Who are you? To whom do you belong? Ruth 3:1-12, Mark 1:9-11 Jan 26 2025 Meetinghouse Churc

Who are you? To whom do you belong? Ruth 3:1-12, Mark 1:9-11 Jan 26 2025 Meetinghouse Church

Rev. Dr. Kathy Monson Lutes

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart

    be acceptable to you,

    O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

From the time I was about 15 until about 10 years ago, as the elders of my family grew old, I attended and actually really enjoyed our Monson family reunion. We would gather at Monson Lake State Park near Sunburg Minnesota, the City Park in Glenwood Minnesota, and eventually on the farm in Murdock Minnesota. These places are all close together with the cemetery in Sunburg being the pilgrimage point. I listened to my aunties and uncles tell the story of my dad’s paternal Norwegian ancestors who came to this country after their home was destroyed in an avalanche, and my dad’s maternal Norwegian ancestors who left because the farming was so awful. I grew to know and love my identity as a descendant of Norwegian immigrants, and I’ve made the trip to both parts of Norway to see the land and the people that make up my DNA. It was an amazing experience to walk on that land and know that that was part of my identity, and I have chosen to let this family story be a part of who I am. 

In those same years, I was raised up in the church, listening to the stories of the beloved people of God, also my people. People who were created in God’s image and called very good. People who turned their backs on God, people who decided to worship the idol of power rather than the God who created them. People who were blessed by God. People who God forgives over and over again. People to whom God came in the flesh and blood of Jesus, to show the way of love, forgiveness, compassion, and mercy.  This is also my identity, one of those whom God loves, in all my messiness, brokenness, in all my belief and unbelief. 

I was baptized as a baby, my parents took seriously their promises to raise me, and my 7 siblings, as a follower of Jesus. They didn’t always know what that meant, and the path wasn’t always clear, they, and I, fell down a lot, and yet, on some level, I always have known that Jesus has claimed my life and that my identity rests in that reality. I am God’s beloved, marked and claimed as God’s own forever. God’s faithfulness engenders my following Jesus, even when I find that hard.

We listened to Jesus’ baptismal story today so that we could again hear the words, “You are my beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  Jesus hears those words as he is baptised, as he is enveloped in the water and raised out of the water to hear the voice of the spirit. We need to hear those words also, all the time, we need to know that you and I are beloved by God, that is our identity. We are beloved in all our brokenness, in all our messiness, with all of our bad decisions. We are beloved even when we want to be in control, and pretend that we are God. We are beloved even when we are addicted, vulnerable, grieving, as well as joyful. Because, we are not perfect, but God loves us perfectly. 

Ruth knows who she is, Ruth is comfortable in her own skin, comfortable in her identity.  In Ruth’s story that we read today, Boaz asks her, “who are you?” This question presents Ruth with the opportunity to name herself. And it is Ruth’s faithfulness, not her ancestry, that becomes a determining factor in the shaping of her identity. Ruth continues to be fierce and faithful, and as we will see, Ruth, who was a stranger in a strange land, becomes the great-grandmother of David. 

Who are you? Where is your identity? What are your family stories around your identity? What part of that story do you choose, what part of that do you discard? 

And what does your life say about who Jesus is? What does the life of this church say about who Jesus is? 

People who follow Jesus are people who belong to God and who belong to one another. Our identity is a beloved child of God, we are marked as Christ's own forever, we are in relationship with our creator and the rest of creation. If you find your identity as God’s beloved, what does a life as a follower of Jesus look like? Jesus answers that question with love. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself. What does this love look like? 

Today I want to remind you of your baptism, many of you were baptised as an infant or child, some of you were baptised as an adult, and I would guess, some of you have never been baptised. Our identity, as followers of Jesus, is wrapped in baptism. I am not suggesting that being baptised is the only way you can follow Jesus; I am saying that in baptism God’s grace is conferred as a lifegiving, holy spirit. And by remembering our baptism, we come close to remembering who God has created us to be, we remember our identity as God’s beloved.

