Reflection on Motherhood, updated

Reflection by Megan Sorensen

December 22, 2019: Lessons and Carols, Celebration of Mary

One year ago, on this very Sunday, I stood here and gave a reflection on motherhood.  That reflection was themed “Perfect Love in Imperfect Circumstances” and I am going to read you an excerpt.  You see, without the context of that, this would not exist. My words from a year ago….

“No experience brings such clarity to this hope as the one we have been through personally in the past weeks. In the midst of imperfect circumstances 26 years ago, Chris and his partner decided to give a child up for adoption. Perfect love in imperfect circumstances. Perfect love that put the needs of another above their own. Pain and grief that then waited in hope in preparation. Life moved on. Marriages, children, careers, but still hope and patience. In the perseverance and the hope, God was there. Several weeks ago, we received word of a son. A 26 year old, now man, with blond hair and an affinity for all things sports. A son who is seeking to connect with his birth parents. After a lifetime of patience and guilt and hope and grief, we see that glimpse of perfect love. In a matter of seconds the possibility of a step son became a reality and the depth of that love was instant. Perfect love in imperfect circumstances.”

(If you would like to read it in its entirety, it is posted here on the Urban Abbey blog dated December 24, 2018)   

One year ago, I stood here full of excitement, anticipation, and anxiety.  I had no idea that in a few short weeks, we would meet that child. I was surprised when, in an effort to better understand my husband’s experience as well as empathize as a mother, I began to have ongoing conversations with his birth mom.  And I was joyful when those conversations went from mutual respect to understanding to love and friendship. A year ago I never would have imagined that 6 months later we would, along with Jennifer and her husband, host a “baby shower” complete with “It’s a Boy” balloons and lots of great aunts.  A year ago, I could only pray that my children would be understanding and welcoming of their brother and I rejoice now when I hear their interactions and they include phrases like “finally, a brother” and “I am so proud to be your sister.” My chest aches with gratitude when they tell him they love him as he heads toward the airport or at the end of a phone call.  A year ago, the things we have shared; baseball games, hockey games, concerts, picnics, family trips, even a weekend with his adoptive parents, existed only in hope. How fitting that this journey started in advent. We hoped and prepared and in time felt the reality of that first Christmas. Behold, I bring you glad tidings of a great joy. We have experienced, first hand, great joy at the end of a hopeful wait.  

We have all told this story several times.  It is our reality and our normal now, but when people hear it, especially for the first time, they are often overcome with emotion.  If I had a dollar for every time someone says to me, “this story could be a movie…” It is Hallmark channel material if I do say so myself.  

As I considered this service and how we take time to honor Mary’s story and consider other vulnerable parents, I have been trying to be honest with myself.  You see, in this movie, as beautiful as it is, I tend to see myself enjoying it from the front row rather than as a character. Please don’t get me wrong, I love this new chapter of our story and I love that child with every fiber of my being…the way I love my own children…I make him text me when he’s traveling so I know he arrived safely.  It’s that depth of love. But admitting now how I feel on the outside of the story is the most honest I have been with anyone about me. I have coordinated and supported and checked in and pried and make sure everyone has the opportunity to say and feel exactly what is on their heart and mind. I have been downright pushy with my husband and kids…demanding they tell me 10 times “I’m fine…I promise”  before I believe them. I rarely, and definitely not to the main characters, say what I feel. In the past year I have done a lot of pondering. More than anyone around me knows. 

“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.”  Does it not sound beautiful? A radiant new mother soaking up the wonder of the Nativity, the beauty of this story she is living.  The Good News translation of Luke 2:19 reads “Mary remembered all these things and thought deeply about them.” That language seems more realistic to me.  In his Advent devotional, Low, John Pavlovitz writes
“We tend to sanitize the birth story of Jesus, fashioning it into a pristine, shimmering nativity scene adorned with gold accents and residing comfortably on a hallway table or atop a fireplace mantel.  It all becomes so benign and serene that we forget the visceral reality of the moment, that it was as loud and chaotic and messy as childbirth is. Jesus was pushed through Mary’s birth canal and into a strange world.  To miss this fact is to cheapen the event by trying to soften it into something neat and orderly, when in truth (as with all births) there was surely mess and chaos in the moment. “  

In this season, and especially on this Sunday, as we honor the vulnerability found in the holiest of events, I need to honor the vulnerability of my own experiences.  And to honor it, I need to share it. When people gush over this amazing and life changing story am I doing them and it a disservice by not acknowledging that with every new development I have also felt profound insecurity?  In each moment of new and exciting and complex, I feel a pang of grief for the simple. As our family crosses into the nontraditional, I worry and I pray it is stronger than the confines of tradition. Deep down I know it is, but the complexities of living still feed my insecurity.  In acknowledging my vulnerability, I hope I honor the vulnerability of Mary and of every mother.   

In all of my conversations, our story is perfect.  But that’s not reality is it? It wasn’t reality for Mary and it isn’t for any of us in any story.  Advent is a time of preparation for the incarnate God. Emmanuel. God WITH us. God became flesh and walked among us.  Truly human. Advent is not a preparation to elevate humanity toward heaven but for heaven to come down. In acknowledging the humanity of our shared experience we can recognize and honor the holiness of it all.  

In only pondering quietly the messier parts of my story, I have not honored the vulnerability of others.  The exact place where Jesus meets us. Pavlovitz continues…” We do this with spiritual journeys too, wanting them to be comfortable and clean, desiring something attractive that we can easily accessorize our lives with-but that isn’t reality is it? Life comes with the collateral damage of living, with failed plans and relational collapse, with internal struggle and existential crises, and we carry these things with us into this season.  The good news is we don’t need to discard our messiness to step into this season, and we couldn’t even if we wanted to. Bring every bit of your flawed self and all your chaotic circumstances into this day. Welcome to the mess.”  

For me, acknowledging the complexities of my personal story over the past year does not lessen the joy and excitement.  It simply reminds me that, in the holiest of seasons, there is still chaos and uncertainty. It’s just in that place where I see Jesus and maybe, in the messiest parts of my story, others will too. 

Hard Earned Hope

Rev. Debra McKnight's Sermon on December 8, 2019

Matthew 1: 18-20

When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. 19Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. 20But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife.

