And So We Begin Again – With Hope Before Us and Storms Around Us!

Spirit Soundings, Rev Ruth Santana-Grace
September 15, 2015

Peter answered Jesus, “Lord, if it is you,
command me to come to you on the water.”
Jesus said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat,
started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus.
But when Peter noticed the strong wind, he became frightened,
and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!”
(Matthew 14:28-30)

It happens every year – the summer months with their invitation to recreate our spirits are suddenly behind us while we look to the multiple colors of the fall foliage. With this transition of seasons also comes a shift in our rhythms of life – our children are back at school and our churches are gearing up for a new program year. It is a time of great hope as our ministries, congregations, and our presbytery renew our commitment to continue to find ways to be a relevant presence of Gospel hope in this world.

But as we have been so often reminded, being a people of hope can be challenging. I write this Spirit Soundings mindful you will be reading it on September 11th – a quiet morning in 2001 when in many ways, our nation lost its innocence. Most of us can distinctly remember where we were when the two planes flew into the Twin Towers in NYC, followed by the planes at the Pentagon and in the field in Pennsylvania. I will always remember the sense of terror that overcame us – as many of us desperately tried to contact family and friends working in the towers or in that neighborhood. I will forever remember how our churches gathered on that night in silence and prayer – echoing the words of Habakkuk – “How long Lord?” (1:2).

Fast forward to 2015 – the challenge to being a people of hope is alive and well. The words of Habakkuk continue to echo – How long Lord? How long Lord – as we are saturated by images of violence on our streets; as we confront a racism – conscious and unconscious – that plagues us; as we are reminded that hate honors no place as sacred while nine are massacred while studying the bible and welcoming the stranger; as bodies of children wash up on shores; as the brokenness of our systems of education, health care and immigration threaten future generations. The truth is that this list can go on and on – reflecting the winds of storms that blow upon the church as it seeks to be a voice of hope. Even we as Christians wrestle to get along while disagreeing over theological understandings – impacting how we engage one another; threatening a primary distinction of our identity as a people of faith – to love one another.

I’ve been thinking hard these past few weeks about what it means to do ministry in the midst of this reality.  I found myself in Matthew 15 – watching the disciples express their fear when they think they see a ghost as Jesus is walking toward them on the sea.  The truth is, although frightened, they are nice and cozy in that boat.  They are dry and they are safe.

And then there’s Peter – honest, unpredictable, impetuous Peter.  He can’t contain himself – and so he challenges Jesus – “If it is really you Jesus, then command me to come to you on the water.”  I often wonder if Peter really understood what he was asking.  Whatever he may have been thinking, when Jesus said, “Come,” – Peter got out of the safety of that boat and “started walking on the water.”  And while Peter was focused on Jesus, for a brief moment in time… he did the impossible.  It was only when he shifted his focus from Jesus to the strong wind that Peter began to sink – giving way for fear and panic to set in.  And in that fear he cries out, “Lord, save me,” to the one who makes the impossible possible.

And we – you and I – we are a people of the impossible.  We are a people of resurrection hope.  Throughout human history, people of faith have always witnessed to this hope in the midst of the storms reflected by the real and present challenges around us.  It is in the midst of the ugly, the uncertain, the unjust that we are called to witness.  Frankly the alternative – the sitting safely on the boat is neither life-giving nor life-changing.  More importantly, it is not faithfulness.

So as we begin this new season, as our churches celebrate our homecoming Sundays, may we be more like Peter – challenging ourselves to step out of the boats of our comfort zones. May we risk walking on water, allowing for the power of the Holy Spirit to prompt us together into possibilities of new life and transformation in our communities and in the world. May we focus our trust on Jesus and do something remarkable – knowing that our Lord will indeed save us.

