Breaking Into Peace

A sermon written for the Fifth Sunday after Epiphany. Lectionary readings referenced: Isaiah 6:1-8; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11.

They linger in the air like the scent of bacon long after breakfast has been eaten, present but invisible, a reminder of what was.

There are so many questions I want to ask, answers I long for. But they will forever remain, never settling, their aroma ever present.

It has been over seven years since I held my dad’s hand as he took his last breath. Nearly twenty-three years separate this day from the unexpected phone call when my dad’s voice cracked as he informed of the car accident which tragically ended my mom’s life.

In the years since my dad’s death, I have spent countless hours in therapy, written hundreds of pages in my journal, and sat in moments of silence. In each of these realms, questions often fill the space.

As an only child, the only two witnesses to many of my childhood moments are silent, their voices relegated to the grave. There are no siblings to call. My parents, as private and closed off as they were, left few clues or records to revisit.

Childhood trauma shrouds my memories, whether lost forever or hidden from view is unclear; the brain is a tricky thing.

Having so many unanswered questions can be unnerving at times, their shadows haunting like ghosts from the past.

Letting go is a process, not an event; it doesn’t follow a straight line. Rather, it’s a weaving road, wandering along the byways of life, at times seeming like a detour, not a road actually leading anywhere. Some days, I return to ground previously covered, wondering how and when I lost my way.

Accepting the unresolved and unreachable nature of these questions is part of the journey, an aspect of healing and growth. Releasing the need to know feels like leaving the scab alone so it can more fully heal. While it leaves behind a scar, I remember scars are part of life; they mark aspects of the journey which have been painful, but nevertheless shape who we are today.

We all have unanswered questions, whether we admit it or not. We may never find the answers, but the exploration just might lead us to places where we encounter new questions, ones which lead towards healing and resurrection in a life oft filled with pain and uncertainty.

While visiting with friends the day after Christmas, one of them asked, “What is your word for 2022?”

The question was timely since I had journaled about this very thing the previous day.

During my quiet time on Christmas day, I glanced at the relatively new tattoo on my right arm. This tattoo, my first, is simply the Hebrew word חֶסֶד (chesed). This word does not have an exact English equivalent, but in the Hebrew Bible – where it appears over 200 times – it is often translated loving-kindness, steadfast love, or great mercy.

After reflecting on the words of Psalm 34:8 (“taste and see that the Lord is good”) and my tattoo, I wrote the following in my journal…

Tasting and seeing the Lord is good is about looking both deep inside myself and all around me for goodness…I cannot ignore real pain, hurt, and anger, but I must assume a posture of love. This love must first be directed at myself and then the other. I must seek to be an ambassador and embassy of chesed. I must allow God’s steadfast love to dwell in me and also emanate from me. As I near a new year, this must be my aim. So 2022 is the year of chesed for me.

Chesed is the word which frames my work and focus for the coming year.

What is yours?

I don’t need to hear your answer to this question, but maybe you do.

Honestly, maybe you haven’t even thought about it.

What is your word (or phrase) for 2022? I invite you to pause and ask yourself this question.

You may not have an immediate answer. That’s okay. The question is worthy of reflection and contemplation.

Maybe you already have your word. If so, may it guide you in your journey.

I know mine, and the journey before me invites me to lean into חֶסֶד, to receive the divine’s חֶסֶד and to extend that same חֶסֶד to myself and those around me.

May your word, whatever it is, serve as a challenge, a guide, and a blessing in the year ahead.

I hear about the “War on Christmas” and the outrage over “Happy Holidays.” I’ve been pondering all that.

First of all, Christmas is not the only holiday this time of year. In addition to Hanukkah and Kwanzaa there are several other less well-known holidays. The last time I checked, our nation was built on religious liberty; it’s not a theocracy. (There’s a whole rabbit trail on that statement I won’t follow.)

Second of all, Jesus came into the world for all people. He welcomed, helped, and healed the people of his day who would have said “Happy Holidays.” One of the biggest barriers to his message and ministry were the ones who would have declared there was a “war on Judaism.”

I’m all about Jesus, the Kingdom, and the Gospel, but when we turn following Jesus into a tool for political purposes, we bastardize much of the message of what Jesus stood for…and against.

So to my fellow Christ followers, Merry Christmas! To those who might practice different spiritual practices or ascribe to different religions (or none), Happy Holidays!

May we all learn to live in peace while seeking a better world for all creation.