Joseph is having a rough holiday season. He may not know about Christmas yet, but his Christmas is not the kind of story you put in a Christmas card. His fiancée is pregnant, and since this news is a surprise…we can imagine it’s not good news. Mary is pregnant and she shouldn’t be, at least by cultural standards, and there has never been a time in history where people would have said, “Oh Mary how wonderful!” and meant it whole heartedly. Mary is pregnant she shouldn’t be, and it doesn’t matter if it’s assault or a passionate affair, she is not marriage material any more, at least not for a righteous man. Any plans Mary and Joseph might have imagined together are just not an option. Her punishment is more than side eye from a self-righteous aunt, snide remarks at a baby shower and heavy social sigma; she can be killed or dismissed quietly.

Joseph, according to the scripture, is a righteous man. And for his context, a righteous man doesn’t marry his pregnant finance, even if he wanted to. When I hear Joseph is a righteous man, my mind goes to self-righteous. Perhaps it is the difference in context because we don’t use righteous very often and rarely in a positive way. I hear the word righteous and I think of arrogance and judgement, someone who places himself above at the expense of others, delighting in their pain…somebody who goes to church, obviously not this one, and has his life organized perfectly. Maybe it’s not fair or maybe it’s in part being able to imagine Mary’s fears, but when I hear Joseph is a righteous man, I imagine him as a self-righteous man, deciding Mary’s fate. Of course, when the author of Matthew wrote, “Joseph was a righteous man,” it was grounded in an understanding of righteous that links into a deep rooted faith in justice and compassion. It is a care that is well beyond self - perhaps that is why Joseph hears the whispers of angels in his dream. Joseph had the kind of dream that Dr. King had; a profound justice seeking dream; A dream that tells him that this child and this moment are filled with God’s spirit and divine purpose. Joseph is asked the impossible by this dreamy whispering and he says, “Yes.”

I once thought, “Well sure, an angel in a dream tells you and what else would you say but yes.” Of course I say that as someone who has never had this experience and someone from a very different context. Joseph didn’t living in a culture organized around nuclear families, his “yes” wasn’t just about him and Mary and a sweet little baby. His “yes” was hard news to a whole lot of people. He lived in a culture of honor and shame. You can imagine an invisible ledger tracking how you bring shame and honor to your family. Joseph choosing to follow the nudge of the Holy Spirit brought Mary’s shame into his family…his whole family. I imagine if his Grandma was something like mine, she would have said, “You had a dream...it was just one dream! It might have been something you ate…I think the hummus was bad.” His uncles probably tried to talk him out of it, there were folks whispering, “how could he throw his life away on this woman…oh he had so much promise…he was president of his senior class and the captain of the football team” (so not literally that but you get my point). And his Dad probably made that face he makes when he gets angry. The Angels ask the impossible and Joseph said, “yes.” This is the real miracle of the story and I suspect it is the fruit of being a “righteous man.”

The Angel gave Joseph a name, a sacred name and a nudge toward a sacred act. Naming a child means you claim that child as your own; Joseph does this and the name points towards divine purpose. The name Jesus is the Greek translation of Joshua, meaning “God Saves." Joshua, you may remember, brought the people out of the wilderness and into the promise land. Joseph listened to the divine wishers, picked up the baby, calmed his crying, cared for his needs, drew him out of danger and gave him a name for the ages and this “yes” will never be easy.

The Christmas Story is supposed to be good news, even the Angels say, "behold I bring you good news of great joy." Except the news is never what most of us would consider Good News. Mary, “good news, you are pregnant” - folks might stone you! Joseph, “good news, your fiancé is pregnant and King Herod finds this baby so threatening you will have to run for your lives!” It is such a hard story it makes me wonder if God understands what humans really consider to be Good News. Most of us would prefer Good News like, “Mary, good news you won the lottery and perfect health and the Romans are leaving your homeland and there is justice for all and women can vote now!” “Joseph, good news, your carpentry company is generating 30% more revenue than last year and your town voted you citizen of the year!” Good News here is a new home or a new farm or the sick friend is well or at least here is an easier path. There are so many options that are not a part of the Christmas story.

The Christmas story is full of hard news; maybe your story is too. Maybe this is a hard Christmas where you miss someone at your family table, maybe there is a relationship that is ending or one that you wish you had, maybe work is hard or maybe it’s not challenging enough, maybe there is some deep longing that you carry into this season or some deep grief weighing heavy. In his devotional, AlI Really Want: Readings for a Modern Christmas, Quinn Caldwell shares the story decorating for Christmas as his father was dying. “That year, every little glass ball I put on the tree felt like an act of defiance. As I hung each ornament, it was like I was shouting, “Take that, misery!” “Eat it, addiction!” Bite me, cancer!” If you’re having the suckiest Christmas ever, just remember that’s how Christmas started. It was born in defiance of all that stalks the world and tries to snuff its light.”

His story reminded me of my own Christmas story. I was 26 and my five year marriage to my high school sweetheart was ending. I was living, like a champ, in my parent’s basement and substitute teaching at my old high school. This was not my idea, not my plan, and I had no sense of a possible future and no sense of a promise I couldn’t see. The movie, Love Actually came out in theaters and I was sure that he would be filled with Christmas Spirit and show up outside in the snow, boom box playing and cards in hand naming a new heart-felt commitment. I waited, I put up the tree a bit, I waited, I wound the lights around each branch and I waited. What I wanted that Christmas never happened. It was a season of tears but it was also a season of support, it was a season of struggle but it was also a season of learning. Maybe you have had a Christmas full of hard news, maybe you have had several.

Everything about the Christmas story is hard; none of it is bright and shiny. Not one moment is light hearted like the refrains of jolly carols. It’s not easy or fun. It does not smell like warm sugar cookies or feel like a warm hug. It smells like a manger and feels like a long road trip on a donkey while you are about to have a baby. It is hard.