Please click here for a downloadable PDF to share with your congregation: SantanaGraceSpiritSoundings11SEPT2015

A pastoral reflection on the massacre at the Emanuel AME Church,

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”
(Luke 23:34 -Jesus, hanging on the cross -before taking his last breath)

“…But I forgive you. And have mercy on your soul.”
(Nadine Collier to the killer of her mother Ethel Lance)

“Divine Forgiveness” and an Inconvenient Truth

There is nothing more powerful or memorable than mountain top experiences – they can be among the most transformative moments in our lives. Moses experienced God on Sinai – from there he would find the courage to lead a people out of slavery.

Mountain top experiences are those moments that pierce us deeply and compel us to transform not only ourselves, but also the world around us. These moments fill the entirety of our senses – making us feel alive with a purpose. We are filled with inspiration and conviction. As a child, I remember going to Billy Graham Crusades – what a high! I was struck by the voices of thousands together singing and praying. I recall the visual of his altar calls and the words of “Just as I Am” – only to learn that of all those who came forward, only a handful were transformed to become a faithful people of Christ. These mountain top experiences often occur when we as a people gather to mourn, to remember, to reclaim and affirm our faith in the midst of life’s tragedies. They touch us in those deepest places that call us up to a place of courage and action.

The massacre last week has rightfully rallied that kind of transformative energy. We have been deeply moved by the framing of the Christian faith foundational to the response of the nine slain at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC. We have been humbled by the public witness of the family members who, one after another, offered what I consider to be “Divine forgiveness” to the one who caused the violence and pain. We have been convicted by the witness of that historic community of faith as they worshipped together last Sunday and kept the doors open as Rev. Norvel Goff proclaimed that they “would overcome evil with faith.” There is clearly a “balm” in Charleston – one that heals in the midst of unspeakable evil. The solidarity of the world – Christian and other – has been palpable as people of all walks of life, theologies, religions and races rally together. The cry of pain and anger have been such that one can believe the slaughter of those nine saints who gathered to study the Bible and welcomed a stranger to their table – would not be in vain.

But what happens next? What happens when the public music stops? What happens when the reporters go on to their next story? What happens when the crowd disperses? What happens when we come off that mountain of solidarity, anger, and pain?

This is the ultimate question for us as a people of faith – what happens next? Over the past week, I have been reminded of just how differently we each respond to tragedy.

For some, there is the retreat back into the already chaotic reality and presumed safety of our communities.

For some, there is the lashing out in pain and frustration.

For some, there is the fighting for legislation that will address gun violence and symbols of hate that still fly in state houses.

For some, there is a rationalizing that the violence was an isolated terrible act with no connection to some bigger systemic illness.

For some, there is the lamenting, not unlike the exilic children of Israel, wondering, “Lord, how Long?” What does the promise land look like?

For some, there is the call to prayer –a praying that will lead to some real change in the hearts of our broken humanity.

But for the saints at Emanuel AME and their response? Well, they have publicly modeled a faith that carries you from the mountains through the valleys and back again. It’s the kind of faith that will continue to sustain them – even as they pursue justice, the making right of what is incomprehensible. They’ve modeled a faith that frankly leaves me speechless; no words can capture the depth of their witness compared to my feeling of ineptitude. No words!

I’ve been thinking about the complexities of our presbytery – about the racial divide that in both subtle and not-so-subtle ways has historically showed itself in our congregations and in our presbytery gatherings.

I’ve been thinking about the response of our churches together; of what is required of us as individuals and as a larger covenant community. I’ve been thinking of how we must understand our “own privilege and access in ways that help right injustice in the world. “ (The Rev. Bruce Reyes-Chow, former Moderator, PCUSA).

Tonight as I write, I have no specific answers; no clever 12-step plan to resolve a challenge that has permitted us to treat one another in ways that are simply sinful. And like most of you, my spirit is heavy and restless from the pain and the evil that caused it. I choose, however, to believe that together we might find a better way; a way that will not allow difference of race, theology, socio-economic class, gender, age, etc., to perpetuate separation, isolation, and ignorance. I choose to believe that we can make a way that will bring together the heart of our presbytery – from the inner city of Philadelphia to the suburbs and rural corners where we gather to worship. It will take intentional work, but the truth is that if we can’t find a way together to be a witness for justice in both small and larger ways, to what end is our faith without resurrection possibilities?

