Cape Town Sex Workers and Christ

I still don't quite know how I ended up doing an internship with a sex worker advocacy organization called SWEAT in Cape Town, South Africa. Something called me to be here, and I think it was more than just being able to experience a South African winter instead of the heat of the American summer. I guess I wanted to learn from other's experiences, to sit and talk with those society is so quick to reject. I wanted to work with the oppressed, like Jesus did.
So far I've spent a week learning about the lives of sex workers, meeting them, and observing the programs they have put together to support each other. I've also spent a week examining my own stigma against sex work.  I would be lying if I said I was comfortable with the concept of people selling sex to make a living. I am not.  But the truth of the matter is that these workers are adults, whose average age is 27. They tend to be free agents, who aren't trafficked or pimped out.  They work because this work is profitable.  They can at least double the incomes that they could make in other jobs. And they aren't bad people. They are people who have chosen for whatever reason to do sex work. I may not  be comfortable with all of what their jobs entail, but I can support programs that seek to empower them and support them.  They are all God's children.
The other day, I went to observe a large support group for women sex workers.  They began their time together with a prayer.  During the break, one woman asked me what I was doing and told me that many sex workers are religious and active in churches and mosques. There is a spirituality, a yearning for God's love that runs deep within the veins of many of these workers, not just women, but men as well.  There is a dream that runs deep within many of these people that someday they might be able to work in a legal industry and be able to tell their religious leaders their profession without the fear that they might be kicked out or publicly condemned.
And in the background of all this, I see Jesus, walking up to a woman who has been condemned of adultery, about to be stoned to death.  He looks at the people, rocks in their hands, and says, "Whoever is without sin, cast the first stone." And the stones are laid down, and the people walk away.
I am learning to put down my stone and interact with others whose lives can seem so foreign to me. I am learning that sometimes the life that needs more Christ is not the other's, but my own. And may God use me so that I may help others become the whole people God created them to be.

3 Last Words of Jesus: Good Friday 2014

On Good Friday this year, I was asked to share in expounding upon the seven last words of Jesus.  I was given three of them.

"Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise"

Luke 23:42-43

            There were three men who were brought up the hill to be crucified that day.  One of them was Jesus, a man so weak; the soldiers forced Simon of Cyrene, who had been in the crowd, to carry his cross for him.  The soldiers kept mocking him, telling him that if he was the Messiah, if he was the King of the Jews, he could save himself.  They laughed as they hung the inscription above him, King of the Jews.

            But the other two hung there were there for good reason.  They were criminals, receiving the death sentence for the wrongs they had committed. Who knows what actions they may have done to deserve this sentence.  These criminals watched the proceedings along with the crowds, but they not only saw Jesus being nailed to the cross, they were nailed to their own as well.

            One of the criminals derided Jesus, just like the soldiers who were hanging him on the cross.  He mocked, saying,  “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” He laughed and jeered along with the others. He was upon a cross, a man condemned to die the same death as Jesus, yet even he was mocking Jesus. 

            The other criminal couldn’t take it.  He had seen the crowds and the soldiers mocking Jesus, and he had kept silent. But to hear someone mock Jesus as he was hanging next to him on a cross?  That he could not stand.  He stood up for Jesus, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.”

            It is unclear how much this man might have known about Jesus’ ministry.  What he did know was that Jesus should not be crucified.  He did not do anything that would warrant the death penalty.  He witnessed how Jesus had been treated, and he could not turn his back at the final insult hurled at Jesus. So he spoke up. 

            After he rebuked his fellow criminal, he turned to Jesus and said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Remember me when you come into your kingdom.  He looked at the inscription over Jesus’ head, and he confessed Jesus as King.  He understood who Jesus was. Even when everyone else was mocking Jesus and laughing at him, this criminal saw the Messiah.  He looked at a weak, bleeding body, a person who was nailed to a cross, and saw the Messiah.  When everybody else missed the Christ in their midst, a criminal dying on a cross saw him.  He saw him.

            I wonder how often we miss the Christ in our midst, the Messiah alongside us. How often do we go along with the crowd, mocking others? How often do we declare anybody to be less?  Less human, less deserving, less needy? How often do we fail to respect the dignity of every human being?

