"I've been meaning to ask...where do we go from here?" a sermon on Ruth 1:1-22

Ruth 1:1-22
“I’ve been meaning to ask…where do we go from here?”
Preached Sunday, February 9, 2025

“I’ve been meaning to ask…where do we go from here?”

This is our final week of our four week sermon series, “I’ve been meaning to ask..”

A Sanctified Art, the creative team behind the series says this about the theme:

“In creating this series, we started by asking ourselves questions: ‘How can we listen to one another? How do we find connection[...]? How do we create space for compassionate dialogue and for seeking the holy in one another?’

While the challenges of becoming beloved community to one another are endless, these questions are simple. We quickly recognized that all courageous conversations begin with simple questions and the curiosity to truly listen. …The main objective of this series [is]: to cultivate courageous conversations—and to keep having them…these questions aren’t surface level; they invite us to share our pain and seek ways to care for one another.”

And so I have chosen to preach these questions over the last couple of weeks. And I do think we’ve encouraged each other to be courageous community to one another. Over the last couple weeks I have overheard or engaged in conversations with many of you about who you are, about what you’re going through, about how you’re supporting each other and showing up for one another… I am only getting a small glimpse into this. I pray and hope you are finding other, unknown to me ways, but known to God, as to how you are showing up and being community to one another…

And so today we are rounding out our sermon series with “Where do we go from here?” While this is the end of this sermon series, I pray it is only the beginning of the ways we show up for one another and move forward as beloved community together…

Which brings us to our Scripture from Ruth today. The story of Naomi and Ruth actually brings together all the questions we’ve asked ourselves and one another so far:

“Where are you from?”
Naomi was from Bethlehem in Judah but lived many years as a foreigner in a foreign land, as an immigrant. There was a famine in the land of Judah and Elimelech thought that moving to Moab would have a better life for his family. And then, when their fate turns in Moab, they seek to return to Judah. And yet, Naomi has been irrevocably changed by place and the experiences she had as an outsider in another land. And now it is time for Ruth, the Moabite, to be the foreigner. There is no doubt that Naomi and Ruth and this whole story is shaped by place.

“Where does it hurt?”
Naomi has experienced the death of her husband and two sons. Ruth has experienced the loss of her husband as well. Naomi has said goodbye to her home twice - only to return to a place that was once home but she has been changed beyond recognition by loss and grief. She says, no longer call me Naomi but call me Mara which means bitter. Ruth has now also said goodbye to her home, has lost her husband young, and is leaving behind everything she’s ever known. Where does it hurt? In the story of Naomi and Ruth a better question may be - where doesn’t it hurt? They have known acute loss. Acute grief. So much death and loss. And the particular pain of saying goodbye to one's home and one’s country in hope of a better life elsewhere.

“What do you need?”
As widows without husbands or sons, both Naomi and Ruth are on the outskirts of an extremely patriarchal society. Later in their story, we find them gleaning the fields. The Law in Leviticus 23:22 says, “When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor and for the alien: I am the Lord your God.” This protection was to ensure that no one went hungry. That there was always food available for the picking for the last and the least - that included Naomi and Ruth. There were also other needs - Ruth and Naomi needed each other. Friendship. Companionship. They needed a path forward as well.

Which brings us today: “Where do we go from here…?”

And it’s kind of a trick question - and I don’t mean it to be - but the answer to where do we go from here is not a place, it is not a destination, it is a state of being and that is - together as a community.

We see the first part of this today where Ruth pledges herself to Naomi. Where do we go from here? Wherever we go, we go together. Ruth says,

“Where you go, I will go;
where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people
and your God my God.
Where you die, I will die,
and there will I be buried.
May the Lord do thus to me,
and more as well,
if even death parts me from you!”

The Scripture says that Naomi says no more to dissuade her. And through the rest of the book, Naomi calls Ruth “my daughter.”

Where do they go from here? Whatever the future holds for them, they will be together.

They also need a wider community. They need the community to leave the harvest in the fields for them. They need a wider community to care for the last, lost, and least. Where do they go from here? They only go forward with the support of a wider community that cares for their needs.

Where do they go from here? Whatever the future holds for them, they will be in community.

Ruth is only able to glean as much as she does because a man, Boaz, took notice of her and he instructs others to not reproach her and to keep her safe. There are risks for a young, widowed, foreign woman. Thankfully, the community and honorable people respond with protection. They only go forward by looking out and protecting those who need help.

Where do they go from here? Whatever the future holds, they look out for one another.

Which brings me to us here today, the people of Boardman UMC, where do we go from here? We go forward together. We go forward in community. We go forward looking out for each other and the last, the lost and the least.