One of the things we do at baptism is to name the child, or to name yourself. Just like Ruth who has the opportunity to name herself. Names are important, and are to be honored. What name were you given at baptism? My baptismal name is Kathleen. As you have grown into yourself, grown into the person God has loved into being, have you thought about changing your name, have you changed your name?

The other really important thing that we do in baptism is to get wet. Water, oil, and fire are the three holy symbols of baptism. Using theological language, we die with Christ in the waters of baptism, so that we may rise to the new life that is made real in Christ. I’ve been rereading Traveling Mercies, by Annie Lamott. Using a bit less theological language, Annie writes, “Christianity is about water: “Everyone that thirsteth, come ye to the waters.” It’s about baptism, for God’s sake. It’s about full immersion, about falling into something elemental and wet. Most of what we do in worldly life is geared toward our staying dry, looking good, not going under. But in baptism, in lakes and rain and tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that’s a little sloppy because at the same time it’s also holy, and absurd. It’s about surrender, giving in to all those things we can’t control; it's a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched.” p. 231

And isn’t that what a life in Christ is like. Isn’t that what love looks like? It’s very messy, and it looks like getting drenched. It looks like diving in, not having all the answers, just a lot of good questions. It looks like loving your neighbor, even when you’re not quite sure what their politics are, or maybe even disagreeing with their politics. It looks like loving the whiners, the bullies, and the people who think they’re better than you. It looks like sticking up for the innocent. It looks like feeding hungry people. It looks like forgiveness, even when you don’t think you should have to forgive. It looks like making room for the stranger, because we are all strangers in a strange land. Love looks like a community of faith that takes care of one another, even when that is hard. It looks like a community of faith that reaches out into the places and spaces beyond the walls to be the light that shines in the darkness. 

This is who we are, and whose we are. This is what love looks like. This is our identity, our name, God’s beloved. And from this identity, from these waters that drench us, waters that ruin our makeup and hair, waters that remind us who we are, we enter the world. We enter the world imbued with mercy, and compassion, and love. 

And remember, in the rain, turn your head to the sky and say, I am your beloved.

God,

Lover of all your creation,  

Sometimes being your beloved feels very hard. Loving ourselves and loving others feels very hard. Compassion and mercy seem elusive and remote. 

Help us to remember who we are, we are yours, and we are beloved.

Amen.

 

God welcomes the alien and the outcast, Ruth 1:1-22, Jan 12 2025 Meetinghouse Church

God welcomes the alien and the outsider, Ruth 1:1-22, Jan 12 2025 Meetinghouse Church

Rev. Dr. Kathy Monson Lutes

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

Sometimes, don’t you wonder, how you muster the effort to get out of bed every morning? Sometimes, the weight of the world feels so heavy. Sometimes, maybe after loss, the loss of a loved one, the loss of a friend, the loss of a job, you wonder how you might go on. Sometimes, you look around and it seems like everyone else has something you don’t. Sometimes, you wonder why even bother. 

We enter the book of Ruth through this door of loss. Naomi and her husband, and their two sons, left their home in Bethlehem and went to live in the foreign country of Moab. They left because there was nothing left in Jerusalem for them. There was a terrific famine, and they, along with everyone else, were starving. So, they went to Moab searching for food and most likely a better life. Naomi's sons married Moabite women, Ruth and Orpah. Naomi’s husband dies and in the midst of all that Ruth’s husband dies, and Orpah’s husband dies. None of these women gets much ink to name their grief. We are left to wonder what that must have been like. Naomi left husbandless in a foreign land, Ruth and Orpah left husbandless after ten years, in their prime, with no children. In Hebrew stories, a woman, like Elizabeth whom we recently visited in the nativity story, who is barren, whose “womb has closed” as they would say, is shamed. Until she is gifted with the pregnancy that brings forth John.

