Invocation for The Greater Omaha Chamber

January 2020

Written by Rev. Debra McKnight

Loving God, Living Water

We pause to center in gratitude for the work of this body and to honor the possibilities that rest within our creative instincts and our vocational callings. We pause to honor the resilience and ingenuity seeded in our very souls and give thanks for the diversity of gifts that our neighbors bring to the table. 

As we pursue dreams and rise to the challenges of our day 

may our drive be for a greater purpose, that all may have life and have it abundantly. 

As we hone our craft as leaders and clarify our vision may we also be ever more clear of both our responsibility and boundless capacity to transform our community into a beacon of justice and compassion.

Grant us the courage to live into the rhythm of our city's prophets 

that call us to an ethic of equality, 

and transform a history woven in red lines and bound by glass ceilings. 

We are driven with the relentless energy of an underground sea 

to a future of inclusion and diversity, 

a future where all can pursue dreams and transform visions into reality. 

Grant us courage as we chart the course for prosperity 

that our work makes space for the divine dream 

where every child goes to bed safe, warm and well fed. 

Bless, Loving God, the work of this body, bless the work places in our community with a creative spirit and ingenuity, bless all who bring their gifts to fuel this economy and bless our work that that we may truly make a good life for all.  

May it be so. Amen

Modern Magnificat Musings

Modern Magnificat Musings 

Written by Rev. Debra McKnight

 

My Soul magnifies the Lord and dances in the dream of God’s great Love,

     opens eyes to the vulnerable and sets the oppressed at liberty,

          for God looks with favor on the lowly.

 

My soul dreams for a day when a mother’s great worry is getting kids to school on time, 

       scheduling dance class or 

       deadlines for what ever summer camp sets her sweet ones heart on fire. 

                 rather than tear gas, gangs and genocide

                          without one thought to the old echos of poverty, 

                          without one worry about where the next night will be or 

                                 if the food will be enough to nourish a hungry tummy. 

 

My soul dreams for a day when fathers weigh heavy under his words 

          of encouragement and growth, 

          rather than the burden of the ransom they might have to pay 

                  or the risks of a long road to safely or the paper work they need

                          or legal systems build for privilege of some other race, 

                                  some other face, some other religion.  

 

My soul dreams of grandmas who dance and tell stories of peace and prosperity

       Grandmas who breathe grit and whisper, “you can be anything you want to be”

               without one thought to the news of the next school shooting 

                       or brown face gunned down with tax payer dollars or 

                               transgendered teen left broken, battered and abused. 

 

My soul dreams of grandpas who build swing sets and bake good bread, 

         setting out the seeds for the birds of the air, 

                saying, “look close to the wisdom of God’s green earth” 

                         without one moment of worry to the polluted air or 

                                500 year storms coming every five or ten.

 

My soul dreams of aunties and uncles and families made out of friends, 

        gathered to share in hope and in good faith when the health of one is uncertain 

               without one moment spent raising funds, 

                    without one hour lost arguing with insurance or 

                          minute squandered debating a fee.

 

My soul dreams of children crying only for forgotten toys, spilt milk or skinned knees, 

        asking, “Are we there yet” when the travel is by choice and not fear

               and pleading only for another piece of candy or one more book or 

                       one more hug before bed.

 

My soul dreams of earth as it is in heaven, lowly lifted and hungry filled

        My soul sings Mary’s song that the proud, haughty, arrogant and rude

                the selfish and small that looms large in this present hell we make 

                       be transformed, utterly changed, 

                               God’s Love making all things new and 

                                       our hearts making earth as it is in heaven.

Magnificent Resilience in Resistance

Sermon by Rev. Debra McKnight - January 19, 2020

Scripture Luke 1:46-56

Our baptismal vow seems exciting, challenging and even inspiring; when you are just getting started and it looks so friendly and cute when it is printed in rainbow on a t-shirt. But the work of resisting evil, injustice and oppression is exhausting and can leave us tired…so tired it seems better to stay home and take a nap. This work is more of a marathon than a sprint and it seems to be a team sport…like a relay marathon. How do we do it? How do we stay at this exhausting work, particularly when this work is driven by heartbreak and every step that feels like progress seems to uncover more heartbreaking work that yearns for care and demands our attention? Resisting evil and injustice means constantly uncovering the worst of humanity and it can be easy, reasonable even, to grow cynical and to let our hearts harden rather than break. It’s easy to expect the worst in people and to ultimately just give up, stop watching the news, and stay home. So how do we stay at it, how do we keep putting one foot in front of the other and honor our baptismal vow not just one day but day by day and moment by moment?