The season is dappled with light and dark, laughter and tears, grief and joy; even the Christmas tree has dark recesses and brilliant points of light. Everyone in the Christmas narrative must face their worst fears, deepest worries and most profound loss. That’s why angels whisper, “Fear not.” Christmas is a hard earned hope; every single person in the story calls on their deepest reliance and grasps on to life. It is a pregnant woman, refusing the world’s shame, who dives deep into to her faith and sings an old, old song, “I help you see God.” “My soul magnifies the Lord." Christmas is a man, a righteous man who has a righteous dream and he risks everything to name a baby for divine purpose. All of them call to us today, to look at our great fears, our deepest anxieties and our profound grief and be not afraid. May we have the courage to grasp onto a hard earned hope. May it be so. Amen.

Relics for Real Life

Relics for Real Life by Rev. Debra McKnight

1 Samuel 7:12

Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Jeshanah, and named it Ebenezer; for he said, ‘Thus far the Lord has helped us.’ 

My parents are working with my Aunts and Uncles to clean out my Grandparent’s home. It is a season of transition and a season of looking at the accumulation of decades. They have stuff, not much of value by the standards of a banker but mostly by standards of how people we love gave them value. My Grandfather was a shop teacher for 40 years in Public Schools, he buillt tables and desks and hutches…that would all be mid-century modern now but mostly are beloved for we can imagine the time that he spent crafting, the time my Grandma Lila spent putting dishes, decor and made a part of the families life. These relics of their life are up for us to decide how they fit into the next generation, how they find purpose and meaning in a new home. So part of this sermon was crafted at my Grandma Lila’s desk, a desk I spent time leaning on, playing at, looking through the drawers, learning about Grandma’s organized love, every Birthday card prepared the month ahead with the date to mail just where the stamp goes and so much more. This desk reminds me of her, it’s more than a desk. 

Maybe you have some of those relics. Maybe your Grandmother gave you a ring and told you how it reminds her of someone she loves so deeply. Maybe your have your grandfather’s tools or your Aunties watch or your teachers favorite book. These relics may not be something that does not lot of value or at least the kind of value that needs a security detail, but they have immeasurable worth. Even as I name their value now I have to confess I didn’t always felt that way about relics and the Christian Tradition. 

When I lived in Germany, every church or Cathedral visited seemed to host some kind of relic…or at least it seemed that way.  Golden cases complete with precious stones held sacred remains, sometimes they looked like hands or feet or heads… just to let you know what kind of relic they held.  In Aachen, Germany, at the Cathedral and palace of Charlemagne, you can see his sarcophagus and just beyond it you can see a gold, bejeweled bust that sports his actual skull cap.  You can look around and find a golden arm and hand bedazzled by precious stones and there is this window of thick, thick medieval glass where you can ‘see’ the bones of the once great king’s forearm.  And in this moment you realize that this guy is everywhere but his original resting place in the Aachen Cathedral.  A few hundred years after his death, he was declared a saint and this tomb opened for the taking.  Prince ‘so and so’ took his knee caps to southern France and his great-great-great grandson took his clavicle to eastern Germany and his teeth landed in Italy (none of this is accurate..but true in spirit…he is everywhere).  He is everywhere because his grandsons and great grandsons and those who wished they had a bit of his skill and good fortune to rule all of Europe thought having a little piece of Charlemagne would make all the difference.  Like a little bit of Charlemagne would some how bring their leadership to new levels. 

Charlemagne isn’t the only one picked apart in Europe.  You can see the very tunic that Jesus himself might have worn in Trier, a gift from Emperor Constantine’s mother to the new Roman center of government and the church she built.  You can see heads and feet and everything else in between in temples and churches and centers of pilgrimage.  In fact, at the Museum of the Mileages in Paris, you can see a gold statue of Mother Mary holding Baby Jesus…but this baby Jesus has an enlarged glass belly button so you too can see the umbilical cord of Christ himself.  I encountered these relics with skepticism akin to seeing a rabbit’s foot at Wall Drug in South Dakota.  

I saw relics through the eyes of my protestant upbringing and my modern sensibilities about needing proof on something that was probably not very provable.  I judged them and I judged them to be ridiculous.  The Protestant tradition and the sometimes anti-Catholic sentiment that goes along with it gives us pause when we look at something like Relics.  This season of all souls and all saints marks a key anniversary where we acknowledge how Martin Luther drafted his 95 talking points that outlined the change he longed to see.  Next year marks the 500th anniversary of him nailing it to the university Church door in Wittenberg.  Luther asked for change and he was not the first or the only one, but his voice marked the start of something new.  He was heard and he survived.   Luther questioned the system of indulgences, a pay to play spirituality that made the poor vulnerable and the rich able to buy their faithfulness.  Relics and pilgrimage had a place in this conversation but it was not where they started out.

Relics were a part of the early Christian experience.  Following Christ was risky.  One risked death…gruesome torturous death.   And at their death, their burial place became a source of transformative grief, a place where people could gather to remember and take courage, the way the saint who went before them did.  These burial spaces were on the edges of Roman communities until Christianity became not only legal but also an integral part of the Roman empire.  This transformed the religious landscape and created touchstones for those exploring their faith.  The martyrs were brought into the city and the relics crated a new spiritual geography across Europe.  The relics invited people to connect their faith, to see their lives through the lives of others, to take courage or let go of fear, to be challenged to live into their faith the way the saints who had gone before them did.  Relics were mirrors and invitations to living the life you are called to live.

I have another relic from my Great Grandma Barta…well I think it is from her.  It is a watch from a box of things that may have belonged to her.  The proof of her ownership doesn’t really matter because when I look at it, I think of this disciplined woman.  This woman who lied about being married so she could keep teaching school and then did it again when she lied about being pregnant so she could keep teaching school.  She had a master’s degree in education from the early 1900’s when most people didn’t have a bachelor’s.  She served as a school administrator during WWII when the men were away and she taught journalism and Latin.  She wrote the president every week after his radio address to share her thoughts and to correct his grammar.  She did all of this and still made sugar cookies and raised her twin daughters with her sweet husband.  When I look at this little relic, I think of her urging me to be disciplined.  To be studious, to be rigorous about my work and my life.  When I look at this watch, I want to experience the fruitfulness that she did.  I look at this watch and I think of how I can lean into that part of me that is and was a part of her too.