We witness or experience this liminality in one way or another, throughout our lives. We witness or experience this sense of loss, or change, grief, in huge ways, or in small ways. We watch while people seek a new place to plant their families because their own countries are no longer safe to live in - they come hungry and tired, not knowing the language but trying so hard to make a new life. Not unlike Ruth. We witness or experience the tragic loss of a loved one, a husband, a wife, a child, and we are left to navigate the new territory in a whole new way, bereft, trying to make sense and meaning in this new life. Not unlike Ruth. We witness or experience the pain of changing relationships, the death of a partner, a child, a friend, not unlike Ruth. And sometimes, the loss of a relationship, a friendship, a relative, not to death but to difference, it feels a lot like a death. Not unlike Ruth.  

Naomi decides to return to her people in the land of Judah, but insists that her daughters in law stay with their people in Moab and maybe find a husband. Orpah stays with her people and her gods, but Ruth makes a different choice. 

Ruth leaves the land and gods that she knows to go to a foreign place, an alien land, because - of this relationship. Going to Judah with Naomi will make Ruth an alien and an outcast. She will be a Moabite in Judah, that makes her an alien, and she is a woman with no husband, no father, no sons, no brothers - that makes her an outcast. Her mother in law as well. No husbands, no fathers, no sons - alien, outcast, and powerless. Naomi went away full and comes back empty and bitter. No power, no food, in a land alone, not knowing anyone or anything. You may have felt like you have been in that place before. I know I have.

And yet…. This is the amazing part of the beginning of this story of Ruth. In the midst of Naomi’s grief, and her own grief and loss, Ruth, who had every reason to hate this family fiercely, chose the exact opposite. Ruth preferred the warmth of devotion over the chill of alienation. Ruth sees something different - in Naomi, and says I want to follow your God. We hear these words that are so familiar to us, “where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.”

Ruth shows us promise making and promise keeping - covenant, a word that is used often around here. Ruth shows us hesed, a Hebrew word that is the quality - fierce and determined love - that it takes to stay in a relationship. The foreigner, Ruth, has the fierce and determined love - after all they’ve been through - to stay with her mother in law and worship her mother in law’s God. 

So, what is this story doing in the bible, God doesn’t really show up in this story. A little sneak preview, spoiler alert, when we read ahead, it’s a short story so that’s easy to do, we will see restoration, and new hope, and new life. But we don’t see God doing anything.

But isn’t that the way we often live our ordinary mundane lives? We rarely witness God’s huge displays or mightiness or power, thank God. That’s not how this life goes. But we do witness the small things, the kindness and the gratitude. I heard a story just the other night around a table in the Hearth Room about heeding God’s whisper to call a friend, and how important that call turned out to be. 

I think what’s important in this little story is that it is a glimpse of how God’s people experience God’s welcoming love through our relationships, human love, through our community of faith, in our families, in our communities, in times of grief, in times of tragedy, in times of turmoil, in times of joy and celebration. Even at times when we don’t feel worthy of God’s love. This little story shows us that God welcomes everyone, because God shows forth hesed, fierce and determined love. Love shows up here, God shows up here in the community that supports and prays for one another, especially in hard times. 

And then we can share God’s love with one another, and we are equipped to go out into the world and show those whose paths we cross what God’s fierce and determined love looks like. So, how do we live in such a way that embodies God’s welcoming love, how do we show up in our relationships with love? I’ve got a little list for you. 

First, we actually show up in our relationships. This seems rather obvious, but we have so much trouble really showing up, we are so easily distracted by our screens, by all those things we think we need to do, distracted by our expectations in relationships, distracted by what we wish for rather than what is in front of us. We actually are still in the middle of  celebrating  the season of incarnation, God with us, Emmanuel. God bursts into our lives as a baby to show us how to stoop low and be fully in the moment. There is a transformative nature in showing up when we want to retreat, of listening deeply to each other’s pain even when we fear there are no words. We can and must see each other. Life is precarious, but you are alive. So show up, body and spirit. Show up for the celebrations, and show up for the funerals. Err on the side of presence. Love each other in the hardest moments as well as the best moments. 