            But we don’t always fail.  Sometimes we see.  Sometimes we stand up.  Sometimes we fight for the dignity of others. Sometimes, in this world of pain, in a world that so often mocks the way of the cross, we find ourselves as the only ones who can stand up in the face of derision and rejection.  We recognize the body of Christ, still in our world.

In those moments, I imagine Jesus looking up, bloody and tired, hanging on a cross, but he looks us straight in the eyes, smiling a little as he says, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

"I am thirsty"

John 19:28

“I am thirsty” the Messiah cries.

The same Messiah who had talked with a woman of Samaria at a well, saying, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty.”

This Messiah longs for a drink.

The same Messiah who told the crowds, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

This Messiah thirsts.

The same Messiah who cried out, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink.”

This Messiah cries, “I am thirsty.”

This man, this divine, feels the thirst of the world.

He feels the ache of the world.

All the pain and suffering ride upon his wounded back.

He leads us in expressing our want.

Our need.

Our thirst.

For our Messiah is thirsty.

As the deer longs for the water-brooks,

So our souls long for you, O God.

Our souls are athirst for God, athirst for the living God;

When shall we come to appear before the presence of God?

Why are you so full of heaviness, our souls?

And why are you so disquieted within us?

Put your trust in God;

For we will yet give thanks to him,

Who is the help of our countenance, and our God.

As the deer longs for the water-brooks,

So Jesus’ soul thirsted.

The heart of God ached upon that cross.

The fountain of life poured itself out.

The wellspring of life dripped its last drop.

Yet we can put our trust in God.

For we will yet give thanks to him,

Who is our savior, our help, and our God.

Oh God, you are our God; eagerly we seek you;

Our souls thirst for you, our flesh faints for you,

As in a barren and dry land where there is no water.

For your loving-kindness is better than life itself,

Our lips shall give you praise.

So will we bless you as long as we live,

And lift up our hands in your Name.

For you have been our helper,

And under the shadow of your wings we will rejoice.

Our souls cling to you;

Your right hand holds us fast.

The savior who said, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink.” is thirsty;

Come let us give him drink.

Let us give him our hearts,

Let us bless him as long as we shall live.

"It is Finished" 

John 19:30

            We had spent the last few days going back and forth to the hospital.  We had a carefully planned calendar, ensuring that should Grandma’s time come, she would not be alone.  It had stopped being a matter of if she would die but when. We sang hymns to her, and we prayed for her.  Then one afternoon several of us were in her room, keeping our vigil.  The family was conversing, and I was spending my time coloring.  All of a sudden a deep quiet took over the room.  We all instinctively drew around her bed.  We watched as she took her last breaths.  She gasped once, twice, and then silence filled the room.  We began to pray. Her spirit left her, and later that week we put her body to rest.

            Jesus’ death looked different from my grandmother’s death.  She was in her seventies dying of a long-term illness in a hospital bed.  Jesus was in his thirties.  He was beaten, wounded, and nailed to a cross.  His death was violent.  But just like my grandmother’s death, there were some who kept vigil, waiting with him, making sure he was not alone.  I can imagine the three Marys and the beloved disciple gathered around the foot of Jesus’ cross.  They had never expected to find themselves here, they did not wish for this to be happening, but here they were and they could not look back.  It was no longer a question of if Jesus would die, but when.  They kept their vigil at the foot of the cross, watching and waiting.  Then all of a sudden there came a quiet upon them.  They instinctively drew closer to Jesus.  They knew his time was near.  Then they heard his final words, “It is finished.” He took his last few breaths, gasping once, twice, and then silence filled the earth. He gave up his spirit.  Then they too, working with Joseph of Arimathia and Nicodemus, put Jesus’ body to rest.

            Dying is a sacred act.  Death is a sacred moment.  Every last breath both releases a spirit and fills this world with a hole, a place of emptiness, where someone once was, but is no longer.  There is an ache. There is a loss.