When we ask ourselves and one another, “where do WE go from here” - the emphasis is on the “we.” It is a recognition that we are called to continue to be community to one another, as we get to know each other better, as we share pain, and care for one another. It is not a journey that ends today - it is just a continuation of being community, it is a challenge to better be community to one another and all we meet - letting the love of Christ guide us all to better love one another.

Rev. Aisha Brooks-Johnson says this about the book of Ruth and Ruth’s pledge to Naomi to go forward together:

“We have experienced a lot of death, grief, and loss in the midst of a global pandemic, racial brokenness, economic disparity, and political division. Can you imagine a world in which we took spiritual oaths like the one we find in the book of Ruth? What if we resisted the temptation to fight or flee in the face of grief, pain, and oppression? What if we took these vows with members of our human family? Imagine a member of the human family before you and speak these words aloud to them: By the mercy of God and because of God’s grace, we are bound to one another. Your pain is not your own but is now my pain. The plight of your people is held in my hands and my heart as if they were my own. Where you journey and work, I too, will journey and work alongside you, with God’s help. Where your bones are buried, may I too, find a resting place and declare every earthly resting place sacred in the eyes of God.”

There is no doubt that we are living in divisive times. There is no doubt that we are living in times where the question of “Where are you from” is a loaded one and the answer often influences how much dignity a person receives. There is no doubt that we are living in a time where there is so much pain and the question of “Where does it hurt?” is a risky one to ask because it will push us to empathize with one another and stand in solidarity with those in pain. There is no doubt we are living in a time of great need. When asking each other, “what do you need?” may require commitment and sacrifice from ourselves and our own desires to put the needs of others first.

So how do we as Christians who are seeking to live out the love of Christ in community - how do we counteract the divisiveness, pain, and needs of the world? We ask each other the hard, courageous questions, we open our ears and hearts, we listen, we learn - we change our hearts and minds to conform to the heart and mind of Christ, and we go into the future together - leaving no one behind.

And we do that by being community to one another and to all of our fellow human beings.

We learn each other’s stories. We empathize with pain. We show up for one another. We envision a future - for our church, our country, our world - that sees all human beings as beloved, reflecting the Imago Dei, the divine image of God, in each and every one of us.

When discerning where to go - together - there are a lot more courageous conversations to be had and what to ask. As a church community, bounded together by love, we may ask ourselves and one another:

What energizes or excites you?
What is something you deeply long for?

We might ask: What’s something in your life, in the Church, or in the world that desperately needs to change? How do you want to be part of that change?

And, allow me to make it real concrete for us here at Boardman UMC for a moment, show you part of the roadmap for what lies ahead of us.

Our leadership has approved moving forward with a Capital Campaign for renovations and repairs for building and ministry. We are titling this campaign: “Today, Tomorrow, Together” - and I and key leaders will be sharing and you all will be hearing a lot more about this campaign and endeavour in the near-ish future… but the whole question of that campaign is really “where do we go from here?” And the answer is: Together. We are making changes and improvements for a better today and for a better tomorrow - and we will do so together.

And again, there is no denying how much pain, confusion, fear, anxiety is out there in our world - and perhaps also, in our own lives. And our own congregation. Here, among us today. And so, for all of us who want our world to look more like the Kingdom of Christ - we all have a lot of work to do. Together, how can we make the world a more loving place? We start with the questions.

I’ve been sharing poems from The Rev. Sarah Are throughout this sermon series, I have one more that I’d like to end with:

“Flashlight”

I wish I could draw you a map
of the next steps—
the next conversation,
the next brave truth,
the next fumble,
the next apology.
Wouldn’t it be nice to know
what’s coming?
Wouldn’t it be nice to
prepare our hearts?
But I don’t know where to go from here.
I am a child with a flashlight—
deeply hopeful and a little nervous,
all at the very same time.
What I do know is I don’t want to go
anywhere without you.
So I’m hoping that you will
take my hand.
See this truth.
Trust my voice.
Look for the good.
And day by day,
we can go from here,
because we were never meant
to go alone.
And maybe we’ll get lost;
but then again,
maybe we’ll be found.
So if you’re willing,
if you’ll just say yes,
I will let you hold the flashlight.
We can find our way,
step by step,
light in hand,
abolishing shadows
together.
Who needs a map
when you have
the light, anyway?”

I’ve been meaning to ask…where do we go from here? We go together and with Christ. Amen.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…what do you need?” a sermon on Job 2:11-13 & 2 Timothy 4:9-18

Job 2:11-13
2 Timothy 4:9-18
“I’ve been meaning to ask…what do you need?” preached Sunday, February 2, 2025

“I’ve been meaning to ask…what do you need?”

We are continuing our sermon series on “I’ve been meaning to ask…” A Sanctified Art, the creative team behind the series says this about the theme:

“In creating this series, we started by asking ourselves questions: ‘How can we listen to one another? How do we find connection[...]? How do we create space for compassionate dialogue and for seeking the holy in one another?’