This is the “inconvenient truth” that we as Christians must engage. And so to you – my dearest brothers and sisters on the journey – may we find a way that will be transformative long after the camera crews leave; long after the rallying to our faith brought us together for a time. May we find a way to stand with the families of the nine as they lay their loved ones to rest. May their witness of “Divine forgiveness” give us the courage to witness to the reconciliation possibilities only made possible by the one to whom we belong. And may God forgive us for where we will surely fall short!

Jesus Sightings and Church Chatter

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus,
about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other
about all these things that had happened.
While they were talking and discussing,
Jesus himself came near and went with them,
but their eyes were kept from recognizing him…..

As they came near the village to which they were going,
he walked ahead as if he were going on.
But they urged him strongly, sayings, “Stay with us,”….

When he was at table with them, he took bread and broke it,
and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened,
and they recognized him;…(Luke 24:13-16, 28-29, 30-31)

The chatter on the road to Emmaus becomes a perfect scenario for us today as we go from ministry event to event – often focusing on unmet expectations. It appears we continue to have much in common with those very first disciples. There they are – two disciples walking along the road – talking about the crucifixion and the rumors that their teacher (Jesus) might have been resurrected. They are so focused on discussing what has been, that they neglect to notice the presence of Jesus with them on the road.

A time ago, I might have quickly judged them. I might have been tempted to say “Dudes – don’t you see who you’re talking with?” But now, not so much – I have found myself too often caught in similar scenarios. I have found myself shaped by the pain of loss or disappointment – unable to see or recognize the presence of God right there before me. Perhaps the disappointment comes simply from the outcome of a meeting that I believed should have gone one way over the other. Perhaps the pain comes from the loss of a beloved colleague or friend as they move on to another ministry. Perhaps it simply comes from the exhaustion of working hard; keeping our noses to the grindstone – and forgetting to pause, breathe and look up.

I’ve come to believe that this is an ongoing challenge for us as a people of faith. It is not hard to be disappointed – after all, we are a broken people in a disappointing world. There is reason to be discouraged – after all, we are a broken people in a discouraging world. We have cause to be dismayed – after all, we are a broken people in a dismaying world. Earthquakes, natural disasters, senseless shootings, terrorism, rioting on the streets of our cities, illness, death – all are part of the story of our corporate human life. And if you have any doubts, just turn on the television – it’s all there as vibrant color – reminding us of the broken reality around us. So I understand the chatter on the road to Emmaus; I understand the focus on their immediate reality – it can be all-consuming, as they will often require our attention.

But the story of this Emmaus journey doesn’t end there. Notwithstanding their cluelessness, the two disciples engage a conversation with the stranger – (Thank you, Lord). And in that unexpected and unanticipated leg of the journey, the chatter shifts. They hear the Word proclaimed. They are reminded of what they believe. How often are you and I confronted by a teacher, friend, pastor, colleague, child – whose presence calls us back to what we claim to believe? Ultimately that unplanned chatter along the road leads the two to invite Jesus to “stay with them.” And while at table, their eyes were opened to the presence of their Lord.

This past weekend I spent some time in “Spiritual Direction” at the Society of St. John the Evangelist – a monastic order of the Episcopal Church in Massachusetts. As I spoke with a spiritual director, I was reminded of the gifts of Christ all around me – notwithstanding the list of assignments to be completed; notwithstanding the reality of the challenges faced by our churches and our society. I was reminded of God’s ever-faithful movement and presence, even when we are not aware; even when we seem blind; I was reminded of what happens at table – when our hearts are open. For the truth is, without this reminder, I’m not sure we are able to effectively challenge and bring healing to the brokenness around us.