            The three Marys and the beloved disciple were able to witness the most sacred of these moments, the moment when the Messiah who had been incarnate in the world was no longer.  He gave up his spirit.  With that came a deep ache and a deep loss.  There was a Christ shaped hole left in this world. 

            We know that this is not the end of the story, but today, let us contemplate the absence felt that day.  Jesus had been the Christ, living in the world.  He laughed, he cried, he touched people.  He was in flesh. Then it all got taken away.  In less than a week Jesus went from a beloved healer and revolutionary figure to dying on the cross. The crowds that once cried “Hosanna” had turned around and began to chant, “Crucify him.” When he was led off, his mother, Mary Magdalene, Mary the wife of Cleopas and the beloved disciple came and watched vigil over him in his time of need, so he would not die alone.  Then, finally, after several hours of agony, he said simply, “It is finished” and he died.  The loss of Jesus left a deep pain and a deep hole in the world.  Those who followed him must have felt that the incarnation had come to an end.  There would be no more Messiah. God would no longer walk beside them.  This death was a truly sacred and a truly painful moment. 

Ash Wednesday Sermon 3/5/14

Every year, I come, needing a Lenten season. When I was a teenager, I would tell my parents that lent was the only time when church seemed real.  It felt like the only time when the church gave people space to express their hurts, their woundedness, and their pains.  I no longer believe that lent is the only time when this happens, but my younger self yearned for space to just sit in the ashes.  The ashes appeared otherworldly and transformative to me.  The ashen cross was such a powerful image to me that for several years in my late teens, I took up carrying the cross on my cheek, painted on daily with eyeliner.  I wanted the cross to mold my heart and my actions into conformity with Christ.  I wanted to be transformed by it.  And now here we are again, coming to bear this ashen cross upon our own foreheads, marking ourselves as mortal and fallible, asking in humble penitence to be transformed.

            This is a transformation that began at our baptism. We were all baptized into the death of Christ, that we may live in the power of his resurrection.  This season we focus on our baptism into Christ’s death.  It is a time to consider those mortal things that need to die within us, so that we may rise anew with Christ on Easter. 

            At baptism we pray for the candidates, asking that they may be delivered from the way of sin and death.  What are we asking God to deliver us from today?

            We ask that their hearts may be opened to God’s grace and truth.  What are the things that we have shut tightly within our own hearts that we need to open to God?

            We ask they may be filled with God’s holy and life-giving Spirit.  Where are our own spirits thirsting?

            I encourage you during this time to read back through the prayers offered at baptism and the promises made in the baptismal covenant.  Meditate upon them. Where do you need God’s help in fulfilling these in your own life?  At the end of these forty days, we will renew our baptismal covenants at the Easter Vigil.

            Our baptisms sealed us as Christ’s own forever, but we don’t always live fully into our Christian identities.  Our gospel lesson today warns us about that.  There are many who do good things.  There are many who pray and give to God.  And they have their reward for that. But their intentions aren’t where they should be.  Rather than coming seeking God’s will, looking towards God’s own heart, they do things for show.  It becomes more about seeking the approval of others.

            Jesus amplifies the problems so we can see them within our own lives.  We may not sound trumpets before giving offerings, we may not pray out loud on street corners, and we may not disfigure our faces while fasting, but we all have these kinds of tendencies.  Sometimes we want to do the right things to please people rather than to please God. And there are rewards for that, but they pale in comparison to God’s rewards.

            God’s rewards aren’t tangible things and I don’t think God’s reward is simply heaven instead of hell.  In fact I don’t even like the word reward here, because it makes it seem like God gives us something because we act a certain way.  And I don’t think that’s how it works.  I think that by seeking after God’s will, we are able to open ourselves up to God.  All of ourselves.  We can begin to open up all the shames we have, all the hurts we hold, all the wretchedness that we feel.  Through that act, we open ourselves up to grace that is beyond measure.  The everlasting God who hates nothing they have made is given free rein to forgive our sins, and to make in us new and contrite hearts.  Transformation is able to happen.  Not because we did actions that God approved of, but because we were able to give up our own control and let God work. 