While the challenges of becoming beloved community to one another are endless, these questions are simple. We quickly recognized that all courageous conversations begin with simple questions and the curiosity to truly listen. …The main objective of this series [is]: to cultivate courageous conversations—and to keep having them…these questions aren’t surface level; they invite us to share our pain and seek ways to care for one another.”

And so I have chosen to preach these questions over, hopefully igniting curiosity, conversation, and community amongst those here at Boardman United Methodist Church, and beyond. And I want to revisit last week’s question before we move forward today.

Last week we asked of ourselves and one another, “Where does it hurt?” We talked about how it is extremely risky and courageous to ask this of one another. Because everyone has pain. We are called to see the pain of others and then act in solidarity with them. Sometimes that act is just bearing witness to the pain and being a friend. Which, often, but not always, is the answer to “what do you need?” I need to be seen. I need to be known. I need to be loved. I need a friend.

Which brings me to the term “Ministry of Presence.” I would go on to hear the phrase talked about in seminary and pastoral care classes…but I first heard the phrase and saw it lived out through my husband. The following is shared with his permission.

Zach’s dad was sick for a long time. Muscular Dystrophy. For him, there was no cure and no treatment. And before long, he lost the ability to answer the question: what do you need? He could not move his body and he could not speak. He lived his final years in a nursing home before he passed away in 2014 at the age of 55. When I met Zach, working together at Camp Asbury, every Saturday he would go visit his dad. Before I knew Zach well, I just wondered where he disappeared to every weekend. Once we started dating, I often went with him. The first summer we were married, we went together every Saturday to see his dad. And when Zach would go, and sit at his father’s bedside, and hold his hand, and make one-sided conversation…his dad would just look at him…and smile. Zach was giving him what he needed - the ministry of presence. That is, the gift of just knowing that you are not alone. You are not forgotten. There are people who love you dearly. What do you need? Just me and you sitting here together. What do you need? Zach and his dad both needed those Saturdays together. A dad who needed to know his children loved him. A son who still needed his father in his life.

What do you need? Sometimes the answer is as hard and as easy - as the ministry of presence. Of sitting with someone in whatever they are going through.

That’s what Job’s friends do in our first Scripture reading this morning. The story of Job is an allegory that explores our understanding of human suffering and our relationship with the Divine in the midst of it. In it, Job loses everything and everyone and Job’s friends respond to him. Now, Job’s friends do go on to put their foots in their mouths - but in the Scriptures we read today, they got it right. Job went through extreme trauma and extreme loss, perhaps most heartbreakingly, the death of his children. And so Job’s friends immediately respond to his distress.

“Now when Job’s three friends heard of all these troubles that had come upon him, each of them set out from his home…They met together to go and console and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they did not recognize him, and they raised their voices and wept aloud; they tore their robes and threw dust in the air upon their heads. They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.”

Rending one's clothing and covering oneself in dust were physical acts of solidarity of the grief of the one mourning. It was a powerful ritual that physically showed someone, “your grief is now my grief. You are not alone.” I wonder if we have modern day equivalents - bringing someone a casserole, sending them little daily texts just to say “I’m thinking of you,” or simply showing up, like Job’s friends, but without the theatrics.

In another church I served, we had a church leader’s husband unexpectedly die at a young age. The church member and widow was not alone for the next week. Friends filled her home, they sat together, they cried together - they took care of everything - the kids, the meals, the cleaning. They even slept next to her in bed, holding her when she would wake up crying at night.

“What do you need?” Everything. I can’t do anything but cry right now. Please, hold me.

In the Jewish tradition, they call what Job’s friends did and what those church members did, they call it “sitting shiva.” Shiva comes from the Hebrew word for seven - a period of 7 days, of solidarity with the mourning. Mourners sit low to the ground and don’t do the daily tasks. The community surrounds them to care for them during this time. They weep, read Scripture, mourn, say goodbye - together. “What do you need?” I need a community to surround me.

When we ask “What do you need?” We need to be ready to respond to the answer of the one in need. Sometimes those needs may be solidarity, support, a friend. Other times there may also be physical needs.

In our reading from 2 Timothy today, Paul does need the gift of presence - he wants Timothy with him and soon. In this passage he gives himself and others the gift of forgiveness - meeting a need for his soul…but he also isn’t shy in sharing his physical needs: cloaks, books, parchment.

Paul was never one to shy away from sharing his needs: intangible yes - but also the tangible. He did lots of fundraising for his ministries and when you’re a fundraiser, you learn not to be too shy in the ask. And because he has a good friend in Timothy, he has someone to help him with those tangible needs.

We all have those intangible needs: the need to be seen, known, and loved. The tangible needs are present as well - in varying degrees depending on the individual. Meeting the immediate, tangible, physical needs of our neighbors is extremely Christlike.

