Sermons by the Rev. Laurie McHugh

return to top

Unstoppable Hospitality - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (text)

Read Pastor Laurie's August 1, 2010 sermon.

The reading was Luke 13:10-19.

This was the last sermon in the Radical Hospitality sermon series.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

return to top

Reflecting Grace - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text)

Read Pastor Laurie's July 18, 2010 sermon.

The reading was John 20:19-31.

This was the second sermon in the Radical Hospitality sermon series.

The books Pastor Laurie mentions in the sermon are Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations and Five Practices of Fruitful Living, by Bishop Robert Schnase.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

return to top

"Parents, be Still!" - Mother's Day Message -The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text & Audio)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's sermon for Mother's Day, May 9, 2010.

The reading were Psalm 46:1-3, 10 and Proverbs 22:6, 3:1-8.

You can view video that was shown during this sermon is embedded below.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

"Parents, be Still!"
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Rev. Laurie McHugh

One year when I was in seminary I received a scholarship from a Lutheran church in Sun City, CA. One of the conditions of the scholarship was that I was to fly down to Sun City for a weekend, at the church's expense, and be introduced to the congregation. It was a really great experience and great wisdom on the part of some donor or church leader (or maybe it was the Seminary's development office that was behind the trip; that part I can't remember). While on the one hand, the cost of the trip could have gone toward stretching the scholarship funds over more tuition or more students, the experience of seeing, face-to-face, a person whose life has been impacted by the gift, and hearing their story, and building relationships between donors and student and donors and school, was really brilliant; I'm sure the experience translated into still more donors for the scholarship -- and I'm not saying that because I was the one who made the trip! I was changed, too, in the receiving of extravagant generosity from strangers. It was quite memorable.

That weekend, I stayed overnight in the home of two venerable elderly women who served me tea and plied me with questions about my call to ministry and my seminary education. What I most remember about the conversation was their love of the book of Proverbs, which, I must confess, had me rather puzzled. It wasn't a book I'd read extensively; there was no seminary class surveying Proverbs (probably the focus of the women's questions), and frankly, at the age of 24, I found the book too "preachy." That these two ladies read from the Book of Proverbs every day, and felt it contained the most important stuff of the Bible, struck me as just plain odd. I confess I politely sipped my tea and negotiated my way through their questioning as delicately as I could.

As I myself have aged, however, I find myself more and more in tune with the wisdom of that ancient book which is attributed to King Solomon. It certainly doesn't encompass the whole of Judeo-Christian theology; the idea that righteousness is always rewarded in this life doesn't quite jibe with the reality of suffering. And yet, there is much to be said for its common-sense, "just do the right thing" philosophy.

The folks in the Filipino-American church I served many years ago in Vallejo were most fond of Proverbs 22:6, "Raise up children in the way they should go, and when they are old they will not depart from it." Indeed, this verse pretty much encapsulated that congregation's understanding of its mission perfectly. They simply trusted that their investment of time and talent in Christian education -- both for their children and for themselves -- would produce young adults who would stay involved in the life of faith. Their expectation produced what they hoped for, in good measure. And where there were young people who strayed, they still trusted in God's timetable, and those parents kept at growing themselves as disciples in that trust. It was really something powerful to witness and be a part of. And I was blessed to recognize some of the last names of those same teenagers among the campers from that church who attended the most recent Bishop's Confirmation Retreat, to realize that some of that parental faithfulness had indeed born fruit.

Of course, it's not all perfect. There's a lot of temptation to sentimentality, especially on a day like today. So let's nip that in the bud with a little dose of reality -- and hilarity, if I may. This video's been around the Internet about a million times in the past 2 or 3 years, so I'll bet a lot of you have seen it, but it bears a showing for those who may not "do" You Tube, and it's fun watch again, anyway. The original was written and performed by Christian comedienne Anita Renfroe; this version is someone else, I think, but is more user-friendly because of the subtitles. The premise: take everything the average mother says in a 24-hour period and compact it into 2 minutes. Let's go:

(Show "Momsense" video)

After this video became popular on the Internet, Anita was asked to give the dads equal time. (Can I do this?) It has the same dramatic music intro, then skips abruptly to the end: "Ask your mom, ask your mom, ask your mom, Ta-da!" Sorry, dads! I couldn't help myself!

Another Christian dramatist I love is Nicole Johnson. She has performed for years at Women of Faith, an evangelical women's conference I've attended a couple times and which I've found quite inspirational. (Anita, I've learned, has been a featured performer at that Conference more recently.) The first time I saw Nicole, I thought: "I could do that." And I have performed some of dramas she's written, making it a Mother's Day tradition for a few years in Burlingame (I'll probably resurrect that next year). Some of Nicole's sketches -- the ones I like to do -- are more serious, but she starts off the Women of Faith Conferences with more light-hearted pieces that acknowledge just how difficult it is for most women to even get one day away for an event like that.

One sketch is called "Hats," in which Nicole playfully reflects on all the roles most women fill in the lives of those around them: mother, organizer, accountant, love slave, self-nurturer, psychoanalyst, cook, chauffeur -- and how these different aspects of oneself often compete with each other. In the end, she's wearing all the hats and ready to collapse. She says, "No wonder we talk to ourselves, hear voices and never go to the bathroom alone -- there's 8 women inside there!"

In another, entitled "First and Goal," Nicole talks about the typical woman's day as if it were a football game, with the one person playing quarterback, tackle, defense and offensive line, running back, wide receiver and referee. "Men may think we don't know anything about football," she says, "but women spend more time rushing than any running back out there."

Can you relate? I can!

I sometimes get into this place where feel like if I get organized enough, if I can get control of the schedule, the clutter, the to-do list or the kids (or the husband, or fill in the blank), then I'll start living the good life. It's so easy to just skate along on the surface of life, held captive to the calendar, or the to-do list, or the requests of others, the mad rush, and before we know it, hours, weeks, or even years, have gone by and we've forgotten to pay attention. We've forgotten to really live, and we feel cheated.

This isn't just a working mom's dilemma, either. It's just as much the modus operandi of the career-driven dad, the high school student, the active retiree, or anyone in this room. A friend of mine uses the term "Palo Alto Syndrome," but I don't think it's just here, either -- or the Bay Area, or America, for that matter. I'm inclined to think it's pretty strongly linked to the human condition.

The fact is life doesn't stop. There is no "there" there that we're trying to get to, no resting spot that naturally comes. You have to be assertive enough to create it yourself. I consider it an act of faith, a spiritual practice, to just be still and pay attention. And the more you do it, the more you realize that God is right there blessing you and accompanying you all along, that you can indeed stop and smell the roses anytime, and the world will keep going, and it won't be a train wreck -- and you don't have to be a wreck yourself. In fact, the more centered you become, the better the world will be, and the better the lives of those around you.

It's so tempting to get caught in the frenzy (caught: that's an apt word; "imprisoned" is more like it). Why? Why is this part of our human condition?

I believe it's a form of idolatry. It's the first and second commandment, all over again, under a different, modern-day guise. (Show Exodus 20:3-4 on screen.) We like think we're evolved past that idol stuff, that we're above worshiping little figures and such "superstition." We don't understand the appeal of such practices, or why the people of Israel would fall back on them, over and over again through the history detailed in the Hebrew scriptures. So let me describe a form it takes today.

It often starts in the name of "good" things -- nurture, love, education, bettering the community. Then it gets twisted.

It's a wonderful, godly thing to love and care for others, to bring children into the world, to educate and get an education, to give back to society. But somewhere along the line, we begin to think that it all depends on us. Or that "success" is the most important thing. Or that "survival" is somehow involved. And so the scramble and the treadmill get going, and it's hard to stop.

It crosses into idolatry when we can't get along without the watch, or the calendar, or the Smartphone, or the idea that we're important because we're so busy. Or when we're obsessed with having perfectly adjusted kids or getting into the best schools or landing that status position.

And even when it's not about getting ahead, but just keeping your head above water, when we rely upon our own strength and smarts to keep going, we've taken God out of the picture, and eventually we'll find ourselves running on fumes.

There is some deep wisdom that knows we're trapped. There is a deep longing for relief and release. I'm seeing it all over the place.

Over the past couple of months I've managed to get to three of the parent education presentations that the Palo Alto School District has sponsored. Heavy on people's minds, as you might expect, has been the series of tragic suicides in our community, and whenever there's no easy or obvious solution, folks feel helpless and look for resources for wisdom and hope. Denise Clark Pope talked at Fairmeadow Elementary about the importance of downtime and sleep, how generally ineffective homework is beyond a few minutes a day, and how parents contribute to the stress their kids feel by the kinds of activities they engage their kids in and the types of questions they ask them daily. Ken Ginsburg spoke at Gunn High School about building resilience in young people by noticing and encouraging what kids do well and what they are passionate about. And this week I heard Po Bronson talk at Paly about nurturing creativity -- something, he asserts, that our education system has largely stifled -- and about the flawed science that's been behind much of what's popular in parenting advice and school policies these days.

return to top

Living Easter in the Real World - Week 2 - There's An App for That - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text & Audio)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's April 18, 2010 sermon.

The reading was John 21:1-19.

This is the second sermon in the Living Easter in the Real World post-Easter sermon series. Read and listen to the other sermons in this series.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

"There's An App For That "
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Rev. Laurie McHugh

We are in week two of our post-Easter series, "Discover Hope." We're unpacking Easter as we look at stories related to the Resurrection through the eyes of different people who were close to Jesus, in hopes of recapturing the meaning and application of the hope found in this most pivotal event of Christian history for today -- thus the cutesy sermon titles.

I may be making a big mistake, but I'm going to start with two confessions: 1) I didn't make up the clever titles for this week's and last week's sermons; they were Michael's creations. 2) The first half of today's message reads to me like a running Bible commentary, more scholarly (and, to be truthful, more scattered) than I normally like to be in a sermon. It's the product of a week spent partly battling a cold and partly spending time with me kids on Spring Break. If scholarly (or pseudo-scholarly) doesn't appeal much to you, or if you're not interested in Bible study, please wait for the next sermon. You might find it easier to follow if you open your Bible up to the passage and pretedn you're in class.

Two weeks ago, we heard the resurrection story from Mary Madgalene and "the disciple whom Jesus loved" (the one thought to be the author of the gospel of John). Last week we heard from "doubting" Thomas. This week the beloved disciple and Thomas reappear in a resurrection story focused on Simon Peter. It's another one of those strange stories in the Bible, in which certain details jump out and make me scratch my head.

Sometimes when I read scripture I'm very aware that I'm trying to interpret something that is foreign to me, of a very different culture. Nuances are lost on me that would have made things more meaningful or more clear to a native reader. That's when the Holy Spirit is especially helpful (and even then I'm a poor student).