            It’s hard work to do this.  We are human and we are dust.  Sometimes when we feel how small we are, how mortal we are, we get protective. We want to store every piece of who we are up into ourselves, as if we could keep ourselves from falling.  But if we pray earnestly, if we give control over to God and learn to live in God, despite uncertainty, we can learn a bigger truth.  We are human, we are dust, but we are also beloved.  Deeply and truly beloved.  Beyond all measure and beyond all logic.   Beloved.

            So come forward for ashes, leaving not with a smudge on your forehead, but a symbol.  A symbol that the one who hates nothing that they have made and forgives the sins of all who are penitent longs to create and make in us new and contrite hearts.  This is the transformative nature of the cross, and this is the promise we can carry with us throughout the Lenten season.

I want to leave you with a poem by Jan Richardson entitled “Will You Meet Us: A Blessing for Ash Wednesday:

Will you meet us
in the ashes
will you meet us
in the ache
and show your face
within our sorrow
and offer us
your word of grace:

That you are life
within the dying
that you abide
within the dust
that you are what
survives the burning
that you arise
to make us new.

And in our aching
you are breathing
and in our weeping
you are here
within the hands
that bear your blessing
enfolding us
within your love.

Sermon From 2/20 on Psalm 46

               Let us pray: Dear LORD God, who is our refuge and strength, be with us as we seek a more perfect understanding of you today.  May my words illumine and not cloud your message as we seek to understand you, oh LORD of Hosts.  In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.

            This passage for today brings a word of comfort. “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” I grew up singing the first two verses in Sunday school.  Similarly, I could name half a dozen songs that use the beautiful words, “Be still and know I am God!” These verses and phrases are familiar, like a well-loved blanket that can keep us warm through cold winter nights. However, the familiarity can sometimes make it hard to see the power of the message provided.  This psalm is not merely a song of comfort, this is a song of hope for a better day, a strong belief that God will not let one fall, despite the chaos that can engulf one’s life.  It is an assertion that through God, we can find refuge from all sorts of anxieties that can plague our lives. God can be our refuge and strength, in times of both external and internal struggle.

            The psalm begins with the bold acclamation that “we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea”.  The earth and the mountains are both images of the permanent, images of the things that bring order and comfort to our lives.  In this passage these fixtures are being thrown into chaos.  The chaotic waters of the foamy sea threaten to destroy everything. Those things that are important threaten to collapse in front of our very eyes.  But the psalmist asserts that God is our refuge and strength and will be a present help in trouble. 

            Another image this psalm uses to express this threating chaos is the image of nations in an uproar, and tottering kingdoms.  This is an image of government instability and high death tolls.  People are dying in battle, and all that the government does becomes questioned.  Everything is in flux, and it feels as if chaos is about to overcome nations.  Yet, when God utters God’s voice, the earth melts, and there is a restoration of calm.  It is asserted that the Lord of hosts is indeed with us and the God of Jacob is our refuge. Though the mountains feel like they are about to shake and crumble into the sea, though it feels as if anarchy and chaos are right around the corner, God is our refuge. 

            The war imagery of this psalm is expanded further.  The psalmist invites others to come and behold the works of the LORD.  God is not merely a safe haven, something to be turned to for comfort.  God is the one who can make all wars cease, and the one who can destroy the implements of destruction.  God is powerful.  Out of this imagery comes the phrase, “Be still and know that I am God.” It may seem like an odd phrase to come after an image of world peace, but it is not simply about being motionless and basking in God.  The Jewish Publication Society’s translation carries the full impact of the phrase.  It translates the verse as “Desist! Realize that I am God!”  This is not about simply finding time to step away and contemplate God, it is about stopping in the middle of the chaos and coming back to the divine.  Chaos may appear to be imminent, but rather than feeding into the fear of that chaos and being swept up in it, we are called to stop and take the time to center on God.  God is the one who dominates both the nations and the earth, and God has the ability to carry you through.  Though chaos may be looming, God is a refuge on whom we can rely. We just have to stop and refocus. 