Jesus preached in Matthew 25 that when you give the thirsty something to drink, the hungry something to eat, when you welcome the stranger in, when you give the naked clothes, and when you visit the sick and imprisoned - you do so to Jesus himself. Jesus’s whole ministry involved meeting people’s tangible needs. He gave the hungry something to eat, he made the blind to see, he stopped the bleeding, and healed the sick. He cast out demons and put his body in front of those who were at risk of being harmed.

Sometimes when we ask someone what they need - and they say a tangible thing - we need to be prepared to meet that need, if it is within our realm of possibility, without judgement. For example, in seminary I often volunteered with an advocacy group for people experiencing homelessness. They said the number one thing people on the street needed was money - to allow people to have the agency to use it for their needs - to buy clothing for an interview, a motel room for a night inside, food that they liked. Of course, many people - myself included - struggle with this request. We think, “what if they use the money for drugs or alcohol?” And there are some who do. At the end of the day, how the gift is used is between them and God - the giver has done their part by meeting the need. They advocacy agency shared if you just couldn’t give money, then warm winter clothing and food were other strong needs. Another example - when a new mom has a baby, everyone wants to hold the baby. But maybe what she really needs is for someone to do the dishes or cook dinner so she can soak in the snuggles. I did tell people they could come hold the baby…but 3am would really be the best time. Following my emergency surgery, both grandmas came and did this for one night each. It was so amazing.

Whether someone needs the gift of presence, of friendship and companionship, of sitting shiva - or they need financial aid, a good meal, help cleaning the house…or whatever it is - it is courageous to ask them what they need. Think of those in your life who may be in need right now - are you willing and able to ask them what they need? Ask them how you can help? And are you prepared to meet that need? To be clear - sometimes we cannot meet the need. The ask is too great. Or the person has a history of taking advantage of offers for help. It is important to both receive the answer without judgement but also with discernment for what is within your realm of possibility. Sometimes what someone needs, just isn’t possible. Many times a spouse of a dying loved one tells me they need a miracle. Tells me they need healing. I can’t make that happen. I can pray to God that God’s will be done. I can pray to God to hear our prayers. And I can say, Lord, if you will it, give us a miracle. And yet, at the end of the day - I can’t bring the healing. I can’t bring the miracle. But I can hold your hand in the unknown.

The Rev. Sarah Are says it like this in her poem “Unlearning Hands:

“I used to always ask,
“How can I help?” but
maybe I can’t help.
Maybe these hands are too small.
Maybe the boat will sink anyway.
Maybe your heart has been broken
and grief has moved in, making itself
at home in your life.
Maybe what you need from me
is not a solution
or a plan
or a fix-it strategy,
but something else,
something more.
…
What do you need?
My hands might be small,
but they can still hold yours.”

One last thing on asking the courageous question of “What do you need?” Sometimes it is good to ask the open ended question. And sometimes, it’s also good to offer up what we can give. Sometimes, when asked “What do you need?” the person may feel embarrassed to share what they need. Or they don’t want to inconvenience you. So they’ll say nothing. Or if we say, “let me know if you need anything” - the person in need may not be in the state of mind to even think of what to ask for.

Kate Bowler in her book, “Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved” offers a list of things not to say when someone is going through trauma and then a list of things to say…the book and the whole list is worth checking out but here’s the first thing she says about what TO say:
"’I'd love to bring you a meal this week. Can I email you about it?’"
And her response:
“Oh, thank goodness. I am starving, but mostly I can never figure out something to tell people that I need, even if I need it. But really, bring me anything. Chocolate. A potted plant. A set of weird erasers. I remember the first gift I got that wasn't about cancer, and I was so happy I cried. Send me funny emails filled with YouTube clips to watch during chemotherapy. Do something that suits your talents. But most important, bring me presents!”

Along with those presents, Bowler recommends friendship, just letting someone know they are being cheered on and prayed for, and the gift of companionable silence.

I’ve been meaning to ask…how can I help? The answer very well may be as simple and as hard as the gift of the ministry of presence, or it may be within our possibility to help a neighbor with a tangible need. May we be courageous in asking this question, opening up opportunities for us to be Christ to one another. Or, summed up in the famous quote attributed to John Wesley:

“Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.”
Amen.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…Where does it hurt?” a sermon based on 1 Samuel 1:1-18 & Mark 5:21-43

1 Samuel 1:1-18
Mark 5:21-43

“I’ve been meaning to ask…Where does it hurt?”
Preached Sunday, January 26, 2025

I’ve been meaning to ask…where does it hurt?

The groundwork we need to lay for today’s sermon starts with laying bare our stark reality and that is this:
We live in a hurting world.
Each of us here has known pain.
Each and every person we encounter is hurting in some way.