Second, we work at sacred connection. Don’t let go of each other! It takes courage to step toward relationships when our strongest instincts tell us to guard ourselves. Love each other, embrace each other, even on the hard days, because with God’s help, we can do hard things.

 

Third, we welcome all. There are no strangers, no aliens, every person is worthy of love and is beloved of God. Look into the eyes of the other and notice God’s beloved in those eyes, even when you struggle to see.

Fourth, we come alive. We stay awake even when the news is not good, we stay awake through the pain of life, knowing that to ignore what is real, is to not live at all.  We listen deeply to the God who welcomes us just as we are, we listen for God’s call to live fully and completely. 

Fifth, we grieve and we carry on, we go on living. The reality is that none of us get out of this life alive. Embracing this reality gives us more clarity around what matters most, when we recognise how profoundly vulnerable we are. There is always pain before there is death and resurrection. Jesus has shown us that. Use the time you have to live with both humility and urgency. Do not be afraid to live, and you will not be afraid to die. 

Sixth, we hold the healers. It's only when we’re willing to engage our whole selves, to embrace our own fears and struggles and admit that we, too, stand on unsteady ground, that we can meet another person in the heart of their pain. And when we don’t embrace our own fears and struggles, our hearts are hardened, and we become incapable of loving ourselves or welcoming others into God’s love.

Seventh, we hold space, the work is not to fix, but to love. 

Eighth, we wonder - curiosity is essential. I’m reminded of the Ted Lasso episode, I'm sure you’ve all seen it, when Ted is challenged to a game of darts by Rupert, the former owner of the football team. As Ted throws his darts on the money, and Rupert clearly is surprised by Ted’s dart throwing ability, Ted says, “you know, Rupert, guys have underestimated me my entire life. And for years, I never understood why. It used to really bother me. But then one day, I was driving my little boy to school and I saw this quote by Walt Whitman, and it was painted on the wall there. It said, "Be curious, not judgmental." I like that.” Be like Ted, be curious, wonder about God’s love for all, and don’t just judge.

Ninth, we write a new story in the hope of resurrection. You see, what is really real, is that when we put our trust in Jesus, we never hope in vain. This is hard, but we can do hard things. This is about listening deeply to one another, this is about not walking away, this is about learning something new about the people you love and care for, and the people with whom you disagree vehemently. 

Tenth, this is your work, to love like Ruth. To love with a fierce and determined love. To write a new story, a story that acknowledges pain and even death, and points toward resurrection and new life. 

Let it be so.

Creator God, lover of all, grant us your wisdom and courage to love fiercely as we rise up into the new life that you promise. Amen

With thanks to Rabbi Sharon Brous, author of the amen effect, Ancient Wisdom to Mend Our Broken Hearts and World

Second Sunday of Christmas Jan 5 2024 St. Martha and Mary Eagan

James Taylor "Home by Another Way"

Second Sunday of Christmas Jan 5 2024 St. Martha and Mary Eagan

Jeremiah 31:7-14, Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a, Matthew 2:1-12, Psalm 84

A New Year dawns, and with it hope and promise, light and love. Even in the midst of this present darkness, more light has already begun to shine, I can see it and I can feel it. And yet life continues to feel hard, sometimes even scary. The new year has not been absent of violence, we have almost begun to expect it. 

This gospel story, unique to Matthew, is a story with peculiar characters, with wisdom from outside of the mainstream, gentiles, powerful, politically savvy people. And King Herod who looms large as a despot, for whom power, instead of love, wins, and who is afraid of this baby, a threat to his empire. God’s presence in Jesus is going to upend the powers that be, and thwart Herod’s plans. And yet we are reminded of God’s activity – God’s intervention; these wise men from the east were warned in a dream to go home by another way. 

How does this story, the story of God in the flesh, the manifestation of Christ in the world, change things, change us? And how do we make Christ known in the world? You see, there is so much hope, so much promise, so much light, so much love. God bursts into our world, stoops into our lives, and continues to break into our world, and walk with us in the flesh. What does that mean?