Details about net fishing, for instance. Is there a real significance to the no fish all night vs. casting on the other side? Is the 153 fish -- and big fish -- a significant symbol? Does it mean something that the net doesn't break, or that six disciples can't haul it in all the way (the length of a football field with hundreds of pounds of fish), but that Simon does by himself? Or that he puts clothes on to jump into the water? It seems like these might be important, or else why would the writer include such things?

There's lots of "question and answer" in John, revealing a very Greek, Socratic method of teaching. Unlike a lot of my seminary classmates, I took Greek as an undergraduate in college, so I read a fair amount of Plato. And I tell you, I didn't get all of that, either. I do get a sense that the gospels were written for a very different audience, and that some things are just going to be lost on me.

In our passage the exchange between Jesus and Peter is particularly intriguing. Three questions, three answers. A study of the Greek text doesn't make it much easier, except to note that different words or different combinations of words are used -- The words for "love," for instance: agape (twice from Jesus) vs philo (all responses from Peter and last question from Jesus); "lambs" and "sheep" and feed" and "tend" -- an attempt made in the English translation to show it's not the same word-for-word exchange each time. Scholars don't necessarily agree on the significance of these different words -- perhaps a difference in the depth of caring and in the level of vulnerability in the ones cared for, or perhaps these words were basically interchangeable and the variation is put in to make it a more interesting read.

Theologians have made much of the parallel between three questions of Peter's denial and these three questions of Jesus "do you love me?" suggesting this threefold-ness this is the way Peter was restored. Even the Greek word for the fire used here is the same as that which sets the stage in the story of Peter's denial, further reinforcing the idea.

There are other mysteries about Simon Peter, the fisherman-turned-number-one-disciple of Jesus. In the gospel of John, his call story is distinctly different. In Matthew and Mark it's the memorable, almost stereotypical, story of Jesus' passing by a fishing boat and saying to the workers there, "Follow me," and they leave their nets and follow him - no questions asked. Luke tells the tale more colorfully: first, Jesus comes over to Simon's house and heals his sick mother-in-law, then one day he gets into Simon's boat to teach a crowd on the shore, and after tells him (much as in the story we read today), "let your nets down and you'll catch some fish" and upon catching an overwhelming number, Peter says, "I'm too sinful for this," and Jesus says, "Follow me and from now on you'll catch people." All fishing-related stories.

In John, Simon is introduced to Jesus by his brother, Andrew. At that first meeting, Jesus names him Peter, and in John's gospel he is consistently called Simon Peter from that point onward -- so it's significant that Jesus starts calling him by his old name again in this passage. Peter's gone back to his old neighborhood -- back to the Sea of Galilee, some 60 miles north of Jerusalem and the site of the resurrection, back to where Jesus did most of his teaching. And Peter's also gone back to his old career (you can't just pick up a boat that easily; he'd have to have gone back to the family business).

The "disciple whom Jesus loved," once again, is the one upon whom light dawns first; like at the resurrection, when he saw the empty tomb and believed, here he sees the large catch of fish (and realize that's a windfall, an abundance!), and perhaps he remembers the event Luke tells about Peter's call, or he remembers the feeding of the 5,000 or 4,000 (for which there are also parallels in this story), or something else clicks, and he says, "It's the Lord!" So Peter gets dressed and jumps in the water (gotta love that!), heads out there first (not to be outrun, unlike at the tomb), and finishes the net dragging job all by himself in a demonstration of enthusiasm. It doesn't really look like the behavior of someone ashamed of having denied his Lord when push came to shove, unless he's trying to make up for it; perhaps he thinks, maybe Jesus won't remember if I act like my old faithful self? Jesus feeds the disciples (reminiscent of communion) and then sits down for a heart-to-heart with his friend.

Jesus isn't fooled. "Simon" -- not Peter, not "rock," Jesus' pet name for him, but "Simon, son of John," the name his parents gave him. It's time to go back to the very beginning, start over. "Do you love me?" he asks -- three times. By the third time, Peter has to confess: "Lord, you know everything."

We all have this fear that if people really knew us, they'd never accept us. Especially when we're around church folk; if they really knew how much we screwed up, if they really knew how selfish we are, they wouldn't let us in the door. And if God really knows us as we are, that's super scary. We nurse this fear that we really don't have any business being here.

That's what Peter's story is here for. This is a passionate person, one of the first followers. A regular guy, hard working, physical, doesn't always think before acting, does some major screwing up. Peter gets set straight more times than any of the other disciples (I guess the gospel writers found Peter to be a particularly inspiring and colorful character):

• Remember Peter's bold confession that Jesus is the Messiah, but the rebuke: "Get behind me , Satan!" when he second-guesses the need for Jesus to be arrested and killed?
• Remember the scene of Jesus walking on the water, and Peter says, "If it's you, tell me to come out there with you," and he does, and then he gets scared and sinks?
• Remember his lack of understanding when Jesus washes the disciples' feet, and Peter refuses, then asks Jesus to wash his whole body?

Whether Peter went back to Galilee because he was following orders (the angels' message in Matthew and Mark was to go there and Jesus would appear), or because it was natural to go home to think through these amazing things (as in Luke's account), or because he felt guilty, not quite sure where he stood with Jesus after his role in the arrest and trial -- or if it was a combination of these things, (or is it even necessary to reconcile all these resurrection stories?) what I take comfort in, from these resurrection stories, is knowing that Jesus knew enough, and cared enough, about these individual friends to share words of grace that were especially meaningful -- and which compelled them to take on bold, risk-taking mission on his behalf.

Mary, first evangelist, and likely a strong leader of the church in her own right;

Thomas, our friend from last week, to whom is attributed the planting of Christianity in India;

The disciple whom Jesus loved, the writer of this gospel, who used the simple language of the people and the teaching method of the Greeks to reach a distinct audience with the good news;

And Simon Peter, bold preacher of Pentecost and leader in the Book of Acts, martyred -- by crucifixion, it is said -- in Rome, under Nero.

"Do you love me? Then take care of my sheep, my vulnerable ones."

If you love God, you're going to be sent on a mission. In spite of your imperfections -- and even through your imperfections, through your uniqueness, you will be sent on a mission.

***

Were you here last week? Do you remember the song?

I went to pray at the local cafe,
Studyin' about Your good ol' way
And who shall know the love of God?
Good Lord, show me the way.

O brothers, let's go down,
Let's go down, come on down.
Come on, sisters, let's go down,
Down to the local cafe.

Down to the cafe to pray.

Did you go to your local cafe -- or some other public place -- and pay attention, and pray? What did you discover?

I walked away from the pulpit last Sunday wishing I could be engaged in a conversation with each one of you over the week about how this exercise went for you, to encourage you to keep practicing, keep praying, keep noticing the people around you and keep asking God to reveal their hurts and hungers to you. And if it's impossible to be in conversation with that many people, then I wished that each one of your could be engaged in such a conversation with someone else. So while time won't allow us to create the entire experience of a Wesleyan class meeting, I do want you to take just a couple minutes here to connect with two or three other people seated near you. I know the pews can make it awkward, and if mobility is a challenge, let someone else come to you. Please respond to this question:

Where and in whom did God tug at your heartstrings this week?

(Allow time for sharing)

Now, if you're on this journey with me you've just shared something that you're going to be held accountable for. You've just named your restlessness. I want you to keep praying for that situation or that person. You might imagine the Holy Spirit covering them like a blanket or a shield of protection. If you're especially eager, pray for more than one, or for a whole community, but at least try one.

If you enjoyed the sharing, and if you do Facebook, I invite you to continue this conversation at Facebook Community Church, a little experiment I'm doing online in creating and deepening community. You can find a link on our church website's home page. (Enough with the shameless plugs!)

***

The video I'm about to show you might spark a prayer or two. The film maker went out on the street and asked folks, "What is Easter? What does it mean?" and got these responses:

(Video: "What is Easter?")

Why is it that the most articulate people in these "person on the street" interview videos are always the homeless guys? They've got something to teach the rest of us. They know the true meaning of the resurrection: you can always begin again. Always. As long as you have breath in you, you can always begin again.

If there's just one thing you take away from today's message, I hope it's that: you can always begin again.

I attended a presentation for the community by Dr. Ken Ginsburg, a prominent pediatrician who spoke at Gunn High School a couple weeks ago. The "one thing" I took away from his talk was this: "If a problem can be solved with time or money, it isn't a catastrophe." We need to teach young people this. They need to be reminded of this wisdom by the caring adults in their lives. It's a sign of maturity when we recognize this truth -- and even learning this can bring a great deal of hope.

But what about the things that can't be resolved with time or money? What then? That is what Easter is for. Easter is about the promise that even the catastrophes are not the end. That God is with us through the things that can't be fixed by ourselves -- the addictions, the broken relationships, the grief and heartbreak and disappointment in life. And God is with us through the things that never can be fixed. We cannot rescue ourselves. It's not about biding our time. We are simply loved, as we are. There's nothing we can say or do to earn it. And maybe it's because those homeless brothers have been there -- where things can't be fixed -- and have found themselves still breathing, still able to start again -- that they know (those in the videos, at least, and I've heard the same sentiments from brothers like them in conversation myself, over and over, so I believe it) they know that God is love. They know that God forgives. They know, like Peter, that God sees everything we are, and still doesn't give up on us.

And we are simply to love in response. Love God, and love humanity.

You can always begin again. God loves you in your imperfection and uniqueness. God forgives. And if you love God, God calls you out in turn, to love, to forgive, to take care of the vulnerable, to be the hands and feet and heart of Jesus. Amen.

return to top

Living Easter in the Real World - Week 1 - Friended By God - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text & Audio)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's April 11, 2010 sermon.

The reading was John 20:19-31.

This is the first sermon in the Living Easter in the Real World post-Easter sermon series. Read and listen to the other sermons in this series.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

"Friended By God "
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Rev. Laurie McHugh

We begin a new sermon series today which really builds on the stories we've been reflecting on since the beginning of Holy Week, the period in our church year that is so packed, and so multisensory, even in the most traditional of worship settings. It's funny that we jam so much into this time, given that so much of the gospel real estate is dedicated to this part of the Jesus story. Something like a third of the gospel of Mark, and fully half of the gospel of John, from which we're reading last week, this week and next, is dedicated to telling about the last weeks of Jesus' time on earth. We pack a lot in here in our worship, lots of important memories and images and experiences and stories. The risk is that we might be like those described in the poem of the video -- we might take just a tiny piece of it, whatever is convenient or simple or easy to digest, perhaps, and then go on about our regular hectic lives without having fully grasped the life-changing significance of the story and the event we've been through.

So one purpose behind this series is to do a little unpacking, to sit with the resurrection story a little longer, to make sure it doesn't get away from us in the rush and blur of the past two weeks, and lost in the rush and blur of everyday life that hits us every Monday morning.