Perhaps, as I have shared, you have been thinking of those relics in your life.  Maybe there is a tool from your father’s tool shed or a ring from a Great Aunt or a quilt stitched with love that makes you feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with temperature.  Perhaps you have a recipe or a photo or a locket or a coin that reminds you of that sacred soul that urges and challenges and loves you into your best, most whole self.  Maybe that is a relic, that connects us to the past and transforms us.  Perhaps the value of a relic transcends our time and faith.

Our scripture from 1 Samuel 7:12 reflects a moment of uncertainty in the story of the Hebrew people.  They are about to have a king…but its not quite yet and they are in conflict with the Philistines.  They fought and lost, and in their loss, they lost the Ark of the Covenant.  Now this might sound like a Dan Brown novel or an Indiana Jones movie to us, but to them the Ark of the Covenant what a touchstone of their faith.  It was sign and symbol of Israel's relationship with the one God, it called them to account, it gave them courage and urged them to be the kind of people God called them to be.  And then they lost it.  Now the next part of the story is, well, a challenge theologically and it really is a whole other sermon.  To make a long story short, the Ark was not really a blessing to the Philistines it brought hardship to it’s captors and they decides to create a new cart, found two cows that have never been yoked and then they send the Arc away with a guilt offering.  They expected the cows to look for their young but instead the unlikely duo took the most direct path to the people of Israel.  Which was a sure sign to everyone that God was involved and the people and their Ark were reunited.  And so they pause.  The people marked the space and time.  Samuel placed stone upon stone and named this place Ebenezer,” which means God has helped us this far.  It was a touchstone, a point of remembrance and gratitude.  It transformed the heartbreak into hope for the future.  It was a touchstone that called the people to be faithful to God’s call on their lives.  And it is a touchstone that continues to call people to God.

All Saints offers us this yearly touchstone, and as we think of the past and present we cannot neglect the future.  We are called to look at our lives and imagine what we leave behind.  All Saints asks, “What echo of love or courage or gratitude do we offer to someone in the future?”  We do this individually and as a community and we do it because we overcome our fears.  It is not an accident that in this season where hours of darkness creep into the daylight that we pause to celebrate All Hallows Eve, All Saints and All Souls.  Here in this season of harvest and darkness and preparation for winter, we humans name our fears.  We get them right out in front of us.  We dress as skeletons, ghosts, witches and goblins.  We name our biggest fears in a big way.  Our fear of loss, our fear of grief, our fear of our own mortality and we do that together so we don’t have to do it alone.  We do it now so they don’t sneak up on us later…like at the office holiday party.  We name our fears so we can live our lives better.  All Saints Sunday asks, “What do you leave for others?”  What will a great-grandson find that reminds him of your strength?  What will that great-grand niece find that reminds her of your generosity?  What will they find that empowers them and inspires them so deeply…that when they need it most some little coin or watch will remind them they are filled with possibilities.  What ordinary object will become a relic… a campaign button, a family Bible or a note?  Each week we have this touchstone, this sacred space and time, where we can draw close into the image of God and the gift of one another from this community and so we must wonder what is our legacy?  Will someone find a coffee mug with a Wesley quote and think of our work in a way that mattered?  Will someone find safe space here and believe it mattered, that it brought them closer to God and to their best selves. That is up to us and how we live and what we live for those that follow.  How can we live so we leave a relic that matters?

#metoo Prayer Crafted by Rev. Debra McKnight

God Beyond all Face and Form

You gift us with stories, ferrous and faithful, stories that shine a light on the depth of human suffering and inhumanity. The stories of bodies broken, battered used and owned, grabbed without consent, traded, bartered and bought as objects, betrayal by family, stranger and friend. 

These stories terrify us, we hate to read them, especially in church. 

But they are there. Brave ones shouting, whispering just between the printed lines, 

      witnessing, raging “ME Too.”

      Tamar and Hagar

      David’s Daughter and Israel’s son, both had tunics, fit for a princess, torn

the concubines, the slaves, 

      the prisoners and captives

      and the daughters all of them unnamed.

They are there, witnessing to humanities great sin, dismissed quietly 

     Powerful women, simplified by history, brought down in size,

         Mary the quiet, downward glancing saint and 

             Eve the wild haired sinner hardly covering her breasts, 

sculpted and re-sculpted  in word and stone 

             over 2000 years of the patriarchy’s fearful gaze, 

proclaiming just how good girls ought to look and behave.

But Mary…You give us Mary and she sings anyway, 

      sings of God lifting up the lowly and throwing the mighty from their throne. 

“Times Up” she cries in an ancient song, “my soul magnifies the Lord.”

              Vashti, Queen of self possession roars, “no,” 

                  times up on kings controlling, demanding, deciding what my body is for.

The Woman at the well preaches times up on the old ways, we are filled with the water of life

       Times up on crumbs from the master's table and slurs dismissing our humanity

Times up on sacrificing bodies with Jephthah’s Daughter we dance in defiance.

Times up on God only looking like “He.”

We remember the pain of me too, past and present.

But the future must look differently, times up for the epidemic of inhumanity. 

Our hands are made for helping, 

our hearts are made for loving, 

           our bodies are sacred and our dreams are worthy of living, 

               we gather witness to our resurrection faith, Love making all things new.

God’s love creates us brave, Jesus teaches to turn the tables for change 

              and the Spirit calls us to rise for we are fearfully and wonderfully made. 

God you give us stories, 

        people of faith to guide our path as we write our own verse in creation's eternal song.

Times up on false humility and quiet little women in church, 

      Deborah and Lydia lead with wisdom and courage and grace.

Times up on ‘cat fights’ and old narratives; girls support girls, we celebrate our strengths, 

      Mary and Martha both have our back.

Times up on the vulnerable going it alone, Ruth taught us to stand side by side,

      no matter how challenging the road. 

Times up on the glass ceiling, Mary Magdalene calls us into the mix, finding the funding, proclaiming the truth and crushing the patriarchy, 

      so all, all people

          he, she and they, can be free.  

Let’s do this. And all God’s people said, Amen.