Perhaps our pain stems from illness or chronic pain. Diseases known and unknown. Seen and unseen. Those with cures and treatments of those without.
Perhaps our pain comes from the realities of aging and coming to terms with the loss - of ability and friends that comes along with that.
Perhaps our pain comes from loss and the accompanying grief. Loss of loved ones through death or broken relationships. For some in our country, like those in North Carolina after flooding or in California after wildfires, it may be the loss of one’s home and belongings. It may be a loss of what the world used to be.
Perhaps our pain comes from fear - fear of being the target of hate or violence.
Perhaps our pain comes from trauma or abuse - past or ongoing.
Perhaps our pain comes from addiction that wrecks havoc on our lives, destroying ourselves and our relationships from the inside out.
Perhaps our pain comes from being part of an oppressed or marginalized group…
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…there are many reasons why we are hurting. But all of us has known hurt. It is part of simply being human.

But too often we are made to feel ashamed of our pain. For us in this room today, we all live in America where the myth of the independent strong man is rampant. That myth, that false idol, that harmful ideology, is the belief that we don’t need anyone else. That every man is an island. That we are unaffected by the pain and hardships of others and we have no one to look after but ourselves. We are no one’s keeper but our own. And so we internalize that if our pain becomes known, if we show our pain, we are weak. That we are dependent. In a world that values strength and independence above all else. Although God did not create us for strength or independence. God created us as vulnerable human beings who deeply need one another.

You may notice that I said the universal “man” instead of the non-gender specific “people” - which I normally very intentionally do not do. Especially as a woman in a male dominated field. But I did it purposefully. Both of today’s Scriptures are about women and women, more than men, are often given permission to share their pain more than their male counterparts - although men 100 percent also have pain. And because of the toxic masculinity that is rampant in our world, with phrases like “boys don’t cry” - men especially are made to feel ashamed for their pain and vulnerable emotions. And this deeply hurts men - making them carry shame and creating unhealthy relationships and patterns of expression.

And so we are, even subconsciously, often without knowing we do it, men and women, regardless of gender, we bury our pain deep down. Hiding it from others and sometimes even ourselves and we fool ourselves thinking we hide it from God.

A further detriment of hiding our own pain is, when we see our own pain and hurt as shameful, we see the pain of others in this way too. We keep ourselves from seeing the pain and hurt of others through the eyes of God…From seeing and loving our neighbors as God asks us to.

And so asking “Where does it hurt?” sparks courageous conversation. That is the goal of our sermon series, “I’ve been meaning to ask…”

A Sanctified Art, the creative team behind this sermon series, said this about the concept of “I’ve been meaning to ask…”:

“In creating this series, we started by asking ourselves questions: ‘How can we listen to one another? How do we find connection[...]? How do we create space for compassionate dialogue and for seeking the holy in one another?’

While the challenges of becoming beloved community to one another are endless, these questions are simple. We quickly recognized that all courageous conversations begin with simple questions and the curiosity to truly listen. …The main objective of this series [is]: to cultivate courageous conversations—and to keep having them…these questions aren’t surface level; they invite us to share our pain and seek ways to care for one another.”

And so I have chosen to preach these questions over the next couple of weeks, hopefully igniting curiosity, conversation, and community amongst those here at Boardman United Methodist Church, and beyond.

Asking of ourselves and one another - “Where does it hurt?” sparks courageous conversation. Asking “where does it hurt?” removes or lessens the shame from our pain by bringing it out of the shadows or stigma and into the light where it can be fully seen. Asking “Where does it hurt?” disrupts the myth, the false idol, of the independent strong man, which allows us to better be in beloved community with one another. Asking “where does it hurt?” allows us to be truly seen and accepted by one another. Asking “where does it hurt?” allows us to be God to one another.

Which brings us to the first of our Scripture lessons from today. Let us turn to Hannah and her pain. Hannah deeply needed to be seen in her pain, to be seen, known, and loved. A content warning for infertility and accompanying pain, although you’ve heard the Scripture already. Hannah’s pain stems from her infertility and her deep desire for a child. While many women are working to break the stigma around sharing pain regarding infertility and child loss, it is still a pain, a hurt, with a deep stigma and shame attached to it. Where it doesn’t need to be. If this is a pain you have struggled with, seen or unseen, known or unknown, know you are not alone. You are loved and held by God in that pain. And Hannah, in her pain, demands to be seen. She needs her pain to be seen. In the verses that follow where we ended our reading today, Hannah does conceive a child. However, I purposefully did not include that Scripture in today’s reading. Because, the pain of many who struggle with infertility does not end with a child. And what brings her a step towards wholeness and healing by the end of these verses is not conceiving a child - it is being seen in her pain.

The Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity says this about Hannah, “In Hannah, I see a woman who has been mocked, shamed, diminished, and ignored. However, she refuses to be silenced. In the presence of her pain, she grits her teeth, pours her heart out before God, and insists that we see her.”

I’ll refer to the Scripture here, 1 Samuel 1:11: “She made this vow: ‘O Lord of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant and remember me…’” She is asking God, first and foremost, to look upon her. For God to see her misery. For God to know and remember the hurt that Hannah has.

Not only does she pray directly to God to be seen, she pleads with Eli to see her as she is - hurting and calling out to God. 1 Samuel 1:15-16: “But Hannah answered, ‘No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.;”

And blessedly, Eli sees her in that moment, truly sees her. And through his eyes, is seen by God. 1 Samuel 1:17-18, “Then Eli answered, ‘Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.’ And she said, “Let your servant find favor in your sight.’” Hannah is seen by Eli, and through Eli, she knows she is seen by God as well.

When we see hurt - we don’t need to fix it or cure it - but we do need to see it. We aren’t asking today, “How can I help?” (Although we will ask that next week.) We are not asking, “How can I fix it?” We are asking “Where does it hurt?” So that in asking we can see the full humanity of the hurting person or persons in front of us. So we can see them a little more in the wholeness that God sees them in. So that in seeing them, we can let them know that they are not alone. That we too hurt and can be in solidarity with one another. And that God, who knew pain in Jesus - deep pain - betrayal, torture, abandonment, rejection, death - that God is in solidarity with us. In our pain.

Verse 18 ends with this: “Then the woman went her way and ate and drank with her husband, and her countenance was sad no longer.” What alleviated her pain was not the knowledge of conception. What alleviated her pain, what lifted her countenance, was her pain being acknowledged by Eli and by God.

The Rev. Sarah Are puts it like this in her poem, “When It Hurts”:

“Tell me—
where does it hurt?
I’m not offering to fix the pain,
I’m not that powerful.
However, I am offering to see it.
Show me your scars,
and I’ll show you that
you’re not alone.”

Seeing pain does come with risks - it can disrupt our day to day. Our blissful ignorance. Our heads in the sand. It means the status quo cannot continue and we need to be moved to solidarity, to allyship, to live out our love. Part of the stigma around seeing other people’s pain that we deal with in our culture is that those who are attuned to the hardship and pain of others are called bleeding hearts. But I would rather have a bleeding heart, loving what God loves, having my heart break over what breaks God’s heart, than to have a heart of stone. Over and over in Scripture, we see story after story that tells us that not hardening our hearts is a radical act of Christian love that we are called to. Like the Good Samaritan, we are not to pass by pain when we see it. And like the Pharaoh, God wants our hearts of stone to be broken. For when our hearts are broken open, we make room to love as God loves. Even if our hearts bleed from the pain of this world, it is the blood of Christ that brings healing. And we are called to be the body and blood of Christ in this world. Our bleeding hearts may bring healing to this world. To bleed openly in solidarity with the pain of others is to let those in pain know that there is a God who loves them beyond measure, pain and all.

When we see the pain of Hannah in Scripture, the next step is to use the lens of Scripture to see the pain in our world: Rev. Garrity continues her commentary, saying this about Hannah, “When I look at [Hannah], I remember when I have been Peninnah. Whose pain have I mocked? I remember when I have been Elkanah. Whose pain have I questioned? I remember when I have been Eli. Whose pain have I dismissed? And then I remember when I have been Hannah, and I look for who is screaming in my own midst. Where does it hurt? When I ask this question, I’ll remember to also say: ‘I see you.;”

Seeing pain disrupts our lives. Jesus calls us to these disruptions and we see examples of this disruption in our reading from Mark this morning. Jesus was traveling, doing his thing, when Jarius disrupts his day to day and says, “Come and heal my daughter!” He is on his way to heal the girl when the hemorrhaging woman touches him, disrupting his mission to Jairus’s house - he stops to truly see the pain, the hurt - and the faith - of the chronically ill woman. And when he shows up at the house, he disrupts the grieving that is happening - and disrupts death itself.

Rev. Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum says this about these disruptions in Mark: “These relational and embodied healings humanize those whose hurting has been pushed aside, calling our attention to the broken systems that can perpetuate and dehumanize pain. Jesus’ healing disrupts the injustice of a woman who has been rejected and labeled impure for her condition. With the girl, Jesus disrupts death itself. How might we allow Jesus to disrupt us—enabling us to acknowledge others’ pain so that we may seek life together? We must put ourselves in the uncomfortable places where human beings live, breathe, and hurt—because those are the places where we will also find Jesus.”