We'll be continuing to read stories of the resurrection through the eyes of different witnesses who were close to Jesus. Last week, it was the unnamed "disciple whom Jesus loved," (traditionally that's been thought to be the author of the gospel, John himself), who saw the open tomb and the empty grave clothes and immediately believed. And we also heard from Mary Magdalene, whose grief blinded her until Jesus appeared and called her by name. Next week we'll look at the resurrection through the eyes of Peter. Today, on what is typically the lowest attendance Sunday of the year (did you know that? I guess it's not just pastors who get exhausted by all the church activity of Holy Week!), we hear Easter from the perspective of Thomas.

Talk about multisensory: here's a story that is loaded with sensory details. Who was here for our Holy Thursday event? You know, this story could just as easily have been told in such a setting: in a dark, dim, closed space -- a lot of people think it was the same space, the Upper Room, where the Last Supper took place. It's a place where the air is heavy with emotion: fear, memory, confusion. And Jesus appears, standing among the disciples gathered there, and he breathes on them. What a detail!

I've been reading a book about worship for folks with "post modern" sensibilities -- author Dan Kimball coins the phrase "vintage worship" -- and this is one of those stories that lends itself well to telling in such a way. Go back to Holy Thursday, if you were there, or imagine crowded, dark, confusion, the smell of fear, and imagine the tactile nature of Jesus' presence and response: to breathe, to show the hands and side. It's an experience one would not want to miss.

But Thomas does, the first time around.

Thomas gets a bit of a bad rap, I think. He's forever been labeled The Doubter. Doubting Thomas. The scripture doesn't explain why he's not in the room with the others. He may have been out on an errand. He may have been the bravest of the bunch; there's some scriptural support for that, as one of the few other places he's mentioned speaking, in John 11:16, Thomas is urging the disciples to come along with Jesus to the tomb of Lazarus, where Jesus will raise Lazarus from the dead and draw the fire of the authorities, "so that we may die with him." Maybe Thomas had gone on with life as usual, didn't get the memo about the events of that Easter morning. John doesn't tell us. He neither excuses nor condemns Thomas. And, in fact, Thomas' story is for you and me. His story is there for everyone who wasn't there the first time, the ones who didn't see, the ones who didn't get the chance to touch, the ones who didn't feel the breath of Spirit.

Jesus calls them blessed.

Blessed are the doubters. Blessed are the practical. Blessed are the busy. Blessed are the brave. Blessed are those who aren't always there in the gathering. Blessed are those who are firm and even ridiculous in their resistance to grace. Jesus will have them, too.

Jesus might have to use a different method with them, but Jesus will have them, too.

Blessed are those who aren't here today.

Blessed are those who don't "do" religious gatherings -- or not on a regular basis.

Blessed are those who are distrustful of organized religion.

Blessed are those who nurse preconceived notions of "church" as rigid, close-minded, judgmental, hypocritical, uncaring, boring, not for them.

Blessed are those who are yet hungry for a word of grace, a touch, a breath, an experience of acceptance in spite of their doubts, in spite of their brokenness, in spite of anything they have done.

Christ can open the door for these blessed ones. And he might use you.

One of the spiritual practices I've begun in my life since coming to Palo Alto has been to spend some time each week sitting in a coffee house or some other place where local people hang out. I don't go there for the beverage. I go to pay attention. I'm not just people watching; sometimes I'm studying or journaling or working on a sermon. But I'm also observing and praying. I ask God to show me what's going on in my life here in this community, and I ask God to stir up in my heart a restlessness for the people around me.

A couple weeks ago I was thus engaged, and a tune a group used to sing sometimes back in Burlingame came to my mind. You might know the song if you ever saw the film "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" It's a simple old gospel song called "Down to the River to Pray." Well, a new set of words came to me, and I hope you'll indulge me and sing along when you get it:

I went to pray at the local cafe,
Studyin' about Your good ol' way
And who shall know the love of God?
Good Lord, show me the way.

O brothers, let's go down,
Let's go down, come on down.
O brothers, let's go down,
Down to the local cafe.

The original words to the song were about baptism, an invitation to come to a holy place in worship. I think the song came to my mind because any place can become a holy place and a place of worship, when we open ourselves to the presence of God. God can open our eyes any place. And God will go to the places where we go. God goes before us. God goes to the places where the lost and lonely are living out their days, and calls us to follow so that we might come alongside. God prepares our hearts to be ready with an answer for the reason for our hope. God has already befriended these folks, whether they know it or not. And God's just waiting for us to befriend them, too -- waiting for the opportunity to make a connection and to make grace real.

I went to pray at the local cafe,
Studyin' about Your good ol' way
And who shall know the love of God?
Good Lord, show me the way.

O sisters, let's go down,
Let's go down, come on down.
O sisters, let's go down,
Down to the local cafe.

Who are the Thomases in your life -- the ones who dissect the faith, the family members with whom you hesitate to talk about matters of faith, the co-worker who is always worried, the boss with the temper, the neighbor who seems so self-reliant? We've all got some in our lives. They are gifts to help you grow. They are opportunities waiting to ripen when God opens the door.

I went to pray at the local cafe,
Studyin' about Your good ol' way
And who shall know the love of God?
Good Lord, show me the way.

O fathers, let's go down,
Let's go down, come on down.
O fathers, let's go down,
Down to the local cafe.

Then there are the Thomases whose names you probably don't even know -- the 60 to 80 percent of the folks you see every day who are just like those friends and neighbors. They don't have a place to turn when things get tough because they don't have a relationship with a faith community. They don't even know your name, but they are walking this earth right next to you -- serving you coffee, fixing your car, buying the same groceries, walking their kids to the same activities.

I went to pray at the local cafe,
Studyin' about Your good ol' way
And who shall know the love of God?
Good Lord, show me the way.

O mothers, let's go down,
Let's go down, come on down.
O mothers, let's go down,
Down to the local cafe.

Down to the cafe to pray.

Write them down -- those you notice. There's a tear-out in your bulletin today; write some down now. The names of people in your life, the descriptions of people you see in your "local cafe." Pray for them with holy imagination. Ask God to speak. You don't have to do any talking yet, though you might pray for the ability to listen. Take that little slip of paper and put it in your purse of pocket. Add to the list. Carry it around with you this week. Pray for God's Spirit to cover your community. Let's see what happens. Let's see what might be discovered.

God is longing to connect with the dear Thomases of this world. God has already been laying the groundwork, just by working in your life. This network of friends of God has already been started, and there are plenty of places to connect in. You are one of those connection points. There's a vast potential. I've read the book; God wins! Peace be with you. Amen.

return to top

Sermon Series - Living Easter in the Real World

Revs. Michael Love, Laurie McHugh preached the post-Easter sermon series, Living Easter in the Real World, over three Sundays beginning on April 11, 2010.

Read and listen to the three sermons in the series:

April 11, 2010 - Friended by God - The Rev. Laurie McHugh
April 18, 2010 - There's An App for That - The Rev. Laurie McHugh
April 25, 2010 - Do You Know the Way to Sim City? - The Rev. Michael Love

return to top

Let Us Fix Our Eyes on Jesus: Triumph - Week 6 - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Audio)

Listen to Pastor Laurie's March 28, 2010, Palm Sunday sermon.

The reading was Luke 19:28-40.

This is the sixth sermon in the Let Us Fix Our Eyes on Jesus Lenten sermon series. Read and listen to the other sermons in this series.

return to top

Sermon Series - Let Us Fix Our Eyes on Jesus

Revs. Michael Love, Laurie McHugh and Robert Hamerton-Kelly preached the Lenten sermon series, Let Us Fix Our Eyes on Jesus, over six Sundays beginning on February 21, 2010.

Read and listen to the six sermons in the series:

February 21, 2010 - Turning the Corner - The Rev. Michael Love
February 28, 2010 - Repentence - The Rev. Michael Love
March 7, 2010 - Forgiveness - The Rev. Dr. Robert Hamerton-Kelly
March 14, 2010 - Reconciliation - The Rev. Michael Love
March 21, 2010 - Rebirth - The Rev. Michael Love
March 28, 2010 - Triumph - The Rev. Laurie McHugh

return to top

Of Mountaintops and Valleys - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text & Audio)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's February 14, 2010 sermon for Transfiguration Sunday.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

"Of Mountaintops and Valleys"
Message for Transfiguration Sunday, February 14, 2010
Rev. Laurie McHugh

A quick reading of the three gospel accounts of the Transfiguration reveals certain differences -- some trivial, others, maybe not -- between Matthew, Mark, and Luke. In reading the gospels generally, when they do differ like this, I like to pay attention to the differences, because that's where I think that the gospel writer wanted to communicate something of particular significance to his readers, things that reveal what was important to the first audience and important to the author about who Jesus was.

Without going into minute detail with all three passages, let me just point out what I notice in Luke's version of the story:

• The subject of conversation between Jesus, Moses and Elijah -- that is, what Jesus was about to do in Jerusalem -- is only mentioned here. That's a little enticing, and it sets us up nicely for where Jesus is headed next -- toward Jerusalem and toward the cross. And as Lent begins next week it's a fitting text to point us in that direction (which is Luke's intention, as well).

• But the disciples are asleep during this conversation, so I have to wonder how the author heard about this, or if he was taking a little creative license to make a theological point -- one, about where they all are heading, but two, about how aware -- or not -- the disciples are of all this. As opposed to Matthew and Mark's versions, Jesus' appearance doesn't change before their eyes, but while they're asleep, and they awaken to find him like that, with the two prophets. And in contrast to other stories about the disciples falling asleep while Jesus was off praying (like in Gethsemane), Jesus doesn't wake them himself, doesn't shout "wake up!" or scold them.

• In fact, Jesus doesn't say anything in this account! He doesn't order the disciples not to tell anyone, and he doesn't need to; nor do they ask any questions as they do in the other two versions of this story. There are no additional explanations. The disciples are simply left speechless.

1. This transfiguration has something to do with the cross.
2. The disciples are asleep, and wake up naturally, without special prodding from Jesus.
3. There's little explanation from Jesus, and the experience leaves them speechless.

I'm going to try not to presume here, and simply ask: do you think you've had a mountaintop experience -- a time when you've felt particularly "awake," or experienced a deep awareness of a cosmic God?

One of my colleagues described his this: he remembered he was in worship; I believe it was during Annual Conference, of all settings, back when it was held on the campus of the University of the Pacific. All the voices were raised in song, and suddenly my friend heard other voices singing with the gathered congregation, and he was convinced deep down in his soul that these voices were those of all the saints, the faithful who had gone before, singing with them. It rather shocked my normally intellectual friend -- or perhaps the better word to describe it is "awe."