Christ entered a messy world in a messy space, coming from a messy lineage. That is how the divine chose to become flesh and dwell along us. There is a message in that method. I hope we can capture just a little of that humility in our interactions with our neighbors of all cultures, religions, and heritages.

We are but a few days from Christmas. For many, it will be a morning filled with family and laughter, presents and food. Songs will be sung or at least heard, including various versions of the classic, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”

But is it for everyone, wonderful that is?

This season invites a spectrum of emotions for me. Today, December 22, would have been my mother’s 81^st birthday. In a little over a week, my father would have celebrated his 85^th New Year’s Day birthday. A few weeks ago marked the seventh anniversary of my father’s death.

As an only child with no remaining parents or grandparents and only a few aunts and uncles, I can relate to the pain some feel during this time of the year.

I do not share my personal situation to engender pity or sympathy, but to offer my acute awareness this may not always be the most wonderful time of the year.

This time of the year can be many things to many people. It can be the most…

Wonderful

Awful

Joyful

Painful

Exciting

Depressing

Friend-filled

Lonely

Time of the year.

I invite you to think about this reality as you encounter people along the way during the holiday season. In a time filled with hustle and bustle and the rush to get to that party, obtain that gift, or attend that event, we might miss the pain in our presence or unload our own anxiety and stress on unsuspecting recipients.

We all experience opportunities to offer peace or comfort to those facing what might be a not so wonderful time of the year.

Slow down and look around you. Be mindful of those who might seem grumpy, irritated, or even angry. Maybe, just maybe, this time of year isn’t so wonderful for them, and those emotions are the only language they have to express their pain.Extend hospitality in your encounters with both friends and strangers in your midst and like a homeowner two thousand years ago, you might just have a divine encounter. While your guest won’t be Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus, you will be welcoming one who has been created in the image of God; that in itself is a wonderful thing.

I was honored to be invited to submit a reflection for our church’s Advent Devotional. Below is my contribution, which was written for today, December 21:

O morning stars, together proclaim the holy birth.
And voices raise to God in praise and peace to all on earth.
-from O Little Town of Bethlehem

And he shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the LORD, in the majesty of the name of the LORD his God. And they shall live secure, for now he shall be great to the ends of the earth; and he shall be the one of peace. -Micah 5:4-5

If the sky is clear, go outside and spend a moment looking into the sky; see how many stars you can count. If the weather does not permit this, think about a time you have looked up into the sky at the numerous stars.

I am fortunate to live in the country; there are many nights throughout the year when I will stare up into the evening sky, especially in the summer. In those moments I often feel both insignificant and valuable. The insignificance results from my considering how vast the universe is; I am but a speck. The value comes out of knowing the Creator who made all those stars knows me.

We need a healthy measure of both humility and worth. This is precisely what Jesus embodied and it contributes to his being the one of peace Micah talks about. He has the humility of a shepherd and the glory of a king.

We live in a world where peace, true peace, is a rare commodity. Rather than humility and worth, many people are drowning in self-hatred and arrogance, two seemingly opposite attributes which often serve as partners secretly working together undermining individual and societal peace.

God invites us to join the symphony of peace resonating through Christ and creation. As we near the evening when a star led both shepherds and kings to Jesus, may we look to the stars as a reminder of both of our smallness and great worth within the reign of God.

Prayer: God of all creation, give us eyes to see and ears to hear your voice speaking to us through creation. On this Winter Solstice, this longest night of the year, may we be reminded by the stars shining in the darkness that even in the darkest moments, your peace seeks to break into the night. I am both as small as the tiniest points of the light in the night sky and intimately known and loved by the One who is greater than all the stars in the universe. May I be an instrument of peace as I follow the example of the crucified and risen Christ, who is great not in spite of his humility but precisely because of it.

Today, our area experienced the first significant snowfall of the year. I witnessed big, fluffy flakes falling to the ground while enjoying a delicious Sunday brunch.

As to be expected, social media offered a cornucopia of opinions on the matter, from angry emojis to cries of joy. In Ohio, like many parts of the world, changes in season elicit an array of emotions and reactions.

Changes in seasons of life are even more effective in surfacing strong emotions.

Children become teenagers. Then they leave home for college or their first “real job.”

Marriages begin. Marriages end.

Births bring about new life. Deaths remind us of life’s fragility.

We leave jobs, by our choice or someone else’s. New jobs or even careers begin.

We could produce pages of examples. This short list likely reminds you of changes previously faced or waiting just over the horizon.