When we engage in courageous conversation and ask one another “Where does it hurt?” We are being God to those in pain. We are bringing awareness to God’s constant presence with us - especially in our pain. One of the major theological doubts or questions, Christian and non-Christians alike have is…”in our hurting world, where is God in all this?” The answer is simple and profound: God meets us in our pain. God cries with us. God’s heart breaks when we inflict pain on one another. God rends divine garments, dons sackcloth, and mourns when we treat each other as less than human. Less than beloved children made in the image of God. God’s heart is broken open when we act with anything less than mercy, justice, and love. As it’s simply put in Micah: “what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?” Or as Jesus summarizes all the law and prophets in the greatest commandments: Love God. Love Neighbor.

Where is God in the world’s pain? God is in solidarity with the world’s pain, both crying with us and wiping away our tears. God sees us. All of us. God sees our pain. All of our pain. God holds us, loves us. And asks us to be God to one another: to let mercy, justice, and love reign. We can ease the hurt in this world. We can’t fix it all - although that is God’s eventual plan: to create a new heaven and a new earth where there is no more pain, no more death, and all weeping shall cease. No, we cannot erase all the pain and hurt in this world, but if we choose to be courageous, if we choose to step out in faith, if we choose to see each other with the eyes of God, we can ease it. It is as simple and hard as this: see the pain in this world and choose solidarity and love in the midst of that pain.

I’ve been meaning to ask…where does it hurt? May we all be so bold and courageous as to ask this question and meet the hurt with the love of God.

Amen.

"I've been meaning to ask...Where are you from?" a sermon based on Genesis 2:4b-15 & John 1:35-51

Genesis 2:4b-15
John 1:35-51
“I’ve been meaning to ask…Where are you from?”
Preached Sunday, January 19, 2025

Today we are starting a four week sermon series that will carry us most of the way to Lent…The sermon series is called, “I’ve been meaning to ask…”

A Sanctified Art, the creative team behind this sermon series, said this about the concept of “I’ve been meaning to ask…”:

“In creating this series, we started by asking ourselves questions: ‘How can we listen to one another? How do we find connection[...]? How do we create space for compassionate dialogue and for seeking the holy in one another?’

While the challenges of becoming beloved community to one another are endless, these questions are simple. We quickly recognized that all courageous conversations begin with simple questions and the curiosity to truly listen. …The main objective of this series [is]: to cultivate courageous conversations—and to keep having them…these questions aren’t surface level; they invite us to share our pain and seek ways to care for one another.”

And so I have chosen to preach these questions over the next couple of weeks, hopefully igniting curiosity, conversation, and community amongst those here at Boardman United Methodist Church, and beyond.

We will ask of ourselves and one another: Where are you from? Where does it hurt? What do you need? And where do we go from here?

And so we will start today with: I’ve been meaning to ask…where are you from?

When we ask “where you are from” with honest curiosity and openness - I believe we are not really asking about the place of one’s birth or where someone grew up. We are asking, “What is your story?” We are saying “Tell me who you are.” And, when truly seeking connection, “Where do our stories overlap?”

We may not realize that when we ask someone the question, “Where are you from?” we can really be asking a deeply personal question and so it should always be asked with openness. And when we ask the question - we should always be prepared to be asked it in return. To be met with mutual curiosity.

When we shape our own identities, our own stories, our own answers to “where are you from” we may talk about places - not only the places we lived but the places we loved, the places that hold special spots in our hearts because we were loved in those places and loved well. When we answer the question, “where are you from…” - we may talk about our names. Maybe you are from a family and your name tells the story of that lineage. Or your last name has a history, country, or language attached to it. Maybe your name is a chosen name or nickname that reveals how you see yourself. When answering the question, “where are you from” - we may be sharing things we celebrate about ourselves. We may also be sharing stories of trauma - and hopefully - triumph as well.

When I consider this answer myself - I could easily just say Canfield, Ohio. Born at St. Elizabeth’s in Youngstown. The short answer and that could be the end of our interaction. But if I knew you were asking with a desire to get to know me better, asking with respect and curiosity, I might tell you about my name and the Grandmas it came from. I might tell you that people say they see my great-grandmother in me and she was an amazing woman. I might tell you about the faith communities I was a part of and especially about Camp Asbury. I might tell you all these things that get more to the core of who I am and how I shape and tell my own story of where I am from.

The Rev. Sarah Are says it like this in her poem “We Are Not Strangers”:

“If you ask me where I’m from,
I’ll tell you about the South—
about sweet tea, church pews,

slow drawls, sultry summers.
And if you pause,
then I may go on to tell you

how I’m from a family of preachers,
how I stand on the shoulders of generations
who believed that love could be the answer.

And if you’re still listening even then,
I’ll tell you that I’m from strong women
with tall spines who have carried the weight

of inequality on their backs with children on
their laps.
And then I’ll tell you about
the kitchens that I’m from,

which have always cooked enough
food for unexpected guests—just in case.
Or I could tell you about the car

that carried us into the mountains,
summer after summer
so that we could breathe again.
That’s part of where I’m from.