That same colleague once shared the story of a parishioner who was standing at her kitchen sink, gazing absently out the window, when she was gripped by a hard-to-describe feeling put into the words, "all is one." She tried to tell others about it, and folks thought she was crazy, but somehow, that didn't matter to her.
Many parents describe the moment of giving birth as a transcendent, mystical experience. Some "mountaintops" occur in extraordinary moments; others are profoundly ordinary moments which are mysteriously infused with an awareness of divinity.

I hope you won't think me arrogant or nutty. I've experienced both the extraordinary (I've been on actual mountaintops, and it's a pretty apt metaphor, because it nearly always happens to me there) and the very ordinary. Like the disciples, I feel like I wake up; there's this deep awareness that God's been doing all this stuff that I'm just connecting with for a moment. I'm left speechless and calm. And like Peter, I also want it to last, and I treasure reminders of the moment. What I've found is that the next time ties me to the times before, brings me right back to the other moments of deep awareness of God like some mystical dejá vu, and everything else falls away. I come home to God and it's as if I've never left.

A few weeks ago I attended the Earl Lectures at Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley. Like many lecture series, it's an annual event at the seminary (a tradition over a hundred years old!) to which an influential person, or two or three, is invited to speak on a selected topic. This year the title was "Spiritual But Not Religious: Chasing the Divine" and featured Matthew Fox, Scotty McLenan and others. When I go to continuing education events, I like to bring back something I've learned so you can hold me accountable for the investment made in enabling me to go. One thing lifted up by the speakers was the value of mysticism -- something that seminaries might teach about but seldom teach students to practice. One conclusion drawn from many participants was that our religion needs to be more spiritual -- or perhaps mystical is the better "religious" word than the generic, now-made-secular word "spiritual" -- in order to reach, at an authentic level, those outside the church who call themselves "spiritual but not religious." This is an area of great potential for us -- for evangelism, for revitalizing our own church life, and for tooling to face the pace of change in our world with serenity and faith.

I was encouraged, by that lecture series, to embrace my own inner mystic. I've heard this as a call since then, and it's been weaving its way into my devotional life over these past weeks. I believe doing so is something valuable I offer for the advancement of the Gospel and of the Church to others and to the world -- and at the same time it's something that nurtures me.

Also since then, I've been experiencing "mountaintops" all over the place. Perhaps it's because I've been paying more attention.

One of the strangest happened when I was watching Avatar. How many of you have seen it? The film touches on so many themes that are important to me, reflecting my history, interests and passions: care of the earth, creation and sustainability; valuing, protecting and preserving native cultures; respecting all, since all have something to offer even if in the "world's" eyes -- or in the view of the dominant culture -- they may be seen as damaged goods; the need for balance, harmony and nonviolence, personally and interpersonally. It's a beautiful film, visually and musically, which is often an avenue for me into the awareness of God's presence. But I was still surprised when the "mountaintop" came, ironically, in the midst of the most violent part of the film, in a grand battle scene.

The scene I'm about to show you is not that scene; I couldn't get that one. But I'm showing this one because it provides a little flavor, and it's a set up for the one that transported me. Just a little background: the main character, Jake Sully, is a disabled ex-marine given a second chance at a productive life when he's invited to take the place of his murdered twin brother, a scientist who was part of an investigative team on Pandora, a mysterious planet light years away, which has captured the attention of Earth in its interplanetary explorations. Having discovered a valuable ore there, aptly called "unobtainium," a mining company has arrogantly proceeded to establish strip mining operations, much to the chagrin and horror of the planet's natives, who treat everything on their planet as sacred. The miners are assisted by brutal Earth military. The expedition also includes these scientists, who are trying to learn about the planet's flora and the native culture, and who are sympathetic to the plight of the Pandorans. They have developed a way for a few human scientists to kind of virtually "inhabit" a genetically engineered native body (called an Avatar), so that they might safely breathe the toxic air, freely move in the forest, conduct their studies, and communicate with the people. Our hero is thus assigned, and gains the trust of a tribal chief's daughter, who is tasked with teaching him. In this scene, she is teaching him about the flying creatures her people partner with for hunting.

It may be difficult to catch the dialogue and a little dark, but that doesn't matter too much. As you watch, I hope you'll catch a sensation more than anything. The girl is explaining that these creatures bond with only one hunter in their lifetime, and that the creature chooses its partner. Excited, Jake asks, when will he experience this? And she replies, "When you are ready."

(Show scene)

As the story progresses and the miners get closer to their goal, the situation escalates to violence, and Jake is forced to take sides. In this terrific battle scene, Jake tames a legendary and much larger flying creature, and as I watched Jake and his new mount fling themselves into the path of danger, I felt the thrill of risk, of giving it all for a greater-than-self cause, of conviction, no thought to "what if" or ultimate outcome, total trust in God in the moment, without fear: focused, centered, "prayed up" the night before, even in the face of rejection by both peoples. Nothing to lose, no care of personal gain.

And I thought: that's how I want to live. That's the kind of leader I want to be -- all for God's glory.

I was transported beyond the violence of the warrior to the passion. And I connected, in that moment, with the heartbeat of the universe.

Now lest you think me a shallow technophile, let me tell you this is not an uncommon experience for me, and in much different settings: at church camp, in nature, in worship, in prayer, human faces and relationships and commonplace experiences -- all are portals to the Holy for me. But since I've given myself permission to be a mystic, the moments of transcendence are happening more frequently; I put myself in the place for them to happen by my practice of attentiveness. And this is not forced; it's just allowed. I'm realizing I can take the mountain with me, for wherever I am, God is, and I just show up.

Scottish theologian Henry Drummond says this about mountaintop experiences: “God does not make the mountains in order to be inhabited. God does not make the mountaintops for us to live on the mountaintops. It is not God’s desire that we live on the mountaintops. We only ascend to the heights to catch a broader vision of the earthly surroundings below. But we don’t live there. We don’t tarry there. The streams begin in the uplands, but these streams descend quickly to gladden the valleys below.”¹

What is experienced on the mountaintop effects the life in the valleys.

Consider the experience of Blaise Pascal -- the seventeenth-century French mathematician, scientist, and religious philosopher. In the course of his 39 years, he made scientific discoveries which are the basis of much of our contemporary knowledge. But for Pascal the greatest reality was not what he discovered in the lab, but what he found in his communion with God, when he was "fully awake." On the evening of Monday, November 23, 1654, he felt this so intensely that he wrote:

God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob.
Not of the Philosophers and Scientists.
Certainty, Certainty, Feeling Joy, Peace.
God of Jesus Christ.
Wanting to keep a reminder of that moment close to him always, Pascal copied these words on parchment and sewed it into the lining of his coat, where it was found by his servant after his death. ²

You may rightly ask: So what? What good do these mountaintop experiences do? What are they for?

Barbara Brown Taylor, an acclaimed preacher, author and teacher of religion and spirituality, and recently named one of the country's top 10 living pastors, in a Christian Century article entitled "Dazzling Darkness," suggests that Jesus himself learned something on that Transfiguration day, something that he passed on at the occasion of his crucifixion through his words of hope to the thief on his right: "Today, you will be with me in Paradise." She describes the Transfiguration of Jesus as "when light burst through all his seams and showed him what he was made of," and says: "It was something he never forgot. If we have been allowed to intrude on that moment, it is because someone thought we might need a dose of glory too, to get us through the night."³

A dose of glory to get us through the night. Perhaps the more faithfully we follow the call of Jesus, the closer we get to the reality of the cross and its blazing darkness, the more we need to be shown what we are made of. When these moments happen, I feel affirmed, yes -- and renewed and re-inspired to live out my call. But I also believe that the world is brought closer to the point of transformation, too. Because I am open to God's presence and power, the place, the situation, the people around me are bathed in God's grace and power too -- whether they know it at a cognitive level or not. I can be a quiet warrior and passionate healer -- and so can you.

You, my friends, are God's beloved. Wake up to it! Share it with your loved ones and with common strangers. The world will be transformed -- and is in fact being transformed now. Amen.

(Show second video)

_____________________

¹Drummond (1851-1897) is also the author of Natural Law in the Spiritual World, the argument of which is that the scientific principle of continuity extends from the physical world to the spiritual; he exercised particular religious influence on young men in his generation. Source: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Drummond_(1851–1897) 2/12/2010

² J. Ellsworth Kalas, Sermons on the Gospel Readings, Cycle C, CSS Publishing Company

³"Dazzling Darkness," article in the Christian Century, February 4-11, 1998, page 1-5.

return to top

Christmas: The Sequel - Week 4 - Who is the Christmas Story About? - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text & Audio)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's January 24, 2010 sermon.

The reading was Matthew Matthew 5:1-16 (The Beatitides).

This is the fourth sermon in the Christmas: The Sequel series. Read and listen to the other sermons in this series.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

"Who Was the Christmas Story About?"
Message for "Christmas: The Sequel" Series
January 24, 2010
Rev. Laurie McHugh
Text: Matthew 5 (The Beatitudes)

We left last Sunday's message with the very comforting image of Jesus born for us because he walked the same path, and faced the same temptations, that we do. We were encouraged with the promise that, "Because Jesus did it, we can do it, too." It was a powerful worship celebration for me in that context, for as we lifted up the suffering and pain of the people of Haiti, we heard a positive challenge to do something meaningful to respond. And I trust that you have.

I was further buoyed up by the celebration of Sunday afternoon, when we packed about a thousand people into this sanctuary, including something like 200 in the entryway, a standing-room-only crowd honoring the work and dream of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. As I said that afternoon to those assembled, "The Spirit of God [wa]s in the house."

Now, many people take equal comfort and feel equally good vibes from the gospel lesson Michael read for us today, that passage of scripture known as the Beatitudes, from Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. Many like to picture an idyllic scene, Jesus surrounded by quiet, patient listeners, all hanging on his every word, and everyone responding with smiles and sighs. People print this passage (with the traditional words of the King James or Revised Standard, usually) on bookmarks with pretty lettering. And many walk away from the reading self-satisfied and content -- much the way they often do from a candlelit Christmas Eve service, with visions of peaceful faces and strains of heavenly music in their heads.

But look again. Listen closely. All is not as the childhood picture paints it here. There are shadows and stirrings of trouble, some more overt than subtle. There's some unpacking that needs to be done.

It's the same with Christmas.

A friend I was confirmed with -- she and I were the first pastors to come out of the congregation of our growing up -- sent me a very special Christmas card several years ago that I've never forgotten. I might have kept it, at least for a year or two, (though I haven't been able to locate it in the two or three moving shuffles since, and I wish I could find it now), but even that wasn't necessary, for the powerful visual message has been etched indelibly on my mind. I went looking for some similar image on the Internet this week, and I can really only approximate it on the screen. The card should have been a best seller; I should see boxes of them available every year, but alas, it's not a message our culture really wants to hear.

What I don't remember is the verse on the card -- it could have been John 3:16, "For God so loved the world," or a verse from a carol. In any case, I hope I've built up the suspense sufficiently, or at least so perked your curiosity, that that won't matter. Are you ready to see it?