Princess Dresses and Hardened Hearts

Princess Dresses and Hardened Hearts

By Rev. Debra McKnight 

We know this story about Joseph and his tunic, sometimes it is translated as a coat of many colors and occasionally it’s technicolor and dreamy. The translation is important and the word is rare because its not just any robe with long sleeves. The other place this language resonates is with Tamar, King David’s beautiful daughter. She is wearing the ornate, long sleeve tunic reserved for the unmarried princess and, like Jospeh, her dress ends up torn. But the dress gives us some context the translation doesn’t offer on the surface. We can imagine the setting of Jospeh. Israel, who once went by Jacob, loves Jospeh most of all, he is the clear favorite…annoying if you are one of his big brothers. The youngest son pestering all the others, arrogant and bold, dreaming big dreams and then telling his big hulking brothers that in his dreams they all bow down to him…super annoying. The baby of the family who starts giving bad reports on his brothers while they are working in the field…beyond annoying. We can understand how they feel (even if most of the time we think we are probably everyone’s favorite child). Joseph’s brothers’ annoyance grows into something ugly and hateful. We can imagine the moment their little brother, the tattletale dreamer, dressed like a Princess and practically floating in the field while they toil. Suddenly their hate-filled hearts take action and they attack their brother, selling him into slavery, removing him from everyone he knows, stealing his ability to control his own future and his own being and destroying the princess dress their father had given to Joseph.

Tamar’s dress is torn just like Joseph’s and her betrayal is rather like his; also the work of her brothers. In 2 Samuel 13, we find Tamar’s story even if we don’t always find her voice. Tamar is the beautiful daughter of Israel’s most powerful king, David. The Bible says her brother, her half brother falls in love with her. Chapter 13: 1b-2 says:

David’s son Absalom had a beautiful sister whose name was Tamar; and David’s son Amnon fell in love with her. ²Amnon was so tormented that he made himself ill because of his sister Tamar, for she was a virgin and it seemed impossible to Amnon to do anything to her.

Of course while love may be an accurate translation it is a terrible use of the word. A better word might note Amnon’s desire to possess Tamar, control her, have her, “do a thing to her” - and that is not love. Unfortunately, Amnon has the worst kind of  BRO. His friend is a “crafty man” and he concocted a plan so the first born, most favorite son of David can get what he wants. “Tell the king you are sick,” he says, “and that the only thing that will give you comfort is your sister Tamar making you cakes…in your room” (that is my retelling…you can read all of it in 1 Samuel 13).  King David does not sense anything dangerous in this plan and he, complacent in want happens next, sends his daughter like prey to the predators. The story continues with Tamar, vulnerable in the room of her half-bother, making cakes when he attacks her. She tries to reason with him in verses 12 and 13.

¹²She answered him, ‘No, my brother, do not force me; for such a thing is not done in Israel; do not do anything so vile! ¹³As for me, where could I carry my shame? And as for you, you would be as one of the scoundrels in Israel. Now therefore, I beg you, speak to the king; for he will not withhold me from you.’

He refuses to listen to her voice. She knows her role in the patriarchy. As a beautiful daughter of a powerful king, she is supposed to marry well for the good of the whole people and perhaps to her own advantage. Her role is to make a new trade alliance and ensure peace and even with all of that, she knows that if her brother asks their father, he will forgo the diplomacy and give her to Amnon in marriage. He refuses and attacks her. Then the second sin - filled with shame, he shuts her out. It is the custom that the assault victim becomes the wife of the assailant; he has taken her value and she cannot marry anyone else. As Amnon shuts her out, she in grief rents her dress and cries out loud. Her bother, Absalom, takes her into his household and carries her pain.

The rest of the story is the story of the men. Tamar is a desolate woman and the narrative is the intrigue of the men. Tamar’s brother begins to hate, to concoct a plan to kill his brother in revenge (which also, just incidentally, places him next in line for David’s throne). David for his part grieves these but never grieves for his daughter. He doesn’t take her into his household, which he could have (and I imagine should have). The greatest King in Israel’s history proves to be among the worst. 

These are the stories we inherit, and even as we can say thank God we don’t have something so bad today, the truth is we continue these systems of injustice. Statistics speak of people believing they are entitled to the bodies and well-being of others, campuses are dangerous places, human trafficking plagues every zip code, and domestic violence remains ever-present. Court cases speak just like David did, when Judges refuse to punish a young man like Brock Turner for assault because one mistake shouldn’t have such a big impact on his promising future. We witnessed the election of a man known for “locker room” talk and haven’t done much to change the narratives in locker rooms. The church, the state, and every institution struggles in this era of change and truth telling; this season of Me Too and Times Up. But thank God we are in a season of change.

Every time there is a season of change, big change, big shifts, there is this other reality - hearts are hardened. The archetype of this might be Pharaoh. When the people of Israel seek their freedom from slavery and escape from genocide, Pharaoh’s heart becomes hardened, epically. It happens when Jesus engages people with his message of abundance and they don’t want to relax their tight grasps. It happens when the early faithful live a different way and confront the systems of oppression by their very presence…hearts get hardened. Yesterday we witnessed what hard hearts look like, as protestors gathered outside because a young sacred soul in a princess dress was reading books about love to children in this sanctuary. Then a few of them, larger men, stomping around in boots with an air of hate and fear seeking to intimidate, disrupted the space and shouted two expletives right here in front of the very children their signs said they wanted to protect. It was hard to watch. Fortunately, the kids were so focused on the book they didn’t seem to notice; and to my great gratitude, our downtown police officers came quick to help clarify the boundaries that can make our space safe. Their hearts were hardened, impenetrable to conversation or reason or actual statistics or the sweetness of the stories or the beauty of the reader and her dress. The ugly moment did not stand without response, which brings me to the gift of community. Five people rose to the occasion, countering the voice of hostility, a voice of love and welcome outside. And inside, parents and friends of the Abbey stayed calm and loving and protective all at once. 