When I think of this resilience and courage in the face of every reason to give up, I think of Mary. I want to invite you into the Magnificat. I realize it’s out of season but it wasn’t a Christmas song when Mary sang it either. It was a song of thanksgiving that belonged to her people. And she sang it when she had every reason to run and hide. She was pregnant when she shouldn’t be in a world where the danger wasn’t just rude comments and economic disadvantage but ending her life was a real possibility and her best option was a man dismissing her quietly…whatever that entailed. Mary’s story is singular and powerful in so many ways. An Angel appeared to Mary and said, “Do Not Be Afraid.” Which is pretty much what angels are always saying when they are in scripture. Every time they showed up they had to say don’t be afraid or fear not, which raised a question about what they must have looked like! Maybe they looked nothing like the sweet radiance we have made them as they adorn the tree or decorate our space. Perhaps we have done a poor job of depicting these creatures that strike fear at first glance. Of course, I don’t personally know because this has not been a method of communication I have experienced in my own faith journey. 

Anyway, Mary encountered this terrifying creature, was not afraid, asked what sort of greeting is this and then got some really terrifying news… you are going to be pregnant in a world where that is dangerous. And Mary responded, “Here am I.” She is almost singular in this response to God’s big ask, almost all of the other prophets negotiate with God. Jeremiah wasn’t up for it. Jonah said no and then got in a boat going the opposite direction until he ended up in the belly of a great fish. Moses, the hero, went on and on spilling a lot of ink in his objection to being a part of God’s work. Mary responded, “Here am I.” She didn’t negotiate the incursion of God’s call, she didn’t try to arrange it so it would be more palatable or fit her plans. She didn’t say, “sure, can we wait six months until I finish this degree program” or “have you met my cousin…you would love her.” She didn’t ask if this comes with benefits or PTO or if God had worked some things out with Joseph. She just says, “Yes.” How did she do this?

I believe there is a hint and a guide for us in her song. It is a song from her faith. She cultivated a life of faith, a life of reading the scriptures and studying the words of the prophets, singing the songs of her tradition. She learned to look with Moses for the burning bush in a world of shrubbery, she imagined God as a mother bear protecting her young, she read psalms of heartbreak and resilience, and she practiced the song of gratitude and learned to sing it even when things looked bleak. She cultivated a life of faith, she knew her resilience and her strength, and when the world suggested every reason to be afraid, she was not. So she sang this song linked to her tradition; it wasn’t just her song. It had also been on the lips of Hannah at the start of Samuel. Hannah was a woman who longed for a child and dwelled in a world that judged her worth as based only in how many children she birthed - and the more sons the better. She knew her worth, she could say to her husband, “Am I not worth 12 sons to you,” but the answer didn’t stop the hurt hurled her way from the community around her. Hannah sang this song of gratitude, even after all of this and even after having a child and then gifting him to the work of the community - she still sang a song of Thanksgiving. 

I imagine Mary learning that song from her Auntie Elizabeth, which is the second key learning from Mary: take time to be with the people who love you. Mary goes to see her Auntie Elizabeth and commentators for generations have made this about Jesus meeting his cousin John the Baptist. But most of those writers didn’t grow up being terrified by the idea of being a pregnant teenager or the knowledge that when you are scared you might go find your favorite aunt. Mary went to her Auntie Elizabeth and received a blessing immediately. She did not go to the Aunt that said, “Oh your future was so bright…how disappointing” or “this baby is going to be expensive, I’ve clipped you some extra coupons.” Mary went to the one who loved her, who blessed her without conditions. Elizabeth knew Hannah’s story mirrored her own. I imagine her in her years of waiting for a child blessing the little ones in the family around her, teaching them songs and telling them stories. Mary knew Elizabeth was a safe space in this risky time and so she went to be with her, to take refuge and comfort as she prepared for the work ahead. This safe space and deep love, I believe, does wonders for our souls and our resilience. Mary leads by example, with her very life she tell us to take time to soak it in. 