The front of the card bore this image: a newborn footprint in black. "Ah..." As I turned to the inside, I was met by an image like this: a bloody adult hand print, with a prominent hole in the center.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

One of my senior pastor colleagues shared with me his approach to preaching Christmas and Holy Week based on advice he'd received from an older colleague years ago: "Preach Easter on Christmas and Christmas on Easter." What he meant is that it's important to remind folks on Christmas that this is a child who was born to die for us -- to preach the cross at the stable -- and on Easter to lift up the humanity of Jesus -- the man who was once a little child who did this for us, with a body crucified and resurrected. I've amended that to a policy of "Preach Good Friday on Christmas, and Christmas on Good Friday," which seems to fit better for me, though the principle is the same. So as we're unpacking "Christmas: The Sequel," it's time for the rude wake up call.

Who is the Christmas story about? Who is this Jesus? Is he warm and fuzzy? Cuddly? Your best friend? Is it -- is the life of the Christian disciple -- all about "Me and Jesus," as some I've known are wont to say? Jesus, my buddy? My homeboy? A God figure who never criticizes, never challenges, heals me, forgives me even if I don't examine myself or see anything wrong with the way I'm living? Who never speaks out against the status quo -- in my society, or in my lifestyle? Is Jesus all about feeling good, soft and compassionate, the way people often paint and praise him, and how they recite or read or remember The Beatitudes?

Then let me ask this: why did they crucify him? Why did Herod order his soldiers to kill every male child in Bethlehem and the surrounding area after the wise men left town? Was it all about paranoia? Were they all so misguided? Why was he a threat?

You see, I think Herod knew more than we think. I think he wasn't so short-sighted and ego-driven as we like to make him out to be. I think his bloodthirstiness in Matthew chapter two is a foreshadowing of what's to come. And just three chapters later, Matthew shares Jesus' famous sermon as well as his words to his inside circle, and it's meant to be more provocative than we want it to be. It's meant to tell "the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help us, God."

And the truth is Jesus is not warm and fuzzy. He is healing and compassionate, and he accompanies us in suffering, but he's also tough with us. He calls us to higher and better things, but that doesn't mean comfort. He prods us to places where we will also know suffering and persecution, where there is loss and pain and exhaustion, where work for the kingdom is hard, where it's more than we could possibly do on our own. He confronts the status quo and makes the powers and principalities uncomfortable -- and makes us uncomfortable, too, if we're honest! Accountability is not enticing to us; it's arduous.

I love reading The Beatitudes from Eugene Peterson's The Message so I can really hear it again. Peterson has a way of stripping off the pretty gloss that lulls me into complacence. The "plain speak" makes me pay attention. "You're blessed," Jesus says, "when you're at the end of your rope" (Matt 5:3, MSG). You're blessed when you've lost everything, when you've given it all away, because then there is room for God to take over and fill up the empty spaces that we're inclined to fill up with all the wrong things: power, self, acquisition, a "fix," the illusion of control. When it's not about what you can do anymore, it becomes about what God can do, and that lends a power to it -- to life -- that's amazing. That's what blessing is.

It's not by accident that these words arise from a specific context and are directed to a narrowly targeted audience. Let's look at the text again: "When Jesus saw his ministry drawing huge crowds..." (Matt 5:1); that's when this teaching appears. He took this moment to seize an opportunity -- not to preach to those large crowds, but to set matters straight with his "committed climbing companions." He wanted to be clear with them that this was not about gaining glory or popularity or prestige, because the crowds were coming, and the sight could be deceiving. Some of them were going to get it. Some were going to be fed. Some were going to find a purpose and a true, spiritually abundant life. And others were going to resist, to hear threat, to turn and pick up swords or stones or political devices of destruction. And it wouldn't just be the most influential, or those who had the most to lose, who saw and heard the threat. Anyone seeking just a regular life could miss the deeper and more difficult call, and be disturbed.

They'd be looking and listening for different things. Which would his followers, the committed, be looking for in Jesus?

Comfort, or call?
Preference, or purpose?
Goodies, or grace?
Your own personal pastor, or public prophet?
Exhilaration, or exile?
Competition, or completion?
Health, or holiness?
Success, or stress?
Pride, or peace?
"Just for me," or justice?
Power, or persecution?
Vindication, or vitality?
Jaunt, or life journey?
Benefit, or true blessing?

They would find both in his words and person, but a difference in degree, depending on their focus. Whether it's "Jesus for me," for "Jesus for the world;" and whether it's "What's in it for me," or "What my transformation might offer the world," is the discipleship question.

What are you looking for?

Amen.

return to top

Sermon Series - Christmas: The Sequel - Revs. Michael Love and Laurie McHugh

The Rev. Michael Love and the Rev. Laurie McHugh preached the sermon series, Christmas: The Sequel, over the seven Sundays beginning on December 27, 2009.

Read and listen to the six sermons in the series:

December 27, 2009 - Christmas : The Sequel - The Rev. Michael Love
January 10, 2010 - How Is the Christmas Story "True - The Rev. Michael Love
January 17, 2010 - Why is the Christmas Story "True"?? - The Rev. Michael Love
January 24, 2010 - Who is the Christmas Story About? - The Rev. Laurie McHugh
January 31, 2010 - What Ever Happened to the Christmas Story? - The Rev. Michael Love
February 7, 2010 - The Christmas Story Now - The Rev. Michael Love

return to top

Homily for Christmas Eve 2009 - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's Christmas Eve, December 24, 2009 sermon. This was given at the 8:30pm service

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

Homily for Christmas Eve 2009, 8:30 pm
December 24, 2009
Rev. Laurie McHugh
Text: Luke 2:1-20

Earlier this week a church member forwarded me an email story about one mother's memorable church Christmas pageant; there may be as many of these stories as there are mothers, and half of them are making the rounds on the Internet, I'll bet. You've probably read some yourself -- though, I imagine, perhaps not as many as I have, since people like to share these with their pastor, and many such stories also make their way into the various Christian publications I read. You can guess at the humorous details: bathrobe-clad children who get their lines mixed up due to confusion over the King James language ("swaddled" clothes interpreted as "dirty, rotten" clothes); kids alternately paralyzed by stage fright or squabbling in full view of the congregation; props malfunctioning or dropped (in this case, it was a Baby Jesus doll bouncing down the center aisle, emitting a pitiful "maa-maa" with every bounce) -- all to the embarrassment or hilarity of parents and onlookers alike. For most of us, these things are what make such events memorable and dear.



What sets the stage for these amusing tales is the amount of fussiness we often go to in an effort to make a so-called "perfect" Christmas. From lights and tinsel hung just right, to mixing the ingredients for grandma's prize-winning recipe, to wrapping up a just-right present, we tend to pull out all the stops and wear ourselves down to a frazzle in the process. And against all this, in our near-exhaustion, we hope: for the children to be on their best behavior, for Dad and Uncle George to get along for once, for the pain of loss, disappointment, and anxiety for the future to just go away. If we do it "right," we think, then it will be a Merry Christmas.



But what we need to be reminded of is this: Jesus wasn't a plastic doll. The place where the animals were kept, and where the child was born, wasn't clean, and neither were the shepherds, who were considered among the lowest of the low in the ranks of first-century village society. Baby Jesus soiled his diaper, and he cried and skinned his knee. He was born totally dependent and helpless, just like you and me. And this was God's choice, to become one of us, God with us, so that we might know that we are not alone. And grace is found in the ordinary. And hope is found in the ordinary. And light shines in the ordinary.

What that means is the God who created the universe knows us as we really are, frail and ordinary, complicated and full of potential, and God longs to be in relationship with us. God’s arms stretch out to embrace all who long for home and safety. From the comfort of those arms we can, in turn, reach out with confidence and trust, to extend grace to other frail and ordinary people. We can trust God enough to do this.

Whether that good news breaks in through a minor mishap, or a big one, through people just being people or a kid just being a kid, may you receive it as good news. May your eyes be opened this Christmas, once again, to the abundant love of the God who loves you, warts and all. And may your heart be opened to the imperfect ones in your midst. Merry Christmas. Amen.

return to top

God's Christmas Gift to You: Joy - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text & Audio)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's December 20, 2009 sermon.

This is the fourth sermon in their Jesus is the Gift series. Read and listen to the other sermons in this series.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

"God's Christmas Gift to You: Joy"
Message for 4th Sunday in Advent, December 20, 2009
Rev. Laurie McHugh
Text: Luke 1:39-56

The "Attentiveness" small group study we held for a number of weeks this autumn helped me fall in love with the devotional practice called lectio divina, which means "sacred reading" and is most associated with the Benedictine tradition. It's an approach to listening to God through reading a short portion of scripture a couple of times, noting a word, phrase, or image that catches your attention, and repeating it in your mind to let it sink in and insights unfold. I admit I'm sort of an eclectic when it comes to spiritual practices; for a season I'll be drawn to centering prayer, or movement, or intercession, and then something will shift in me, and I find myself needing to try something else; I'll become more distracted, or just need a change to reconnect more deeply with God's presence. I've tried lectio divina at different times in my life with varying results and varying degrees of satisfaction. Thanks to this class, and to deciding to use Eugene Peterson's The Message paraphrase as I read this time around, I've been finding the practice to be very fruitful during this period of my life.

Practicing lectio divina in a group setting is a neat experience. If you'd like to learn more about it, just let me know!

Anyway, it was because of my positive experience with the lectio "homework assignments" from the Attentiveness study that I found myself reading through the first chapter of Luke this week from The Message, perhaps for the first time. (I've got a lot of Bible translations, as you might expect, and while I love The Message for reading in worship, I usually pick up a more scholarly, precise translation -- or even Greek or Hebrew -- for times of study.) Well, that lectio divina habit has been well-ingrained now, and as I read with fresh eyes and ears, as The Message often leads me to do, two words sort of caught on my heart. Does that ever happen to you? You're in a conversation, or watching a film, or reading a book, and some phrase catches, gets hooked on the line in your brain, and doesn't stop tugging at you? That's sort of how it is with me. And because I was reading The Message, a word that is not in most translations, and that was repeated more than once in Peterson's version of the story, leaped out at me: that word was suprise. It was paired with the word joy.

Now, I've got to tell you, I don't much like surprises. It seems to me that surprises, all too often, mean I'm going to have to adjust my plans. Surprise! Tim's work schedule has changed, or he has to travel somewhere else on short notice. Surprise! Somebody's sick, or somebody's mad, and I need to respond. Surprise! The car won't start, or there's a suspicious noise all of a sudden. Something's broken that needs fixing. Worst of all are surprises that pop up in church meetings -- I don't even want to go there! I just like to be prepared, and I'm not fond of wrenches being thrown into my busy life.