And if you haven’t given up yet,
then I may even mention the dirt—
the earth that catches me,

the earth that holds me.
The earth that reminds me of growth.
The earth that will eventually welcome me home.

You and I aren’t really strangers after all.”

Now, I need to pause here and give a caveat, or a warning, if you will. The question, “Where are you from?” is also a loaded question and a complex one for many people - especially for people with trauma in their family of origin or for many immigrants and people of color. Often people of color will say that someone will ask them, “where are you from?” and if they say something like “Youngstown, Ohio” the asker will press further and say, “No, where are you REALLY from?” Which implies “othering” the person who is being asked the question, it implies that the asker knows their story more than they do, it implies that the asker already has a preconceived notion of what the answer should be and is not asking from a genuine place of respect and curiosity. Asking “where are you from?” in this way has been labeled a microaggression, an act of racism.

Indeed, “where are you from?” can often be a question loaded with assumptions and biases. We see some of this in today’s Gospel lesson.

“The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by he exclaimed, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’ The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, ‘What are you looking for?’ They said to him, ‘Rabbi’ (which translated means Teacher), ‘where are you staying?’ He said to them, ‘Come and see.’”

This initial reaction is steeped with open and mutual curiosity. Dr. Raj Nadella, Professor of New Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary, says this about this interaction:

“Curiosity runs rampant in this story and Jesus is the primary focus of such curiosity. John had already known Jesus as the Lamb of God and invited his disciples to meet him. The two disciples who follow Jesus apparently want to know where he is staying, but they ask questions only after he gives them permission. They are respectful of his space and enter it only at his invitation. It is the kind of healthy curiosity that is eager to engage others but is unintrusive. But the disciples call Jesus a Rabbi, a term that does not capture his true identity in John. Instead of answering their question (where are you staying?), Jesus says, ‘Come and you will see.’ The Greek word for seeing in this context…literally means “know, perceive, understand.” Jesus seems to suggest that the disciples called him Rabbi because they did not fully perceive him. He invites them to his place so that they can perceive him. Jesus is inviting them to a deeper level of curiosity, one that entails a willingness to learn as well as unlearn prior assumptions. Such curiosity transcends superficial knowledge and requires greater investment of one’s time and resources. The disciples spent the day with him and called him Messiah.”

The Gospel continues: “Philip found Nathanael and said to him, ‘We have found him about whom Moses in the Law and also the Prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.’ Nathanael said to him, ‘Can anything good come out of Nazareth?’ Philip said to him, ‘Come and see.’”

Nathanael definitely has some assumptions about Nazareth and thus about Jesus. People from Boardman and Youngstown can relate to that. Can anything good come out of the Rust Belt? Can anything good come from that backwater place? Can anything good come from there? Everyone has assumptions and preconceived ideas of certain places and what the people from there are like. That's exacerbated for people of color, immigrants, and those who don’t fit into the narrowly defined status quo. We need to let go of assumptions and biases and let curiosity take control - otherwise we do harm and miss out on what could be life-changing connections.

If Nathanael had been left with only his assumptions and biases he would have missed out. Missed out on being one of the twelve disciples. Missed out on really getting to know Jesus. Missed out on the biggest and best and most transforming thing that would ever happen to him - or to any of us.

Instead, Phillip offers him an invitation to curiosity, “Come and see.” Now, Jesus had already put some effort into finding out about Nathanael for as he approaches Jesus, Jesus says, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” To which Nathaneal replies, “Where did you get to know me?” We’ve moved from assumption to curiosity, it means that Jesus, despite Nathaneal’s initial negative assumptions about him, Jesus is ready to see the good in Nathaneal, sparking further curiosity and the start of a mutual relationship with one another.

How can we answer the invitation to “come and see” in one another and within our communities? How can we place our assumptions and biases aside and meet each other in places of mutual curiosity? How can we open up our hearts and ears so in the mutual sharing we may discover, as The Rev. Are says in her poem, “You and I aren’t really strangers after all.”

For when we really get down to it, when we really start sharing, and listening, and learning, and forming connections - what we learn is that we all have more in common than previously thought. We are all human. At our cores we all want to be seen for who we are. We all want to be loved.

And at our cores, we were all made in the image of God, the God who got down in the dirt and formed us with God’s hands, who breathed into us the breath of life, who loves each of us as we are, who calls us beloved, who celebrates in our unique stories and identities. Who invites us “to come and see.”

“Come and see” the goodness and belovedness in each and every person made by God. “Come and see” the connections that can be made in a respectful, loving community. “Come and see” the God who binds us all together in our shared identities.

So…I’ve been meaning to ask….where are you from?

“Come and see.” Amen.