            It is assumed that this psalm was probably written before the temple was destroyed and the Israelites were cast out into exile away from their land.  That is because this psalm asserts that God will protect God’s holy habitation, which is the temple in Jerusalem.  But there is no historical way to know if this was written before the Israelites were cast away from their land or afterwards.  But I wonder what an Israelite would have heard when this psalm was sung in exile.  Their temple, their beloved city of Jerusalem seemed all but gone.  They were strangers in a strange land, and everything that had once seemed permanent and stable was destroyed.  Yet, God was asserted to be their refuge and help.  God would still be there to help them in their times of deepest need.  God was still in the midst of their city, their beloved Jerusalem, and maybe, just maybe, the Israelite could return home.  In the midst of the turmoil and pain that surrounded their current situation, there was hope. They could look to God as their refuge.

               Our world today looks almost nothing like the world of the ancient Israelites.  In the US, we do not worry about bows and spears, or the chaos of the sea.  We use planes, and worry about bombs and guns. But we do share the common experience of fear and anxiety.  And we have documented the crippling effects that fear and anxiety can have on humanity.  We may not be as afraid of the literal world crashing down around us, but many are fearful of their own worlds caving in on them.  Panic attacks cause some to feel as though they are on the verge of death.  PTSD causes others to be transported back to their most traumatic experiences, and even their sleep can be invaded by the worst nightmares.  What does it mean for them to find God to be a refuge in this arena of chaos?

             My fiancé is a combat veteran of the war in Iraq.  Soon after he came home from war close to nine years ago, he was diagnosed with PTSD.  He experienced the chaos of feeling himself transported time and time again back into the trauma of war.  I do not know many details of his early struggles with the disease, but he spent years reliving his experiences, both in his nightmares and in his therapist’s office as he went through exposure therapy.

            In the midst of his turmoil, he connected with an old friend and found himself attending the meetings of a new monastic community that focused on contemplative spirituality and centering prayer.  There he found a greater ability to connect to the life giving Holy Spirit, the river that makes glad the city of God. He was able to learn techniques that allowed him to not only calm himself in moments of frustration, but also learned how to stop and shift his focus onto God. He learned what it meant to truly be still and know that God is God.  Through his psychiatric treatment he found strength to beat back the chaos, and through his monastic community, he found a way to make God his refuge.  He isn’t cured, but he has found hope and renewal.  He is coming out of his own exile, closer to the Holy Habitation of the Most High.

            His story is unique, but his search is something we all face at one time or another.  Some of us may experience anxiety disorders, while others experience anxiety caused by specific stressors.  Either can feel overwhelming at times, and we may worry that the seemingly permanent things in our lives might devolve into chaos.  We may fear that our lives will never be peaceful again, that we will be overtaken by the sweeping waves of the seas as they shake our very cores. It can often be difficult to stop and refocus upon God, relying upon God as a refuge.  And relying on God as a refuge doesn’t mean that the situation will clear up.  The waters still roar and foam, causing the mountains to tremble.  The nations are still in an uproar.  The Israelite is still in exile.  My fiancé still has PTSD.  But things do slowly improve.  Maybe not right away, but when the vision shifts to God, God can begin to become a true refuge, providing us with strength in these times of trouble. It’s a slow process of learning to stop and shift focus. 

            The good news is that this process is not done alone. There is a river whose streams can make glad your inner city of God.  The Holy Spirit is always with us.  Even in those times when we are blind to God’s call, when anxiety has us by the gills, there’s still an advocate for us.  We still have the Holy Spirit to guide and protect us.  Even if we cannot recognize it, even if the chaos is overwhelming, God is our refuge because the Holy Spirit is God.  The LORD of Hosts is always with us, the God of Jacob is always our refuge. 

In the midst of the chaos, there is hope.  God can bring us from our place of anxiety to dwell fully in God’s holy habitation.  It’s a slow process and we may feel that we have been in exile forever, but things can change.  God can break the implements of the wars that rage inside us.  The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.