It would be easier to let our hearts become hard. To grow resentment from the hurt and hate of these men and how they violated, even if it was for just a moment, this sacred space. But I think that is the very call of our faith, to keep our hearts tender and open in the face of every system and sin that makes it so reasonable to armor up. So we do the things that give us courage and resilience and hope. We gather others to stand with in the hard spaces, we get a little closer and lean in to the story of love. We take action to make change, change of hearts, change of laws, change all the way around. When we were wrapping up, guests in the room named their gratitude for what they had just witnessed. They witnessed hospitality at our coffee bar even in the face of hostility. They witnessed resistance that was peaceful and powerful. They hugged me in gratitude for the work we are doing. One young man shared that he felt so embarrassed to be studying the Bible, those folks didn’t represent him or the Bible and he would be back next time to stand up outside with us. Showing up matters. It makes all the difference. We must do the things that keep our hearts open and fueled with resilience, that’s why we show up on Sunday. That’s why we worship and sing songs. That’s why we study the Bible and the prophets crying out for change. That’s why we go deep in small groups and hold the little ones a little closer during story time. 

We don’t know what happened to Tamar. Her story gets lost to history, but we can read between the ink because Tamar the desolate woman is not the last time she is named. She is named again in 1 Chronicles 3:9 when Israel is claiming its history and naming all the men, the who’s-who of David’s sons, this is how it ends. 

1 Chronicles 3.9:

All these were David’s sons, besides the sons of the concubines; and Tamar was their sister.

I am fairly sure that in a palace of wives and concubines that Tamar was not the only baby girl. Her story must have lived beyond the label of desolation. Her name places the sin of her family before us, it holds the brokenness of the system up to the light and it honors her resilience. We don’t know the story but we know a truly desolate women is not going to be named…she is going to slip into the background.  She is a name of resilience; I think that is why her brother names his own daughter after Tamar. Joseph is too, his presence names his family’s sin and the systems of brokenness and he rises above, resilient in the face of every reason to harden his heart and give up hope in humanity. Joseph’s story is one of resilience and even reconciliation. We inherit incredible stories. They are terrible and real, they are hard to read and they are filled with reasons to give up, but faith is about staying in and staying present. Faith is about tender, loving, open hearts. 

When Lila (my six year old daughter) and I were driving home after the disruptive protesters were outside, she asked some questions. I reminded her what I had shared with all of the children and families - that sometimes grownups are scared and when we are scared or angry we don’t usually make good choices. She started singing a hymn, “We Are Called to act with justice. We are called to love tenderly…” she knows this hymn because of this sacred place. This is part of what we do here, to seed our souls with resilience and courage. 

Let’s sing. Let’s pray. Let’s be present and by God, lets make a better way.

Amen. 

You are Loved, You are Valid, You are Supported by Torie Walenz

Hello everyone! Happy belated national coming out day. My name is Torie for those of you who don’t know me, I am a barista here at Urban Abbey but I wear many hats. I am also a program manager at the Office of Civic & Social Responsibility, an intern at Omaha Girls Rock, and the Director of the Queer & Trans Services student agency at UNO. So needless to say, I know a lot of queer people and have been subject to many a “coming out”. 

My own story came in 2018 when I organized the largest queer college conference in the nation (all while being straight), my rugby team won state, and I came out for the first time!

National Coming Out Day, to me, is a message to queer folks, in & out of the closet, that they are loved, they are valid, and that they are supported. 

In 1988 it was created to celebrate those who could visibly come out, and to support those who couldn’t.

For this reason, to me, National Coming Out Day is also a reminder that “coming out” and self discovery is not just a one-time event. You don’t just go “Hey Mom! I’m gay! What’s for dinner?” and that’s it, it’s over. 

Since I was born it was assumed I was straight. Since my first time coming out, every conversation, every outfit, every haircut I have is part of “coming out”. This is true for most every queer person. It's a process, an invitation into someone’s self, and it helps to have support and allies to know you are not alone. That’s what this day is all about- showing that support. 

So, today (and everyday) I challenge you to assume everyone you meet is queer unless proven otherwise.

10 Things I Hate About You by Maris Kingfisher

For me, “coming out” was a painful experience with a common theme of betrayal, both blatant and complicit.

I moved to Nebraska when I was 18 to serve in a Christian Leadership program.  I didn’t know anyone and I quickly became reliant on the church for a sense of direction and purpose for my life. 

I invested my time, money, and focus into this church for over 10 years; doing everything from “cleaning ministry” to preaching.  This church was my community, my family, my home.

Here is just one example of blatant and complicit betrayal:  The summer before I “came out,” I led worship at a camp for foster kids for the second year in a row.  I was asked to come back the next year because I was “anointed, called by God, and could hear the voice of God.”

However, when I came out, leadership used church policy to disqualify, discredit, and discard me from participating and associating in ministry and leadership.  And when I told my best friend, she told me that I was “no better than a pedophile, a pervert in God’s eyes.”  Needless to say, that friendship is over.

Due to countless situations such as these, I have a complicated relationship with the church, with religion, and with identifying as a Christian.  I struggled to articulate my thoughts on “coming out” and the damage done by the church, so I borrowed some verbiage from a poem that inspired me in my younger years, (written by Katarina Stratford about Patrick Verona) from the 1999 film: 10 Things I Hate About You.

I hate the way you talk to me

I hate the way you stare

I hate how you discredited me AND

How you say you care.

I hate the way you treated me

I hate it that you lie

I hate that you made me cry

BUT MOST OF ALL, I hate the way I don’t hate you,

not even a little bit, not even at all.

You see, despite your cruel words and all your wrong deeds, Ohana means family, family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.  I hope one day you will join the Right side of history and choose to Truly love unconditionally.

In closing, until homophobes stop catastrophizing consensual love between adults, we will continue to celebrate National Coming Out Day.

Cheers! 

Coming Into Authenticity by Sangeetha Kumar

Thank you, Urban Abbey family and friends, for allowing me to share a small piece of my story today. Here is what coming out means to me and I hope there is something in here that can inspire you to live more fully as you.

I love scars. Anyone here have scars? Scars say that you’ve faced danger and lived to tell about it. Scars show the reality of healing. Scars tell a story, and in the end, scars don’t lie. Scars are, in essence, authentic. I’m here today to talk with you about being your authentic self. I laugh at myself when saying that aloud as I am still trying to figure that out some days! But in all seriousness, I do know a bit about trying to be, act and live authentically. The hard part is that almost always does it involve getting scraped up, bloodied, bruised and scarred, proverbially that is, hopefully. Living authentically means becoming bed fellows with pain. So where is the buy-in? Why on earth should anyone strive to become authentic? Why should a person come out?  I guess that is what I am attempting to answer today.