But this is life for a mother, and to a large degree, it's life for a pastor. I remember one of my teaching pastors saying long ago, "We are paid to have time," and that's stuck with me. There's a whole load of unrealistic expectations that can go with that, and it's important to have some boundaries, but there's often a precious opportunity for ministry that happens with surprises, and openness to those opportunities is indeed part of the work. Sometimes it's in those interruptions that the most teachable moments come. That's true for the work of parenting, too.

Katie opened a cabinet this week and discovered an unmarked, wrapped Christmas present. She needled and wheeldled me, first playfully, then with more vigor, trying to get information beyond "Who's it for?" to "What is it?" and then, in frustration, she declared with great authority: "I don't like surprises," and I had to think she got this from me. She later amended her statement to "When it comes to gifts, I don't like surprises." Having received my fair share of disappointing, impractical, or overly extravagant presents, there's something I resonate with in her sentiment. While I knew that, in Katie's case, she's just impatient for Christmas and is still learning about delayed gratification, I also heard in her words a truth about her personality. Since she was a baby, Katie hasn't done transitions or change smoothly. I've learned that I need to tell her every detail of what she can expect of a new experience or place -- and she gets really uncomfortable when the answer to a question is "I don't know; I've never done it before," or, "I've never been there before."

Have you ever taken a Myers-Briggs personality inventory? For those of you who have, do you remember the J-P scale? It measures folks along a continuum for a trait having to do with folk's comfort with structure, organization, rules and deadlines, versus process, spontaneity, and a more fluid view of time. Neither is right or wrong; the goal of the inventory is understanding and appreciation for the uniqueness of self and others. For this trait, I score on the border line; I swing slightly one way or the other depending on the need of the situation, and, I notice, depending on the people around me. When I'm working in a team with someone who is an extreme "P" -- someone who's often very creative, not very detail-oriented, maybe even flighty -- I shift into organized, structured-implementation-plan "J" mode. When I'm teamed up with a deadline-conscious, go-by-the-rules, habitual, even anal-retentive extreme "J" person, I swing over into process, go-with-the flow, relax-and-breathe "P" -- just to keep the team in balance. Deep down, I think I want to be a "P" -- and most of the times I've taken the Myers-Briggs that's where I end up, slightly -- but sometimes I go to "J" just to get a given job done, like get a college degree, or run a household on a weekday morning, or meet a denominational guideline.

It's when stress has made me live in "J" mode for too long that I become wary of surprises. I forget about being centered; I forget about adventure. I just get scared.

Which is why I'm particularly fascinated by Mary and Elizabeth. Amazed and a little puzzled may be more like it. If I were past childbearing years and became pregnant, joy would not be my first response -- even if I'd never had a child (perhaps even because I'd never had a child!). I've seen enough of life to know there are plenty of things that can go wrong, even in this age of modern medicine, especially for an older mother. Yet the Bible says Elizabeth spent her first five months in a state of blissful seclusion, "relishing her pregnancy," as Eugene Peterson puts it. Maybe she was being extra careful, but Luke focuses on the happiness of her "time of confinement."

And since scholars believe Luke was a physician, his attention to detail is significant. I wonder at Mary's staying with Elizabeth until just before baby John was born; I have to assume Luke would make no mistake with the counting of months, and assume that he's pointing out the timeline deliberately. Was there some obscure cultural element at work here -- some fear about young pregnant women witnessing childbirth, perhaps -- that has escaped attention with the passage of centuries? Or is Luke making some obtuse theological point about John and Jesus not meeting as infants, except in utero? I'm not sure. I just notice it. It surprises me, and I don't have an answer.

But there's no mistaking the significance Elizabeth places on her unborn child's movement in the womb when Mary's voice calls out at the gate. To Elizabeth, one attuned to miracles, little John's kick (or leap? or elbow in the ribs?) is a confirmation, both of how special her child is (no surprise there; most moms are looking for such signs when they're pregnant, and later), but of how special Mary's is. Luke tells the story as if Elizabeth hasn't even received word of Mary's coming or of her condition, except by supernatural means. And again, on that score, I am neither dubious nor certain.

What I do want to lift up about the way Luke tells this story is that these women, who were of little account to most in their world -- an old barren woman, a young unmarried girl -- responded to the great surprises and upsets in their world in a much different manner than I would. Their poetic exclamations are peppered with passionate verbs and adverbs: skip, dance, leap, filled, bursting, exuberantly. They trusted the surprise because they believed the angel Gabriel's words: "You have nothing to fear. God has a surprise for you" (Luke 1:29, MSG).

God has a surprise for you. Elizabeth and Mary trusted surprises from God. People's surprises don't always deliver joy; they can disappoint, throw off our plans, stir up conflict and induce stress. God's surprises might bring an equal measure of turmoil and challenge, but we can trust the good will of the Source. We can trust that we will grow, and God will win. We can trust that God will be with us, and, therefore, we can expect joy.

Are you looking for God to surprise you in this holy season? Are you still enough to be surprised by joy? It might come in wandering down an unaccustomed path and discovering a light-decorated street; or going to a share a song with some elders, expecting the two or three people who signed up, and being met, instead, by a lively intergenerational group ready to spread cheer. Those were just two joys that came my way this week. God tells me: do your part, and show up. Really show up. Pay attention, and I'm there blessing you. Be open to the new and unexpected, and I'll appear in the most surprising places. Be hope. Live peace. Share love. Look for joy, and share these things with others.

Some have missed a week or two this Advent, and didn't get to hear every verse of my "Christmas Gift" song. So for today's last installment, if you'll humor me, I'm going to sing the whole piece. You'll find the words to the fourth verse printed on today's insert, with questions on the back side to read and ponder during your meditation time this week.

return to top

God's Christmas Gift to You: Hope - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text & Audio)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's November 29, 2009 sermon.

The reading was Luke 21: 25-36.

This is the first sermon in their Jesus is the Gift series. Read and listen to the other sermons in this series.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

return to top

Sermon Series - Jesus is the Gift - Revs. Michael Love and Laurie McHugh

The Rev. Michael Love and the Rev. Laurie McHugh preached the sermon series, Jesus Is The Gift, over the four Sundays of Advent beginning on November 29, 2009.

Read and listen to the four sermons in the series:

November 29, 2009 - God's Christmas Gift to You: Hope - The Rev. Laurie McHugh
December 6, 2009 - God's Christmas Gift to You: Peace - The Rev. Michael Love
December 13, 2009 - God's Christmas Gift to You: Love - The Rev. Michael Love
December 20, 2009 - God's Christmas Gift to You: Joy - The Rev. Laurie McHugh

return to top

The Ways We Care - Part 4 - Gifts - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text & Audio)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's November 8, 2009 sermon.

This is the fourth sermon in their The Ways We Care series. Read and listen to the other sermons in this series.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

The Ways We Care: Gifts - Message for November 8, 2009 by Pastor Laurie McHugh

Text: Acts 2:42-47

Believe me, we weren't trying to be sneaky when we took the church membership promises out of order in our planning for this sermon series. We could have it straight out of the book and done it as (do you remember these?) "Prayers, Presence, Gifts, Service and Witness." Then this hard talk would have been past you! But All Saints' Day lent itself to prayer, so we rearranged things. So whether you planned for it or not, whether you wanted to hear about it or not, you’ve got today’s topic. But I won’t talk long because either you will get it, or you won’t, and there’s no use belaboring the subject.

Let me just put it to you straight. There is something utterly and unspeakably sacred in the act of giving wholeheartedly. It transforms both the giver and the receiver. And it’s so powerful that it’s my belief that there is no compromise possible.

You can’t be a disciple if you haven’t converted your wallet. You can’t get around it. Hold back from the act of generous giving, and you may as well hold back from the whole enterprise. It’s a matter of the heart. You can’t give your heart to Jesus and be transformed by the Holy Spirit of grace if you hold back from the call to practicing extravagant generosity.

There's a story about a little boy who wanted to meet God. He knew it was probably going to be a long trip, so he pulled out a backpack and put in a box of Twinkies and a six-pack of root beer and he started his journey. When the little boy had gone a few blocks, he came to a park. Sitting there, staring at some pigeons, was an old woman. The boy sat down next to her and opened his backpack. He pulled out a root beer, popped the top, and was about to take a drink when he noticed that the old woman looked hungry, so he offered her a Twinkie. The woman gratefully accepted it and smiled at him. Her smile was so dazzling that the boy wanted to see it again, so he offered her a root beer. Again, she smiled at him. The boy was delighted.

They sat there all afternoon eating Twinkies and drinking root beer and smiling, but they never said a word. As it grew dark, the boy realized how tired he was and he got up to leave, but before he had gone more than a few steps, he turned around, ran back to the old woman, and gave her a hug. This time he was rewarded with the biggest smile ever.

It wasn’t long before the boy found his way home. As he opened the front door and went through to the kitchen, he met his mother, who was surprised by the look of joy on his face. She asked him, "What did you do today that made you so happy?"

He replied, "I had lunch with God." And before his mother could respond, he added, "You know what? She's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen!"
Meanwhile, the old woman, also radiant with joy, returned to the home she shared with her son. He was stunned by the look of peace on her face and he asked, "Mom, what did you do today that made you so happy?"

She replied, "I ate Twinkies in the park with God." And before the son could respond, she added, "You know, he's much younger than I expected." (Story a paraphrase from a source at esermons.com)

I tell this story because we meet God in the act of giving. Giving transforms the giver and the receiver, and its power is so compelling you can hardly put it into words; we just have to do it.

We connect with the power at the heart of the universe when we share those things that are precious to us, those things that give life: food (Twinkies and root beer or food of the more healthy variety), clothing, shelter and the money that buys these things; medicine that heals, time, knowledge, forgiveness. When we give what’s been given to us, there’s this cosmic rightness about it. Our universe responds, because we’re not looking out for “number one” anymore – we’re deliberately letting go of that preoccupation, taking the food from our own mouth and putting it into the stomach of another creature who’s equally precious, equally created. And we suddenly realize that this is what we were made for: to help one another, with no strings attached, no guarantees, simply trusting in the great Master Giver to provide the next breath, and the next, and the next. Sometimes sustenance will come by our hand, and sometimes it will come by another. We’re bound to each other. That’s the whole plan of it.

The generosity of the Early Church is probably the most distinctive, most jarring detail that is emphasized in the Book of Acts. The miracles, the bold preaching and standing up to the authorities, the daily worship, the speaking in tongues -- all of this pales in comparison to the description of how these believers sold everything they had and shared their possessions in common. It's the one thing that seems most impossible to us, the one thing that makes us stop and say, "No one could live like that anymore." It's the one thing that we want to cover over as impractical in our day and age. But I tell you, it is in this one respect that we are most missing out on the treasure of our heritage.

The fact that it chafes us so much is most telling. This is the place where our culture has us enslaved.