The story we have before us today, this story of the wise ones from the east who follow the Light to the child born in a barn, helps us to see the cosmic importance of this birth. This birth happened in a particular place at a particular time in the context of a particular tribe, but the arrival of these wise ones from the east shows us that it wasn't just for a particular people at a particular time in a particular tribe. Matthew's intent in telling this story in this way with these characters is to show us that this birth changes the world, the wise ones from the east know that.

 

God does whatever it takes to reach out to and embrace all people. God announces the birth of the Messiah to shepherds through angels on Christmas, to Magi via a star on Epiphany, and to the political and religious authorities of God’s own people through visitors from the East. From a manger, where a child lies wrapped in bands of cloth, God’s reach, God’s embrace in Jesus, gets bigger and bigger and bigger. Jesus eats with outcasts and sinners. Jesus touches people who are sick and people who live with pain and suffering. Jesus even calls the dead back to life. Ultimately, Jesus draws all people to himself as he is lifted up on the cross. In Jesus, no one is beyond God’s embrace.

 

God’s radical grace is wondrously frightening. The Light that shines in the darkness, the Love that wins is wondrously frightening. That is what this story is about. God comes to us in wondrously surprising ways. Ways we do not expect. Ways which we would never choose for ourselves. We are changed, we are transformed, the world is turned, and we must go home by another way, a different way, the way of Love. 

 

Or not, the alternative, of course, is to join Herod in not seeing God’s ever-expanding embrace, or feel threatened by it, and instead giving way to just plain fear: “When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him”. Herod jealously reached out himself, far enough to violently protect his place and preserve his power.

 

But I would suggest not being like Herod, and instead of living in fear of what is next, what is new, what could happen, we live in God's embrace, we live in God's light, we live in confidence that Love wins. Instead of living in fear of what the future may bring to us, we live in God's abundant and amazing grace. Instead of holding fast to that which someday we will lose, we get on board with God's mission in the world of healing and reconciliation.

 

Taking the way of the wise ones from the east, going home by another way, going home by Jesus' way, surely provides a life of adventure, of risk, of surprise. Jesus leads us in a radical route. It takes us through green pastures, and more dangerous waters, it is a route that is filled with wolves and sheep. This is a route that calls us through transformation to wholeness; it is a route on which the adventure is not about you, but about whom we are together, the people on the adventure with us, and it is about how we are related to God. On this route home we are called to be Light bearers. We are called to be Love bearers. We are called to bring God’s Love to dark corners, to mountaintops, to raging waters.

 

We are called to bring God’s Love to a fragmented society, to a culture that is pulled apart by greed and fear. We are called to bring God’s Love to a world that seems to be moving more toward injustice than away. Remember  Bishop Curry’s book, Love is the Way, in it he writes, “Love is God's way, the moral way, but it's also the only thing that works. It's the rare moment where idealism overlaps with pragmatism. People don't think of Jesus as a strategist, but he was a leader who successfully built what was essentially a radical equal rights movement within a brutal empire.”

 

You see, God’s Love, God’s Power, is the most powerful integrating force in creation. God’s Love moves us from brokenness, from fragmentation, to wholeness, to healing and it is the only way.

 

How do you bring God’s Love and God’s Light into the world, how do you bring God’s wholeness into your work or your school? It is our call to bring God’s transforming love to those who have not yet seen or felt or known that love. It is our call to bear the Love that wins into the world. What glory will you manifest?

And, it is God's dream that we do this together. After all, it was three kings, not just one, who came to see Jesus. We don't go this life on our own, we journey together, we go home by another way, together.

In this season of incarnation, my favorite author, Madeleine L'Engle inspires me, I leave you today with an Epiphany poem.

It is participatory, so follow her words, 

 

Unclench your fists

Hold out you hands.

Take mine.

Let us hold each other.

Thus is God’s Glory Manifest.

 

Amen