The final learning I want to lift up from Mary and her song is the start. It says, “My soul magnifies the Lord.” I help you see God - this pregnant woman who shouldn’t be pregnant says, “I help you see God.” She was not ashamed she was sacred. She was not alone; none of the work was her work it was God’s work with her. She took courage that the path was one she should take with God’s love in and around and through her. The song she sang is about the present tense: God has lifted up the lowly God has torn the mighty from their thrones. Mary sang a song about God’s justice that was present not future. God’s work in writing the wrongs was not distant. Mary sang this song while Herod was King and Caesar was still on the coins in her pocket, but she sang it anyway. She sang what cannot be seen and she cannot be stopped from singing of God’s work in the world past, present and future. She chose to live into what could not be seen. She was not alone and she saw God at work in and through and around her, even if the world didn’t look perfect. 

Our baptismal commitment isn’t one we make alone. Baptism is an outward sign of God’s inward presence. God is with us and we are not alone in this work of resisting evil, injustice and oppression. We can take comfort and be renewed by the people who love us and we, like Mary, can cultivate a life of faith. This is what we do here, week in and week out. We gather to make space for renewal and reflection, space to challenge and redirect, and space to find a new path forward when all seems lost. I have heard your stories about how people made space for you in this space, how the songs matter and the words matter and the people in community comfort, care and matter. When I was in seminary, one of my favorite books was titled, “Into the Bone.” It was a text about liturgy and how the words we sing and say together, the words we read and study together, become a part of us and seep into us. Imagine, our bones fortified by more than calcium; fortified with love and nourished by courage. 

I knew this was true, academically or theoretically - I believed it. I have read about heart rates reducing when people recite a prayer they have known a long time. I have been in hospital rooms where suddenly the Lord’s Prayer brings people present who were not before. But the moment I was 100% convinced was in October. Some of you may remember we hosted Drag Queen Story Time and had some aggressive protesters. They were big and not just to me. And other than when they bought coffee, they wanted us to feel intimidated by their presence. Unlike the mild mannered protesters, they came in the Abbey and stomped around, moving closer and closer to the children and families listening to the story until one of them shouted two expletives towards the reader surrounded by children. I called the police and told them they had to leave, there was no room for shouting expletives in the Abbey. They continued to march around the Abbey, to harass folks on the street and to yell at the families as they departed. Two hours later on the way home from ballet, Lila asked some questions, like “why were they so angry?” Why were they so scary? What made them so scared? Why did they make a bad choice? We talked and I waited for her next question. But instead of a question, she started to sing. She started to sing, We are Called. “We are called to act with justice. We are called to love tenderly. We are called to love one another; to walk humbly with God.” She sang. I didn’t say, let’s sing a song that makes us feel brave when we feel scared. Let’s sing a song about loving. You gave her this song. Week in and week out you gave it to her when we sing together, and it was hers when she needed it; it was seeded in her soul.

Cultivating a life of faith takes time and requires presence. It means we pay attention to the words we sew into our being and songs that nourish us. It also means that we have tools to dream when the world looks hopeless and the songs to sing when earth seems so far from heaven. May we have the courage of Mary, may we build our resilience and may we remember we are not alone.

Epiphany - Going Home By Another Way

Epiphany Sermon by Rev. Debra McKnight - January 5, 2020

 

Matthew 2: 9-12

9 When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10 When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11 On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12 And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

We three kings…we know them, we sing about them, perhaps you have played them in a church Christmas Pageant. We love to decorate our mantels with stoic kings, kneeling before Jesus, arms outstretched with extravagant gifts or looking on with faces of adoration. We share this story every year in worship for Epiphany. We know them so well we might not know them at all. 

