the radically divergent ways in which Donnel and I responded in the face of the challenges of the unknown.

Upon our arrival in an unfamiliar place, uncertain which direction to go, Donnel's approach was characterized by extraordinary patience and unhurried curiosity.  Left to his own devices, he would study the map for 10 minutes.  Then he would rotate the map 1/4 turn clockwise and study it for another 10 minutes from that vantage point.  And so forth.  Until shadows lengthened.  And night fell.  And we missed dinner.  And we missed our plane.  And we grew old together on the subway platform in a foreign land. 

My approach, on the other hand, was characterized by bold action and impatient curiosity.  "I think we should go this direction," I would announce with an air of completely unfounded authority, and begin briskly and purposefully walking in some direction.  I figured, "If we're going to be lost, I'd rather be lost seeing the city than lost looking at the map."  Plus I think my mother must have impressed upon me at an early age (when I was a young girl studying ballet in the big city) that, in order to avoid being mugged or kidnapped, it was important to always carry yourself with confidence and look like you knew where you were going.  

For anyone who has known Donnel or me for more than 10 minutes, none of this will come as a surprise.   What DID surprise (and humble) me was the chance to notice my own sense of panic and immediate resistance in the face of every new challenge and unfamiliar situation.

I would descend into the subway station and immediately think "Oh my God!  Oh no!  I can't do this! I don't know where to go!"

A saner version of me would say "Of course you don't know where to go.  You've never been here before.  You're not expected to know how to do something BEFORE you do it.  You'll figure it out by doing it.  That's how we learn.  Besides which, that's what all the signs and maps posted all over the place are for.  To help you figure out where you are and how to get where you want to go. "

Like I have said, in my head if not out loud (and somewhat impatiently, I must admit) to anxious church members in the face of  new or unknown challenges about a zillion times.  

In ministry contexts I've chosen and learned to embrace and cherish the necessity of venturing into unknown territory as an exhilarating opportunity to be surprised anew by God's astounding faithfulness and by unknown reserves of giftedness, resiliency, and creativity in myself and others.  

It took a trip down into the Paris subway system to remind me that I can be just as anxious and grouchy in the face of the unknown as the most anxious and grouchy parishioner.  (There's almost a pun in there....Paris....Parish...)

Luckily God loves all of us enough to accept us just as we are AND God loves all of us too much to enable us to remain that way. 

Later this month I'll travel to Costa Rica for a Spanish Immersion course, then we'll travel as a family to the Philippines to visit Donnel's family over Christmas.  And I'll get to experience (and choose to resist or embrace) the anxiety of the unknown all over again. 

And so I'll  get another chance.  And so will the church.  And so will you.