And that’s where the Emmaus story ultimately ends up – at table with the one who touched their hearts and minds; at table with the one who opened their eyes. This image of the table is the one that provides me with great hope. For it is at table – when we are gathered with one another; when we are willing to sit side by side and engage one another; when we are willing to risk the vulnerability that comes from ‘knowing’ one another– that we can recognize and will experience the presence of Jesus. It is by coming to and serving from the table that we can hope to bring the kind of impossible transformation that is only of God.

It’s true, we will always be tempted to engage in the chatter of all that has gone wrong. And Lord knows, that list can be long. But for us, as a people of the ‘impossible,’ it doesn’t stop there. Our chatter shifts as we are reminded to pause, look around us and recognize the Word that lives in, among, and through us.

Jesus began to teach them many things in parables,
and in his teaching he said to them:
“Listen! A sower went out to sow.
And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path,
and the birds came and ate it up.
Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil,
and it sprang up quickly, since it had no depth of soil.
And when the sun rose, it was scorched;
and since it had no root, it withered away.
Other seed fell among thorns,
and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain.
Other seed fell into good soil and brought forth grain,
growing up and increasing
and yielding thirty and sixty and a hundredfold.”
And he said, “Let anyone with ears to hear listen!”
(Mark 4:2-9)

ON HOLY SEED AND LENTEN SOIL

This Markan text reminds us of what happens when precious seed is scattered on differing types of soil. Traditionally the seed in this text has been associated with the Word of God. The soil is generally representative of our hearts and its response to God’s word. Although this is not the only interpretation, it is one that can be helpful in exploring the nature of our faith during this Lenten season. How receptive are we to God’s Word as it challenges our lives? How receptive are we to God’s Word as it is spoken and brought to us in unexpected ways? How receptive are we to God’s word when our understanding of it is challenged? In other words, as we continue our journey toward Jerusalem, what soil would best describe our openness to the Word of God at this time in our lives?

It does not take a farmer to know that seeds that fall on a “path” will not grow. “Paths” are walked upon and hardened. They are usually parallel to where the seeds will grow. There is no place for the seed to take root. It’s no wonder birds come along and eat it up. Is your heart ever like a “path” – God’s Word can fall upon your ears and heart, but it bounces right off never really allowing that holy word to shape our life.

Then we have the seeds on rocky ground. Now my understanding is that seeds can birth new life around stones by making their way around the stones into the soil. But without the depth and richness of fresh soil, the plants that grow will have but shallow roots. They cannot survive under challenging changes. When has your heart been like rocky ground? When have you allowed God’s word to touch your heart for a moment, but in the end, did not allow that ‘holy seed’ to dig deep to shape and transform your heart?

The seed that fell on thorny ground is interesting. I did not know this about thorns (my city-self speaking), but apparently thorns can indeed grow up and choke the plant life around it. Has there been a time in your life when you were in a spiritual place where you could not hear the Word of God? Can you recall a time when perhaps you could not bear to hear the message of that “holy seed” because it challenged you to a way of life that you were unprepared for nor interested in embracing? Have you ever responded by metaphorically “choking it,” destroying it – thus not allowing that holy seed to take root in your life?

The final seed in the parable fell into good and rich soil, which allowed the grain to grow and multiply. This is a wonderful and hope-filled image. The ability to allow God’s Word to permeate and take root in our hearts is one that we all long for. When have you been like that good and rich soil – able to absorb the life of the holy seed, of God’s word? When have you experienced God’s Word growing in you and blossoming in ways that even gave life to others? This is the kind of soil that I pray we all might be like.

As we continue on our pilgrimage to Jerusalem, I invite us to think about the richness of the soil within our hearts. May this Lent be a time when we allow the “holy seed” of God’s Word to pierce the deepest dimensions of who we are – so that we might more faithfully be a people of growth and new life in the places where we have been planted.

by Ruth Faith Santana-Grace, February 20, 2015, SpiritSounding PDF 

“And the Spirit immediately drove Jesus out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness for forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him. (Mark 1:12-13)

Into the wilderness – yet again!