We get excited about the star, so excited that folks have looked to science proposing it was a comet, a supernova, two planets aligning or the dawning of the age of Aquarius (okay, so no commentary says that, just me).  But the point of the story isn’t about facts, but truth. Frankly, the nativity on your Grandma’s mantel is total hypocrisy if you are going to be literal about the Bible. All those folks are not together in the same place in the same time, it’s two different stories and proof once again that when it comes to faith the point isn’t about facts but truth. 

The truth is three folks with a certain amount of privilege travel through uncertainty to connect with God’s presence and it leads them to an act of civil disobedience. The other truth is they ask us to do the same. 

Magi isn’t a word we use often today, it’s not a title for any job and its not on anyone’s business cards. So it’s easy to see why we translate it as king and it’s not hard to imagine that ‘Christian’ Kings who usually underwrote the translating of Bibles wouldn’t hate seeing at least one positive, generous king in the first few chapters of Matthew. King, however, probably doesn’t get us quite to the right place in understanding these folks, they do have privilege; their jobs are looking into the sky on behalf of the community, interpreters of the creation, studying the past, thinking deeply about the present, knowing, wondering and guiding. I prefer the title Research Scientist for us as modern people. And this inevitably leads me to thinking of them a little bit more like Sheldon and Leonard (you know the Big Bang Theory) then bedazzled mantel decorations. We don’t know if their King’s sent them with the gifts, if they had to take PTO, if they really liked traveling to new places, what kind of documents they needed to pack or if their allergies were a mess in a different region. We can imagine what it feels like to be called out of your comfort zone and into the wider world, beyond the norms and boundaries and known; and I think part of the truth of the story comes alive when we do just that, when we put our hearts into the story. 

So here we are with the research scientists on a journey to celebrate a royal birth and they do what every important person would do, they check in at the with folks in authority, they go to Jerusalem and meet the King. The only problem is, there hasn’t just been a baby shower at the palace…no balloons, no bows on new strollers, King Herod hasn’t been putting a crib together. So foreign dignitaries asking, “Where is the one who is born king of the Jews we saw his star at it’s rising” gets a little awkward. Herod responds with fear and all of the people with him in Jerusalem join him. The King’s fear makes everyone afraid. This is reasonable if you know Herod. Try to imagine, if you will, a leader driven by his ego and appearance, insecure, knowing he is not really the true king and he serves at the pleasure of a larger power. Try to imagine, if you can, a leader who is volatile, comfortable with misinformation and lies, prone to violence and rushing to judgement. 

In his fear and uncertainty, Herod calls together the folks who know about the history and transition of Israel, the chief priests and the scribes. Asking them where the messiah is to be born and they according to Matthew point to the prophets and name Bethlehem. And then they all go about their day...okay, that’s not what is says, but I wonder why the scribes and priests, the folks that know the tradition, the leaders of the community rooted in their history and concerned about their future, why they didn’t ask more questions and why they didn’t join the magi or at least investigate. They are completely compliant and complacent. They risk nothing, their eyes do not open to new possibilities on the horizon, if they see a star they look the other way. They will not experience an epiphany…or if they do, well, they keep a lid on it to keep the ‘peace’. 

The Magi leave the seat of power, but not before Herod grinning like the Grinch to Cindy Lou Who, says, “When you find the child report back so I may go and pay him homage.” Lies. Those wise ones were wise enough to know it, to feel it. Most of the time we can feel it, it’s just a matter of acting. They follow their star GPS and the guidance of the scribes to Bethlehem where they find Mary and toddler Jesus at home and immediately they pause in awe, “overwhelmed by joy” the text proclaims, they lean into this awe, quite literally. The experience invites awe, then in gratitude they offer gifts and then…the experience leads to civil disobedience. They listened to the dream warning them, maybe Herod’s ask kept them up at night, maybe they know what it looks like when people abuse their power; regardless they make the risky choice and journey home by another way. This is the pattern of the gospel, Jesus invites people to sense God, they are overwhelmed with joy, they lean into their awe, they respond with gratitude and abundance. And they are not the same. They can not go back to life how it was before, they go home by another way. They choose the unknown, the risky and the unsteady. They risk the ire of a violent leader and they do not buy into the fear he is creating, they go home another way. 