Brene’ Brown is another one of my favorite authors and speakers. Many in this room know her. She is my social work hero.  She found through her research that the only difference between people who felt a deep sense of love and belonging and those who didn’t was that the other group believed they were worthy of love and belonging; therefore felt it. That belief alone changed the course of their life, for if they felt loved, they felt secure. And if they felt secure, they could be vulnerable, even amid pain, hardship and life struggles. Vulnerability is the heart and soul of authenticity. However, it is also where the pain (and shame) enters. This is the hardest part of coming out, in my opinion. This is the point where people come to a crossroad. Do I stay and face this pain? Work through it? Or do I run, hide and continue to wear this mask? Ultimately, the choice is yours.

So what do I know about being authentic, you might ask? Well, my authentic-self and my, let’s say, conditioned-self had to battle it out a few years ago.  A battle makes it sound pretty, actually.  It was more like they had to beat the crap out of each other every day for the sake of survival.  To summarize a very long story, let me just say that a few short years ago I entered into what became the most painful years of my life. And actually, in one year, ONE year, the following happened:  divorce after a 14 year relationship, coming out as bisexual, losing family and friends because of coming out, changing churches, changing jobs, changing names, changing families, changing pets, moving houses and unexpectedly losing my father to a toxic medication reaction just after my parents had moved 3000 miles across the country to be with their grandchildren. All true. (Insert explicative of your choice here!) Just one of those things is traumatic enough to go through, yet alone all of this in one year. The processing of those events took years to work through and I am still working through them to this day. Coming out for me was not an empowering process. It was painful and scary and filled with rejection. And yet, I found love in the strangest and most unexpected ways—Urban Abbey was actually one of those ways! People have asked me how I got through, or at the time, were getting through, and I would always say because of my strong faith, my family and friends.  That’s true. But looking back, I discounted something in that process.  I discounted me—or rather God working through me at the time. At each turning point in those years, I had to face my worst fears, I had to choose to be vulnerable or not, and I had to persevere.  Every day was painful. It was grueling and it was bloody. I developed wounds and scars. I cried a lot and I even had days where I didn’t think I could go on living. But something surprising happened too. Every day that I chose to get up, to keep going, to keep fighting for me, layers fell off, facades shattered, and a beautiful, broken vulnerability started to emerge. This is also known as the “ain’t nobody got time” metamorphosis.  I became the most real version of myself that I had ever been.  I was becoming authentic.

We, in the Midwest, see the ever-changing Nature in our weather, don’t we? (Aka. Winter sucks!) There isn’t a thing in nature that stays the same. Ever. Yet, we, in our humanity, fight that change constantly. We get whiny when someone “moved our cheese” or when someone loaded the dishwasher “wrong”. If changing those trivial items upsets us so, imagine the actual pain our souls experience when something huge and life-altering happens? Scripture says, “the Holy Spirit prays for us with groaning that cannot be expressed in words.” (Romans 8:26). I believe that’s what happens when we are stripped to our core and cannot explain how we feel or think or even have the energy to get up the next day. Something inside our spirit changes—and God, intervenes in a way we cannot imagine. Soren Kierkegaard once wrote, “God creates everything out of nothing. And everything which God is to use, he first reduces to nothing.” This is where we find ourselves, where I found myself—at the foot of the Cross. The Cross re-creates. I experienced this and it changed me.  When your heart and soul experience the actual you it’s as if they are unleashed for the first time—to dance, to sing, to laugh, to be angry, to disagree, to agree, to be real—freely and fully.  Once that is experienced it is hard to go back any other way. It’s like everything is aligned and you are coming into your true self. You are no longer a false version of yourself.

At some point the pain will be over, the fear will be conquered (or at least lessened) and life will march forward into a new normal. So why should you buy in to being authentic? Why is coming out so important (or even supporting those who are)? Here is what I am learning for myself and want to pass on to others. Because you were created to be authentically YOU, not anyone else—to live your life, to touch the lives of others that only you can, to share the stories of your perseverance and your faith, to live in your own identity and your own soul, to step into the paths and purposes that are yours alone.  You being someone else will do the world no good. Coming out is a process, a journey that takes time. I feel I am coming out over and over to every new person I encounter. It gets a bit easier over time but I still hold my breath each time waiting for a reaction of acceptance, ambivalence or rejection. Reflecting now, however, I guess I realize if I wanted a different life outcome, I needed to come out. And in the end, I am glad I had the courage to risk making a new scar and coming out as my authentic self. Thank you and God bless you.

Faith Brings Joy

Scripture: Romans 5:1-5
      1Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, 2through whom also we have obtained our introduction by faith into this grace in which we stand; and we exult in hope of the glory of God. 3And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; 4and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; 5and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

Sermon by Dr. Evelyn McKnight
THANK YOU for inviting me to speak today. Cancer touches so many people that I am honored to be the one invited to speak.

My CANCER JOURNEY started 19 years ago with breast cancer. There was a second occurrence one year later and then a diagnosis of Hepatitis C because the oncology nurse reused syringes during chemotherapy, egregious medical error. Then last year I was diagnosed with sarcoma of my right brachial plexus, which necessitated amputation of my right arm. The sarcoma was caused by excess radiation treatment of the breast cancer. Medical treatment is the reason I am still alive and I am grateful for my life. I am GRATEFUL FOR MY LIFE. I have seen my sons grow up and marry and father their own children. And now I'm eager to start retirement with my dear husband of 40 years. But medical error has also been a defining part of my journey.

Disclaimer: I have NEVER GIVEN A HOMILY BEFORE. But I’ve preached about medical error and patient safety to thousands of healthcare workers for the past 12 years so please forgive me if I slip into a rant about patient safety. Better yet, more than forgive me, please stop me and orient me back to my reflections on struggle and hope. Writing this homily has been very healing for me, and I want to have the full experience of preaching it.

We all have struggles. As the Buddhists say LIFE IS SUFFERING. You may not have cancer but whatever your trial, this is a day to honor it and see what it has to say to you.

I have a feeling that Paul never got the news that he had cancer, because I don’t think any cancer patient REJOICES AT THE START of their struggle. in my own experience, I have seen so much good come from my cancer and hepatitis C tribulations that now, from this perspective, I am grateful for the struggles.