It is no accident that the New Testament account of the birth of the Church goes straight from Holy Spirit-filled preaching, miracles and baptisms as numbers were added to the flock, to descriptions of amazing generosity and compassion for the most vulnerable. From the beginning, faith and works went hand in hand. It was what made the new movement stand out, what made others sit up and take notice. Our heritage is being the people who care, who love God and love others equally, being the people for whom unselfish, sacrificial giving for others is an act of faith and worship.

Realizing and trusting in this is so important to our spiritual growth. There is no getting around it. It’s so important to your spiritual health that I’m going to go out on a limb here. I invite you to try giving extravagantly and generously without my getting a single benefit from it. I know times are tough and money’s tight now. But this is always going to be a stumbling block, no matter what the inflation or unemployment rate is, no matter what the Dow Jones average is, no matter what the state of the economy is. And this is of eternal importance! So I challenge you to tithe – to another church. Try it for one month. Figure out your income and give one tenth of it away to someplace else. Give it to the church down the street, to the shelter or the government of Bolivia. I don’t care where it goes so long as it leaves your hands. (Giving it to your friends and family doesn’t count! Give it where you won’t be able to ask for it back.) Practice extravagant generosity with no strings attached. I guarantee only one thing: your heart and soul will be so blessed, I don’t think you’ll want to go back.

The church asks you to give, not because we need the money for our operating expenses, to pay the pastor or fix the roof or keep the lights on, or even to help children or the poor, as much as they may need it, but because faithful people, followers of Jesus, need to give. People of faith need to let go in order to unleash the power of God in them and in the world.

This world is so different. It operates on a totally different principle. And it’s so messed up, with this “grab and hold” instinct it’s teaching.

It starts in toddlerhood, I think, when we learn one of those first words: “mine.” “That’s mine!” I know it was a long time ago, but do you remember that? I bet somewhere in your deepest, primal memory you do. And from that moment, that first time clinging to a toy or some attractive object, we’re possessed. We change. We lose a piece of ourselves, of our souls. Our existence becomes about getting, grabbing, and keeping as much as we can. And it’s reinforced, over and over, in our day-to-day life.

That’s not what God made the world for. That’s not the way to freedom. That’s not the way to a rich, meaningful life. Generosity is.

That’s why about 60% of all Jesus’ teachings were about money. Possessions possess us; they were never meant to, though. God wants us. God wants our humanity back. God wants our hearts back in heaven. Jesus said in his Sermon on the Mount, "Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" (Matthew 6:21). I hear that as a challenge to put our treasure where we want our hearts to be. Generosity has everything to do with the kingdom of God. It’s the key to it, my friends.

Every act of giving, every moment of extravagant generosity, is a deposit in an eternal trust fund. I pray you will invest wisely. That’s all I have to say, but Keith and I do have something to sing.

(Sing "When It's All Been Said and Done")

When it's all been said and done, all our treasures will mean nothing; only what we've done for love's reward will stand the test of time. Now I'm done. Amen.

return to top

The Ways We Care - Part 1 - Witness - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text & Audio)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's October 11, 2009 sermon.

This is the first sermon in their The Ways We Care series. Read and listen to the other sermons in this series.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

The Ways We Care: Witness - Message for October 11, 2009 by Pastor Laurie McHugh

Text: Acts 1:1-8

Our membership and baptismal vows in the United Methodist Church were amended at our last General Conference gathering (that's our official church body -- a representative group that has the authority to speak for our whole denomination, and meets once every four years to go over our Book of Discipline and our social statements). It was a big deal to change such a key ritual in our church, and it required a lot of communication, since the words are part of our hymnal which we haven't republished! You may or may not have noticed the change given the frequency of our turning to that part of the book (or lack thereof), and it's small change, but a significant one. We've added just one word to the promises, just one word to the list of expectations of what it means to be a member of the United Methodist Church. You might remember that list: to support the ministries of the church through our prayers, presence, gifts and service. Give me a show of hands: do you remember those? And how many of you know how the list reads now? Say it with me if you do: it's prayers, presence, gifts, service and witness. (Let's repeat that: prayers, presence, gifts, service and witness.)

Over the next five weeks we are focusing on each of these promises in turn as we consider the ways that we care: for each other in this congregation, for each other in the Body of Christ, and for the world as disciples of Jesus Christ, in gratitude for the gifts that God has given us. We're not taking them in the order that's used in the book; we're adjusting to the contours of other rhythms in our church life, so bear with us on that. But I think it's fitting that we begin with witness, given its new status in the rite, and because of its crucial place and need in the Church (that's "Church" with a capital "C") at this pivotal time in history.

But before we go to right now, let's go to "back then," and take a look at today's story from the Early Church in the Book of Acts. These are the farewell words of Jesus according to the gospel writer Luke. It's after Easter, after the resurrection -- and it's not totally clear from the text whether these verses are the summation of several conversations over those forty days -- when Jesus would appear to the disciples from time to time, and he would talk with them, and eat with them, and show in many ways (not specified in the text) that he was indeed physically alive -- or if this is the last of those conversations. I expect this was stuff that needed to be repeated for the disciples to get it. They had to be jarred out of the wonder of the resurrection and pushed into what was next for them; they needed a fire lit under them and in their hearts to get that this was news that needed to be shared.

And Jesus says two things to the disciples during this precious, transitional time -- the time between the triumphal ending of Jesus' ministry on earth and the wild, turmoil-filled, risk-taking period of his disciples' launch into the world on his behalf.

The first thing he says is, "Wait. Wait here in Jerusalem. Wait for God to send what has been promised."

That can be hard to do -- waiting. When you're chomping at the bit to see something done, when you're uncomfortable with the state of things, when something so good is coming, and when you're used to being a person of action, waiting can be the hardest thing.

Just over ten years ago I was making a move to a new church. I was seven months pregnant when I had my intake interview, eight months pregnant on moving day. For me, the word "transition" had more than one meaning. Having taken my birthing classes, and looking forward to Katie's entry into the world, I had much in mind the transition phase of labor. And it was a helpful image for pastoral and congregational transition, that I have kept in mind ever since that year when it had special significance. Any moms here remember giving birth? (I hope so!) Any of you remember what they tell you about the transition phase? For you men out there, I'm talking about that (usually!) mercifully brief period in labor when the diameter of the cervix goes from 7 centimeters to 10 centimeters. It's when things often get the hardest, when the contractions take it up a notch (or several notches) -- and some of you dads who were blessed to be present with your wives in the delivery room probably have some strong memories of that particular time. I've heard a few comedians have fun with their stories, of the transformation that their beloved ones underwent -- but I won't go there. Let me just say that sometimes the training goes out of the head when the reality of pain hits. And we need to be reminded -- and that's the coach's role, or the nurse's, or the midwife's -- to say, "Breathe. Don't push. Just breathe."

Let me tell you, that can be the toughest part of any transition -- not pushing, just waiting. It's an act of faith, trusting that there's a baby -- or some form of new life -- at the end of that hard process, and not pushing for it. Every fiber of your being may want to push, but you have to breathe and wait. Otherwise, you do terrible damage (and with a baby, you don't want to do damage!) -- to mother and child alike. You have to wait until that measurement of 10 centimeters comes. And there's precious opportunity in that waiting time, hard as it is, because it gets you ready for what's next.

In the case of Jesus' teaching with his disciples, what was next was the Holy Spirit. It was gonna set them on fire. It was gonna burn in their hearts. It was going to blast away all their timidity and give life to a new thing, a community of believers that could move mountains with their faith, that would bring healing and hope and turn the world upside down.

And it was worth waiting for.

Waiting is an important part of the Christian life. It can teach us humility and make us go deeper. It can teach us to listen instead of talking so much, and adding to the noise and bustle and stress around us. It can give us space to reflect on where God has been and what God has been teaching us up to this point, so that we can really be ready when the Spirit and the call comes -- ready to be bold, ready to take risks, ready to grow.

Perhaps today you are waiting for something -- for an answer to prayer or for a door to open. If it's your time to wait, be patient with it. Accept the time as a gift, and as an invitation to go deep.

On the other hand, some folks use waiting as an excuse, as a cover for timidness or shallow discipleship. There's got to be a balance in this, or else, if you wait too long, the call of the Spirit will come as a kick in the pants!

Jesus said, "Wait." But he also made a promise that there was something to wait for, and invited his followers to be ready and open for the Holy Spirit. And that means a different kind of waiting. It's an expectant, getting-spiritually-prepared kind of waiting.

One of my favorite reflections about worship is from Catholic writer Annie Dillard (and I expect you'll hear me quote it more than once!). In her book Teaching a Stone to Talk, she writes:

Why do we people in churches seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute?... On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside of the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping God may wake someday and take offense, or the waking God may draw us out to where we can never return.
(from Teaching a Stone to Talk, 1982)

What we worshipfully wait for is not a tame God. What we wait for is meant to turn us upside down. And if we're transformed, there's a chance that the world will be turned upside down and transformed, too.

I've got to tell you something, my friends -- and don't get paranoid when I tell you this: People are watching us. You can't fade into the woodwork if you're a Christian anymore. We are no longer in the age of Christendom, of state religion, when everyone was at least nominally Christian, and you could just put up a church building and open the doors and that's all you had to do in the way of evangelism, because everybody went to church. We're in a postmodern, post-Christian age. People ask questions. They're skeptical of truth claims. There's now more than one generation of people among us who has never set foot in a church. They didn't just turn their back on what they learned in Sunday school; no one brought them to Sunday school. They don't know the stories. They've never heard the hymns. They've never experienced the rituals. And many of them are hungering for something more than what they're finding in their entertainment and education and careers and addictions and acquisitions and relationships. And they're watching you and me. They want to see if this Jesus stuff is relevant. They want to see if we walk our talk. And they want to hear our talk! They really do! They want to be listened to, genuinely and respectfully listened to, and they want to know how our lives are given purpose and richness because of our walk with God.

Now, there are some out there who are suspicious. They think that getting involved in a church is going to demand something of them, that it's going to take their freedom, that they'll be asked to turn their life over to the endeavor. And in most churches there are good-hearted folks who are on a mission to reassure others that it's not that way, that the demands are not so much. I've heard well-meaning folks say, "the Methodist church is about believing what you want to believe," or even, "We're kind of the loosey-goosey church." I've heard folks say, "Don't worry about taking classes; they're not required." There are folks in the church who make it their passion to reassure others that their lives don't have to change.

Well, let me tell you something. The reason the suspicion is out there is because it's true! Grace is free, but it isn't cheap. Jesus paid a price for it, for you. And Jesus asks for your life. If you really follow him, your life will change. And people will notice it. Following Jesus is not something you can just dabble in. Christianity is not meant to be a hobby. It is not an endeavor for mere intellectual stimulation, or comfort, or entertainment.

"When the Spirit comes, you will be my witnesses," Jesus says. "Your life will be a living testimony of who I am."