Merry Christmas, it may not be as simple and sweet as it sounds. Christmas asks a lot and Epiphany, I think asks even more, at least for a lot of us in this room. Matthew’s story has the potential to hit close to home. Most of us have more in common with the Magi/Research Scientists then we do with the Gospel of Luke’s Shepherds. We have various degrees of privilege and we can act like the scribes and priest who did nothing or we can act like the Magi who refuse to participate in the system. My friend Rev. Chris Jorgensen and I like to call this, “Patriarchy Chicken.” We have degrees of privilege and power and there is often a difference between perceived power and actual power. And there are ways to risk, edges to push, clarifications to make and moments when we simply don’t have to comply. Often we are prone to giving folks with power more power, often we look the the other way or let that little lie stand unchecked…just to keep the peace. But the truth is we can go home by another way. May we have the courage. 

May it be so. Amen.

Rev. Debra McKnight

Sacred Bodies - Word Made Flesh

Christmas Eve Reflection by Rev. Debra McKnight

 

Matthew 1:1-11

An account of the genealogy^[a] of Jesus the Messiah,^[b] the son of David, the son of Abraham.

² Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, ³ and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, and Perez the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Aram, ⁴ and Aram the father of Aminadab, and Aminadab the father of Nahshon, and Nahshon the father of Salmon, ⁵ and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse, ⁶ and Jesse the father of King David.

And David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah, ⁷ and Solomon the father of Rehoboam, and Rehoboam the father of Abijah, and Abijah the father of Asaph,^[c] 8 and Asaph^[d] the father of Jehoshaphat, and Jehoshaphat the father of Joram, and Joram the father of Uzziah, ⁹ and Uzziah the father of Jotham, and Jotham the father of Ahaz, and Ahaz the father of Hezekiah, ¹⁰ and Hezekiah the father of Manasseh, and Manasseh the father of Amos,^[e] and Amos^[f] the father of Josiah, ¹¹ and Josiah the father of Jechoniah and his brothers, at the time of the deportation to Babylon.

This scripture is not great, particularly for reading in church…especially on Christmas Eve. The Gospel of John, now that’s a good way to start a Christmas Eve sermon! It is epic, rather akin to the start of the original Star Wars…picture it words flashing across the screen…and the Word was with God and the Word was God, printed in the boldness to match until it scrolls down further: and the word became flesh and dwelt among us. The word became flesh: that is poetry! That is powerful! God embodied, flesh is sacred and divine even - now that is the way to start a Christmas Eve sermon!

But the Gospel of Matthew takes a different route, and to us it may just sound like a bunch of names. But I think it gets to the heart of what ‘word made flesh’ means. It is filled with a wild cast of characters. From the very start, they are perfectly imperfect. Abraham and his wife, Sarah, are faithful and make mistakes; they are cruel to Hagar; Abraham nearly sacrifices his own son; they laugh at God’s promise. Jacob wrestled with God, tricked his brother out of his birthright, had 12 sons who sold one of their own brothers into slavery and yet, was transformed into Israel, sharing a name for a whole people to follow. This is the word made flesh - a litany of messy people. There’s Tamar, who tricked her father-in-law to conceive a child, and Rahab, a sex worker who helped the people of Israel in their conquest of the Promised Land. There’s Ruth, an outsider who clung to her mother-in-law, Naomi, when she should have gone off and married into a new family. Ruth finds a way out of no way by seducing Boaz (the Bible says she uncovered his feet and, hint - that is not all!). Ruth, this outsider in love with her mother-in-law beyond all reason is word made flesh and King David’s Grandma. David’s father was named Jessie, the man who didn’t even invite David to meet the prophet when he came looking for the next King. Like Cinderella’s step mother, he seemed shocked that the prophet would be considering his youngest boy, and yet that is exactly the one called to the messy work of leadership in the kingdom of Israel. David was both great and terrible: he sang both praise and apology. The greatest king of Israel’s history was completely imperfect: that’s word made flesh. This litany names King David and his son Solomon in the worst possible way; it points out in front of God and everyone David’s affair and possible assault by saying “Wife of Uriah” rather than Bathsheba.