And so we once again begin our corporate Christian journey into the wilderness. With the mark of ashes upon us, we begin the journey that ultimately leads us into and through the winding streets of Jerusalem – to the foot of the cross.

Like many of you, I have found myself in the wilderness on many occasions – at times thrust into the unknown abyss by life’s unexpected and unwanted twists and turns. At those moments – of death, illness, broken relationships, and disappointments – the wilderness has often felt like a celestial black hole from which I could not escape. At other moments, I have entered the wilderness willingly – albeit reluctantly – without certainty of where I might be going. Joining you in a journey to become a “new” 300-year old presbytery initially felt a bit like a wilderness journey.  While being deeply aware of God’s presence, I was equally aware that there were no billboards or mile markers guaranteeing me or us of what the road before us might look like.

The truth is that wilderness journeys can be tough. They challenge our assumptions, causing our emotional equilibriums to be thrown off. They cause us to wrestle with the core of who we claim to be. The wilderness exhausts us, causing us to fear for our very existence. Consider Jesus’ journey in the wilderness. For forty days, he too experienced temptations that required him to consider deeply his identity as the Son of God. He too could not escape being confronted by the temptations of the world. They were temptations not unlike those that are presented to us day in and day out – for power and dependence on physical sustenance.

But there is more to wilderness journeys than temptations and exhaustion. If we reflect on the Biblical narrative, we understand that in many ways, the wilderness is a place of preparation for how we are to live when we come forth from the wilderness. It was true for the children of Israel – as a new community was formed. It was true for Jesus – as his public ministry was started. The wilderness compelled them as it compels us to consider what our witness will be before the world – as we re-enter that world.

I’ve come to cherish this sacred journey through Lent, not so much because it is a time for giving things up. Instead I’ve come to cherish Lent as a time for reclaiming and strengthening our identity with the Creator God who through Jesus, relentlessly pursues us in hope and love. It is a time of examining our hearts and assessing how our claimed identity is reflected in what we say and how we live – as individuals and as covenant communities of faith. In many ways the wilderness causes a stirring within us that compels us into faithfulness with courage and boldness.

As I reflect on our recent journey, we have felt that stirring in the life of our presbytery in creatively seeking ways where our congregations  – suburban and urban, small and large – might continue to be places of hope and encouragement. We have imagined places where the gospel already is and in the future may be lived and shared with men and women, youth and the aged. We have felt that stirring in our presbytery in our desire to find ways to be a voice of hope before issues of injustice and violence.  We have felt that stirring – a stirring to bring healing to the divide caused by racism and other “isms” that tear at the fabric of our society.

This past weekend, I again experienced this stirring as many in our presbytery participated in the conversation on Race and Christian witness as part of our two-day celebration of Black History Month. Our conversations took us to deep and vulnerable places – wilderness places if you will, where our emotional assumptions were shared and challenged; where personal reflections were complex, honest and often, pain-filled. Our guest speaker and preacher, the Rev. Dr. J. Herbert Nelson reflected on the role of the church in bringing healing to the challenges of economic and educational injustice plaguing our society, causing our hearts to stir with a desire to make right what is broken in our midst.

I don’t know where all this stirring will lead. It is both exciting and unsettling, feeling a bit like a “wilderness” journey. But I do know what happens when you and I are not stirred – we become tempted to remain where we are, comfortable, indifferent or afraid of the world around us.

So my prayer for us is that we will allow this “Holy Spirit stirring” to shape the songs and prayers of our Lenten pilgrimage. And that we, like so many before us, will emerge from this Lenten “wilderness” boldly prepared and encouraged to serve as agents of transformation, giving shape to the Gospel of Jesus Christ for this season to which we’ve been called.