Rather than rejoice, at first we have to grieve what we have lost. We have to send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears as my Catholic tradition describes. But it is the grief, the heaviness of the sorrow that breaks us open and allows in unmerited grace that transforms us into a better version of ourselves.

Our culture barely tolerates grief. What the culture says that life should be FUN, FAST AND EASY. Grief is not fun, fast or easy. So we may resist grieving and deny that we have lost something very important. Sometimes we confuse hope or encouragement with denial. Denial is not reality based whereas hope is based in reality,

I have watched a lot of YOUTUBE VIDEOS about limb loss and amputation. One channel that I came across was on cooking with one arm. In the opening lines of the video, the cook said, “I can do anything with one arm that I could with two arms.”

That is not true. It simply is not realistic.

The REALISTIC AND HOPEFUL STATEMENT is “I can do many things with one arm that I could with two. When I find something I can’t do I will either find a substitute activity or I will find someone to help me or I will decide i can do without.” One thing I gave up was playing the accordion. I shed a tear when I gave away my accordion although I think everyone else discretely rejoiced. But my niece took the accordion, and as a senior in college, she is teaching herself to play in her college apartment. So there is hope.

We may feel very alone and our grief. And even when we are surrounded by an outpouring of love from friends and family, we are still the one who is struggling with grief. But WE ARE NOT ALONE. We have a divine companion. My 99 year old mother died recently. Her name was Sophia, which is the Greek word for wisdom. One day I was stir-frying vegetables, chasing the skillet as it slid around the electric stovetop and feeling very frustrated. I felt her voice saying to me, “You can fill your head with thoughts of “I miss my arm so much,” and “This is so hard,” and “Life will never be the same.” Or you can be in the moment, and fill your head with thoughts of “The colors of the veggies are so pretty,” or “This smells delicious,” or “I can’t wait to taste this.” “You make the choice.’” Now my mother was very wise but I don’t think this guidance came solely from her. I think she was a channel for the Holy Spirit. As Paul said, “The love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” Hearing voices is not a common occurrence for me I don't want you think it is. And I have not heard her voice since that time. I think what allowed me to hear the Holy Spirit was the experience of being in grief. The vulnerability that comes through grief opened me up to the grace of wisdom.

Social scientist Brené Brown has STUDIED HOPE in controlled studies. She has confirmed what Paul said about hope in our reading. He said,"Tribulation brings about perseverance; 4and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope.”  Dr. Brown found that those who have the greatest hope have had the most struggle in their lives. They have developed a sense of agency--they know that they have done hard things in the past and believe they can do hard things going forward. This is the same for all of us--we are up to the challenge.

So, whatever your tribulation, I urge you to take some time to TAKE IT ALL IN. Recall the grief, remember the comfort and wisdom of others, and acknowledge the growth that you have made because of it. Sit with all of it for a while and see where it leads you. I believe that exercise will bring you hope. And hope does not disappoint.

A Litany for Remembering and Imagining: Crafted for Ecumenical Remembrance Marking the 100th Anniversary of Will Brown’s Murder

Save us from plaques without policy,
from memorials with incomplete memories,
optics without an option for the poor and
power with no intention to redesign the redline,
reform the in-justice system
or uproot the orchards that still grow strange fruit.
Save us.

Save us from cheap condolences about
100 year old accusations that brought violence, destroyed families and
let terror reign in the land of ‘liberty.’
Save us from thinking we have come so far and made so much change,
save us from "good people on both sides."
Save us from the accusations that shoot to kill innocent teens
and unarmed men watching tv,
accusations that lock up possibility for the profit of a few and breed trauma everyday.
Save us from the sin of injustice, inaction and half-hearted change. Save us.

Save us for You are the God of prophets and poets,
save us for you are a God of bigger dreams.
You inspire each sacred voice crying out for change, you bring us from wilderness to promise,
you move mountains of people from indifference and defeat to the fullness of their sacred worth and not even the sea can stand in their way.

Save us from oppressing the poor after finishing the praise band chorus.
Save us from making our Sunday best into our weekday worst,
red letter faithful wreaking havoc in fine print and predatory schemes.
Save us from Christians worshiping the gospel of White Supremacy,
caging and incarcerating for profit with the blessing of their ‘church.’

Save us from our cheap grace that looks to the captives with indifference,
turns a blind eye to recovery and sets no one at liberty.

Save us with the Good News that requires more of you and of me,
save us from our blighted faith.

Save us for You are the God of presence, Emmanuel, with us in our brokenness,
our longings and our breathtaking courage.
Save us, for you turn the tables and send the money changers out,
you touch the untouchable and call the powerful to account.
Save us, for you set the feast and throw the door open wide.

Save us from from our economics that don’t trickle down,
from our stolen manifest destiny
and blind faith in the market’s all-mighty hand.
Save us from every dollar we spend that votes for terror and indifference,
violence and greed.
Save us from the gospel of meaningless stuff
and open our eyes to make each moment count.

Save us from our thoughts and prayers,
our anemic faith in the face of violence that draws blood in classrooms and theaters,
in homes and streets and cities around the globe.
Save us from healthcare that’s not free,
pollution that poisons without fee,
every structural inequity,
every wall and every threat to having life and having life abundantly.

Forgive us, we deal death incrementally. Forgive us, we are quiet in the face of sin.
Forgive us, we are too comfortable to change and call us to a reckoning.

All creation waits. King and Parks, Wells and Tubman wait,
Ruston and Lorde, Huerta and Chavez wait,
Angelou and Hughes, Standing Bear and LaMere wait
with every voice lifted to sing in a chorus of change,
the future begs us, each sacred soul bids us to God’s All Loving Call.

Will Brown bids us rise, with a chorus of hundreds and thousands more,
rise to the work of justice and the occasion of this and every day.
Will Brown calls us to more, with a chorus of hundreds and thousands and millions more,
calls us to a faith that is more than lukewarm when the world needs the pressure to cook and temperature to rise.

God calls us, bids us with each breath.
May we say, “Yes.”

© Crafted by Rev. Debra McKnight, Founding Pastor of Urban Abbey