These last several years have brought me a disproportionate amount of changes, seasons of disruption, challenge, loss, and, yes, opportunity. The journey has been overloaded with emotions ranging from depression to anger, frustration to joy, and everything in between.

How do we handle changing seasons in life, especially when unforeseen, inevitable, or life-changing?

Sitting here today, I don’t have all of the answers; not even close. However, life has taught me a few lessons.

Changes in seasons are seldom linear. Just as it can snow one fall day and temperatures can rise into the 60’s the next, life’s changes often take many twists and turns. This erratic road often exacerbates already present stress and anxiety. Simply understanding and embracing the commonality is important. It won’t solve everything, but does lend a little normalcy to moments which feel anything but normal.

Different people react dissimilarly to the same changes. What might seem exciting to one could be terrifying to another, often due to varying roles or perspectives. Be patent with one another. Even if you have experienced something similar in the past, your experience may not reflect someone else’s experience. Maintain a posture of humility and openness towards others in the midst of changes.

Find others you trust. This can be hard when you have been betrayed, abandoned, or otherwise mistreated by those you trusted or depended on. It may require patience, discernment, and extreme caution, but seek others you might be able to trust and develop relationships with at a pace which balances comfort and necessity. Sometimes people just suck, but not all of them do.

Find practices which help ground you. Meditation and journaling have been two of my most helpful companions along the way. I struggled to engage in meditation for some time; it wasn’t until my therapist recently encouraged demanded I see my primary care physician about ADHD that I was able to consistently engage in meditation. Both the medication and meditation have proven significantly meaningful and helpful.

Don’t give up. I have wanted to throw in the towel more times than I care to count. Again, remember the journey isn’t a straight line. But extend yourself grace; calling a timeout is not giving up. There are moments we need to rest and assess before taking that next step. This leads to my final thought here.

Breathe. If meditation has taught me anything these last few months, it is the importance of breathing. Pause. Reflect. Slow your heart. Calm your mind. This will not always be easy. Let me say that again. This. Will. NOT. Always. Be. Easy. If you’re anything like me, there are moments the world is spinning and moving at speeds which feel out of control. You may not be able to stop the motion, but seek to slow it down, even just a little.

Like a strong, cold wind on a November day, life sometimes knocks the breath out of us and cause us to freeze. The reflections above are certainly not all-encompassing, but hopefully they might offer some small relief when changes in life’s seasons come your way.

In her book Rising Strong, Brené Brown writes, “People who wade into discomfort and vulnerability and tell the truth about their stories are the real badasses.”

I recently had an opportunity to practice this kind of wading while serving as a facilitator at a weekend leadership academy for college students.

On Friday evening, we gathered for our first small group breakout session. We were tasked with unpacking the idea of vulnerability by sharing a “moment of consequence” which had impacted our life.

Preparing for this first session, I had reflected on what to share. How vulnerable should I be with these young men and women, all but one of whom I had never met before? In the hours and even minutes before, I still hadn’t fully decided. I paused, listened for the small, still voice of the divine, seeking guidance and wisdom.

As we gathered in our circle, there was a clarity and peace. When the time came for me to lead this particular conversation, I called upon my deepest courage and briefly shared the story of my sexual abuse, which I have previously written about here.

Listening to others share moments of consequence, the room held an aura of shelter; students seemed comfortable sharing a level or two deeper than they might have otherwise.

This story is not meant to illicit praise for my actions, but rather to highlight the power of vulnerability. The sharing which occurred that Friday evening is not any more brave than what happens in support groups such as Alcoholics Anonymous around the globe on a daily basis.

As I reflect on my own experiences, especially in religious communities, a question arises: Why is this type of vulnerability often limited to places like church basements rather than church sanctuaries? (Oh, the irony dripping from the last word of the previous sentence.) However, this deficiency extends far beyond the walls of church buildings. How many boardrooms and family rooms, coffee houses and bedrooms are equally suffering from a lack of vulnerability?

A brief word of warning. Vulnerability requires courage, but also wisdom. Offered to the wrong person, vulnerability can bring about great pain through misuse or even betrayal. Wisdom must be exercised when it comes to vulnerability. While the risk is usually worth it, be mindful of those who might yield it as a weapon.

As our weekend wrapped up, group members wrote notes to one another. In both those notes and comments made to me, several students mentioned how my vulnerability created an environment where they felt a little safer to share their stories. To borrow Brené’s words, it birthed a room of badasses and led to some incredible conversation and connection.

Birthing vulnerability will not always be easy, but the kind of authentic community which it brings to life is worth the risk.