Word made flesh: messy, imperfect, hopeful people all of them. Great and terrible, cruel and kind. It is like the author of the Gospel of Matthew thought, let’s find all the skeletons and put them out as decorations for Christmas. Nobody does that! That’s why I think we need the Scriptures from both Matthew and John. Matthew gives John’s poetry some flesh. We have a theology of Incarnation, God incarnate, God embodied, and God with us, in us and through us. This season anchors us in it, the sacredness of the body, the dignity of our flesh, and our bodies as vessels of the divine. I find this delightful and challenging, because for most of history, we Christians have really struggled with flesh. We have often set up a spectrum, and flesh never comes out with a high rating on that scale. The spirit, that’s where it’s at or maybe where God is at. We place the spirit on one side and the flesh on the other. We say things like the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. The spirit is good and lovely and godly and the flesh is terrible and nasty and prone to all sorts of problems. We took Paul’s grappling with his own turning toward God and the Early Church father’s anxiety about bodies and rather than grappling with word made flesh we became much more comfortable with policing bodies. We decided certain bodies are better or more valuable, certain bodies get a big palace and other bodies can scrape by and eat the crumbs from the table. We decided what bodies can touch each other and when they can touch each other; you know if they meet the requirements and fill out these forms. And some bodies are to holy to touch other bodies; while other bodies don’t even get to choose, at least not really. Word made flesh is the heart of our faith, and yet we got into the business of managing flesh because it makes us so nervous.

It makes sense that the earliest debates among Christians were about Jesus and his flesh: just how fleshy is he? In fact, one of the first theologies deemed a heresy (I don’t often like using that word, at least not lightly) proposed Jesus to be not much flesh at all, sort of emerging fully formed and perfect, more Athena than baby in a manager. Word made flesh is so hard for us that we much prefer Jesus to descend fully formed and perfect. We love superheroes, and it would make sense to us if Jesus was more Superman, than man, perhaps from some other planet that really loved people. We could get his compassion and love of justice if he were Wonder Woman’s cousin, some other type of being, or if he was bitten by a spider that made him a fantastic healer and caretaker of people. Because if he is super and not flesh, then he isn’t so hard to follow, and we can make excuses all day long. Incarnation asks too much of us.  Word made flesh means bodies are sacred and we are typically not so good at loving our own bodies, let alone the bodies of others.  We get weird about our bodies, nervous about their size and shape, we feed them too much and too little or only certain things. Word made flesh asks us to love and we struggle to love our flesh. We are the only creatures on God’s green earth with mass graves and mass incarceration. We are the only creatures marching people into death camps, starving, enslaving, and exploiting, and we are the only creatures with mass shootings and weapons of mass destruction. 

Christmas speaks everything to the contrary - bodies are sacred. Word made flesh means everything must change and asks us the hardest ask of all: to be a part of it. Word made flesh means our hands and hearts are called to make ‘earth as it is in heaven.’ Christmas asks us to see as God sees, to look at faces down the street and around the globe as sacred. Christmas asks us to hear God, in the sounds of a baby crying and a toddler giggling; in the greetings of loved ones and the tongues we don’t even know. Christmas says to touch; flesh is important. We know this from birth. Babies need skin to skin contact. One of the ladies we visited in the nursing home at First Church had a person she hugged every day at lunch. They knew they needed human touch and they made it happen; they committed to it. There is a story of a nurse in the height of the AIDS crisis, when fear and hate trapped scientific reason. She chose to care for the man all of her nurses had labeled as nasty and mean. Entering his room, she was overcome with intuition to take off her gloves. And she touched him. She had been the first person to touch him in a long time, none of the of the doctors, none of the nurses had touched him, his parents left him to die alone. This nurse, her hands changed everything. She stayed in his room all night listening, being present, giving him a human heart, honoring his flesh, touching him. And he died the next day, one more tender moment of peace and one more tender touch honoring his flesh as sacred.  

Word made flesh. God incarnate sings out love, love, love. Love your being, love your body. Love. Love others, see them as sacred, hear their songs of hope and honor their being. Flesh is sacred. The word made flesh asks us, calls us, and requires us to love. May we have the courage. Amen.

Many Blessings from Your Friendly Local Abbot,
Rev. Debra