Don't water that down, my friends! Don't spin doctor it! Don't hide the faith that gives you life and helps you face the demons out there. The world desperately needs it. And they won't hear it if you don't tell it and live it. They won't find their way stumbling through the maze of options and the demands on their time and attention if they don't come into contact with a living human being who will befriend them and hear their story and open their heart to what God can do. They need someone who will be vulnerable instead of perfect, who doesn't wear an armor of protection and project a facade. They need someone real, who's waited in the dark, who's listened for the Spirit's voice, and who's been set on fire and given hope and made bold. They need you.

SONG: When It's All Been Said and Done

The pictures shown during that song were taken by Heather Perry and Laura Norris. I invited them to find shots that for them show the generosity of God -- a God who calls us to respond with generosity in kind. If you're a photographer and that subject sparks you, or the words of the song inspire you, I invite your submissions as we'll continue to build on this project through the course of our stewardship emphasis.

When it's all been said and done, there is just one thing that matters. Do we show in the way we live our lives a witness to truth and the power of love? And does our witness expand the circle of grace? Amen.

May the peace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with you always...

return to top

Sermon Series - The Ways We Care - Revs. Michael Love and Laurie McHugh

The Rev. Michael Love and the Rev. Laurie McHugh preached the sermon series, The One Anothers, over five Sundays beginning on October 17, 2009.

Read and listen to the four sermons in the series:

October 11, 2009 - Witness - The Rev. Laurie McHugh
October 18, 2009 - Presence - The Rev. Michael Love
October 25, 2009 - Service - The Rev. Michael Love
November 8, 2009 - Gifts - The Rev. Laurie McHugh

return to top

The Purposes of Jesus - Purpose 4 - That All Shall Tend Gardens - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Text & Audio)

Listen to and read Pastor Laurie's August 2, 2009 sermon.

This is the third sermon in the The Purposes of Jesus series. Read and listen to the other sermons in this series.

The reading was John 6:24-35.

Download a .pdf of this sermon.

That All Shall Tend Gardens -- Message for August 2, 2009 by Pastor Laurie McHugh

Text: John 6:21-35

It is a distinct challenge to preach a first sermon in a new pulpit. There are the logistical considerations, for starters: not all pulpits are the same size, or the same distance, or angled so that you're used to the way the paper slides. But that just scratches the surface of the discomfort. It's strange to preach to a community you're just getting to know. And add on top of that the challenge of preaching in the middle of a series that the senior pastor started! So I hope you'll send a few grace notes, good thoughts and prayers my way. (I imagine that the experience from your side of the pulpit is a bit strange, too!)

We’re in week four on a series Michael has entitled “The Purposes of Jesus,” looking not so much as what Jesus would do as at what Jesus did do for clues to what our purpose might be as people of faith gathered in this place and time. The first week’s message was called “That all shall be changed;” the second, “That all shall be healed;” the third, “That all shall be fed,” and this week, “That all shall tend gardens.”

As our scriptural foundation, we've been working our way through the story of Jesus' early ministry watching people's reactions to the things that Jesus did, from the gathering of great crowds, to the wrath and fear of Herod and other authorities, to the bewilderment of the disciples, who never seemed quite to get what Jesus' purposes were, and needed extra explaining (that's a comfort to me, since I consider myself to be a disciple of Jesus, but I don't always understand what Jesus is calling me to, either). Today's text is one of those explanatory conversations between Jesus and a bigger group of followers, fleshing out the meaning of his miraculous feeding of a large crowd.

Apparently this miracle was distinctive enough, in comparison to what some of the other wonder workers and wandering renegade preachers of Jesus' day were doing, that Jesus needed to explain the meaning of what he was doing, so that the people would not be led astray (and again, this is a comfort to me!).

Finding Jesus inexplicably on the other side of the Sea of Galilee, the crowd asks him, "How did you get here?" They were looking for more theatrics, you see -- more of the grandstanding that those other preacher-types were doing to draw attention to themselves. They wanted Jesus to admit that he could disappear and reappear at will, or walk on water, or some other trick for their entertainment. But Jesus refocuses the conversation when he answers, "You've come looking for me not because you saw God in my actions" (the One he's calling attention to, not himself), "but because I fed you, filled your stomachs-and for free.” (John 6:26, MSG, emphasis added)

Did you ever wonder why, if Jesus wanted to do a miraculous sign to show his power -- or even to show God's power -- he didn't just eradicate all hunger with a sweep of his hand? He could have done that, right? If he could feed thousands for a day with a little bit of fish and bread, he could have made it so that they would never be hungry again. He could have permanently altered the state of things, so that all would be fed, as Michael entitled his message last week. If that's what Jesus wants, and if he's the Son of God, why didn't he just do it?

Or, to phrase the question differently, why doesn't God just take away our suffering? And why doesn't God just make things obvious? Why do we need to mess with this faith stuff? After all, it's so messy. Removing the struggle would be so much easier.

As Michael noted last week, Jesus' feeding miracle seems to fly in the face of one of the most disturbing things he ever said: “You will have the poor with you every day for the rest of your lives” (Matthew 26:11, MSG).

Did you know that Jesus was quoting scripture when he said that? It's from Deuteronomy 15:11 - and there's more that goes with it, which might shed some light on this conundrum we've got here. So let's read it (this is The Message version): “There are always going to be poor and needy people among you. So I command you: Always be generous, open purse and hands, give to your neighbors in trouble, your poor and hurting neighbors.”

As I see it, it's not because Jesus couldn't do it, or because it's God's will that there be hunger or suffering in the world. The truth is that there is already enough. There is enough food. There are enough resources. God made the world with enough for everyone. It blew me away when I learned just a couple years ago that this is scientific fact: there is enough. The problem is one of distribution. The problem is not resources. The problem is not a scientific one. The problem is human psychology, or sociology -- or to be more basic, it's sin. It's our basic selfishness. It's our self-preservation instinct that grabs and holds on. It's a matter of the human heart. And that's where Jesus comes in, to be bread of life. Not to make it so we're not physically hungry anymore, but to empower us to trust God enough to let go and let our lives be molded, to make us selfless instead of selfish, to make us generous and open-hearted, to help us live into the abundance that is intended for everyone, and to see all people as our neighbors, all as friends.

That means that each one of us is called to be a part of the big plan: to tend gardens, as it were - to use the gifts that God has given us, that others might share in the blessing, that it all might be part of the big redistribution process, so that all might be fed.

This garden tending metaphor extends not only to the literal, physical growing of food, but to everything that is needed for abundant life. And the reason, as far as I can tell, that God planned it this way - that everyone should depend on everyone else - is that we are wired for relationship: with fellow human beings, with the rest of creation, and with God - and in participating in this great plan, sharing generously of that part of the pie God entrusted to us, we find fulfillment, we grow spiritually, and we come to understanding and wisdom and knowledge of our part in the universe. We become fully human, all that God created us to be. It's a far bigger plan than having each one of us functioning just fine in isolation, with everything that we need just handed over equally. In this great plan of God's, we need each other. And in the sharing, we can see and come to know the power and grace of God.

I like the image of tending gardens, because there really isn't just one way to do it. You can grow vegetables or flowers or herbs or fruit trees; you can grow cacti in the desert or farm hydroponically; you can dig up the dirt in your yard or grow container gardens; there's just an endless variety of combinations and techniques, and because of all the unknown and unpredictable factors that come into play, it's more of an art than a scientific procedure.

I also like the image because gardening is nearly universal; it's a metaphor that crosses cultures. I attended a workshop a few years back in the Golden Gate District in which the presenter used gardening as a metaphor for doing pastoral ministry, and it was one of the most successful workshops I've ever experienced for getting our ethnic clergy to engage and participate in the discussion. There's something about the challenge of coaxing life and growth out of the earth that is a deep part of the human experience; there's something primal about it. Let me see a show of hands: how many of you garden? Am I right about this? There's this great mystery in how the combination of soil and seed and moisture and light brings more of the same elements into the universe, and gives us the stuff we and the animals around us need to consume for life.

I have a little take-away gift for you today. The ushers are now passing the plates with something for you to take away (I call this a reverse offering). It's a little card with a grain of wheat attached. The reason for the symbol is this: God has given you the gift of the bread of life in Jesus. And with that gift you are given a choice: you can either be a consumer of that gift, and keep it to yourself, or you can share it, multiply it, grow it, tend a garden with it. One course leads to a dead church in one generation, your gift dying with you. The other course, in time, duly watered and warmed by the love of God, will bring forth a harvest beyond our imagining.

So consider for a moment the garden of your life. Consider all of the raw materials that make up your unique soil conditions. There's your upbringing and education, where you were born and raised, the family and friends that God put in your path. There are fertilizing elements: setbacks, disappointments, failures, illnesses, challenges. There are rocks, and there is moisture and light, and there are seeds. What has God given you to grow? What has God given you to share?

Michael encouraged me to share little with you today about the garden patch that I feel called to tend (and to which the Bishop has appointed me). It's a pretty formidable assignment, and one that both excites and terrifies me! I am called to start a new garden (or another campfire, if you prefer the metaphor Michael was using a few weeks ago) and tend that. That's going to mean finding a spot and digging up some soil, fertilizing and planting some seeds, watering (with tears, I expect) and nurturing with lots of prayer and encouragement as a new community grows up under this roof. I'll be looking for spiritually hungry people who might find the answer to their yearnings in Jesus, but who aren't necessarily interested in the music or forms of worship that we presently offer. That garden will maintain a connection with this worshiping community, but it will look different in some ways. I'm looking for prayer partners and and adventurers to join a team to start the tilling of this garden, and if you hear a call to participate in the adventure, I invite you to talk to me about it so we might dream together.

I remember the old proverb: “Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day; teach him to fish and he will eat for a lifetime.” I think of the work of the Heifer Project, which began when a midwestern farmer named Dan West took that principle and began sharing the elements of life and the gifts God had given him - in the form of livestock and knowledge of how to care for them - and changed the world for millions of the world's hungry and impoverished - a work that continues over 60 years later.

Take a look at your grain of wheat again. Let's remember that we are meant to care for each other, and to extend that circle of care ever wider.

How do we reconcile the reality of hunger and suffering with the love and grace and abundance of God? These things are ended when each person is transformed by the love of Christ and then answers the call to tend a garden and share the harvest. In the process, love is multiplied and the world is changed, one life at a time, and all are drawn closer to God. Now that's a real miracle. Amen.

return to top

Greeting - The Rev. Laurie McHugh (Audio)

Sunday, July 5, 2009 was the Rev. Laurie McHugh's first Sunday as the Associate Pastor at the First United Methodist Church of Palo Alto.

Listen to her speak about coming to Palo Alto, as well as about change and growth. She also reads today's Gospel, Mark 6:1-13.

return to top