Let us pray: LORD, life giver and lover of all, we pray for those who experience anxiety and times of distress. We pray that your presence may be known to them and that they might be strengthened to be still and know that you are God. We pray also for those who have begun the path of continual refocus upon you.  We pray that they may someday arrive at your holy habitation, no matter how long their journey may be.  Lord, help us remember that you are our refuge and strength, and we can turn to you in all of our times of trouble.  In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen. 

Why do we go to church?

This is the question that has been on my mind for a while now.  Why do we go to church?  What is the point of gathering as a community on Sunday mornings for a service of worship? 
It's easy for me to get caught up in the details of what I love about worship.  I grew up going to church and have always felt the need to attend worship services.  But we live in an age where many did not go to church as a child or never felt connected to a church community.  There are others who take Sunday mornings as precious family time or a time to relax with a paper and a cup of coffee.  They can find God through moments of sabbath relaxation.
So what are we really to say when asked why worship services are important?  Can't we find the spiritual in many realms, not just the Sunday morning service? Can't we connect with community in a variety of ways?
I have spent time trying to figure out why Sunday morning worship is important to me, and why worship services in general are important. 
I am a person who likes to live in a rhythm. My routine may alter on a daily basis, but there are moments in my days and my weeks that are set in stone.  Worship is one of those things that I guard. For me, there is something about scripture, sermon, and sacrament that speaks to my innermost being.  There is something real that happens in those spaces. In my teenage years, church was the one place where I could get my mind off my own needs and focus outward on something that was bigger than me.  That was freeing. 
As a seminary student, I get caught up in different worship practices, some that I like and some that I loath.  I can easily find myself analyzing rather than engaging.  I find myself drawn out of worship to ask questions like, "Why would they use that hymn?" and "Did they really mean to do that?" I still find that space with God, and I still worship, but I get caught up in the mundane.  Worship is familiar and I can come into it knowing exactly what will happen.  It is as familiar to me as grocery shopping.  The layout may change from time to time, but I know what to expect and I always come out with the things that can nourish me.
I wonder what a person who had never been in a worship service might actually notice. They might have an analysis going on their head about the worship service, but they would not automatically know what was happening next.  Even things as familiar to me as the Lord's Prayer might be new.  What would they see?  Why would they want to be there? Why would they go to church?
And the why is often very different than the what.  People come into church for a variety of reasons, but mostly they come searching for some sort of meaning.  So what would they see?  What would they see in a building laid out like a concert hall with a praise band and a casually dressed, conversational preacher? What would they see in a large cruciform cathedral with a large choir, a roaring organ, a large altar party, and a celebrant adorned in a chausible?  Neither is better than the other, and the adornments may neither draw someone in or push someone away. 
What the person is searching for is meaning, for some sort of answers to a number of life's questions.  So the real question, the question that seems so basic it almost gets forgotten when approaching this topic is this: What is our message? 
Do we present Jesus as a personal Lord and Savior, or do we present Jesus as the head of a corporate body of Christ?  Do we get caught up in personal sin or do we search diligently to corporately bring about Kingdom moments in a fragile and broken world?  Do we live personal salvation or corporate salvation?  The answer should be yes.  Both are necessary, but I think often churches lean one way or another.  It's not wrong to speak of a personal savior, nor is it wrong to speak of a corporate body.  But to live into the Church is to keep both the personal and corporate in conversation. 
The person coming to the worship service is seeking.  If someone is feeling isolated, too much individualistic talk may create the impression that we are supposed to seek on our own. They may need to hear the message of living into the body and being accepted by and connected to the community.  If someone feels like they are losing themselves in the crowd and are trying to gain a better sense of identity, they may need a message of a personal Christ. 
So why do we come to church?  Why do we get up and gather together into a worship space?  Why don't we just find the spiritual on our own?  I think that the message of a personal Christ is true and still speaks, but the idea of the corporate Christ has been pushed away.  We can individually find Christ, but it is much easier to live Christ in community.  We worship together so we can bond together in our connection to God.  It is that bond of humans seeking together that can transform and inform life in ways that could never be done alone. I think that is why we come to church, and why worship services still matter. Praise bands and thurifers are just window dressings to an experience that brings a unique community together to corporately celebrate Christ and give each other permission to dream of their own role in the coming Kingdom.