“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.

"The Next Right Thing" a sermon on Matthew 2:1-23

Matthew 2:1-12
“The Next Right Thing”
Preached Sunday, January 5, 2024

Friends, do you ever get a little bit sad when Advent and Christmas are over? I know that I do. While I didn't get to preach an Advent sermon this year, I love preaching during Advent. I’ve always said I have an Advent soul - singing and preaching and praying “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” just resonates with my deepest desires and longings - for Christ to come again and renew and restore all creation. And then I love preaching and leading worship on Christmas Eve! Preaching the Good News of the Incarnation - Telling the story of Christ’s birth in fresh ways - especially to many who may not regularly hear the Gospel - it fills me with such joy! But eventually, Epiphany comes. The Advent and Christmas season are over...and my soul is still calling out for Christ to return. Creation is still crying out for redemption. Tomorrow is the feast of the Epiphany - we are observing it in Church today - and after today’s service, we will take down the decorations, put away the Advent wreath, and hide it all in the attic for another year. In our own homes our decorations are probably either already put away or will be soon.

And what lies ahead of us? The long, gray Ohio winter…without any lights and carols. Boo. Makes me feel just a little bit sad and a little bit lost.

And so I find myself saying, “This season is ending. Now what? What next?”

Now, imagine the magi asking themselves the same question. “We have followed the star. We followed it for a very long time. Longer even still when you count the time we spent studying the stars - looking for a sign like this. And then - when the star stopped, we were overwhelmed with great joy! This is right! This is the child we were looking for! THIS is the journey we have been making. This is it! It was indescribable - finally being there, finally worshipping this child...but now our journey is done. It is over…we’ve been on this journey for so long, we’ve thought about it so singularly...it was all-consuming frankly. But it’s over. The star is gone from the sky - what do we follow now? What do we do next?”

I don’t think it is too far of a stretch of our imagination to think that the magi could have felt this way - after all, it is a common human experience. All of us have stars in our lives that we follow. Sometimes those stars are career goals. Sometimes those stars are what other people think of us. Sometimes those stars are our own expectations in our lives. Following a star isn’t a bad thing. I myself like to have at least a 5 year plan if not a 10 year plan at all times...which is ridiculous since Methodist ministers can only see one year into the future at a time! But stars aren’t bad. Stars like graduating college - getting a job - retiring - being the best parent or grandparent that you can be - these are all stars we follow. People in our lives can be stars too, a friend, a spouse, a parent - who shines light on our path and shows us the way.

The thing about following stars though...is, well...they may eventually set.

If our star was a goal and it is met - we may have great joy! - but after a bit, we might be a little lost - not sure where to go or what to do next. I know many college students feel like this after graduating - what now? What next?

Sometimes, we may realize the star we thought we were following...isn’t our star. Maybe you realize that the star you were following wasn’t life-giving. Or was an expectation or goal set by somebody else for you. But still...we can feel lost without it. What now? What next?

And sometimes, when a star in our life is a person, we can lose that person. A spouse dies, children go off to college, a relationship falls apart...without them, without their light...we can be overcome with darkness. What now? What next?

Have any of you ever asked yourself - what now? What next?

We may be asking ourselves those questions now, along with the magi, as the Christmas season ends and as we enter a new season…

The magi were told by someone very powerful that they needed to return from seeing the Christ-Child to go see Herod and let him know where the child was. And when Herod asks you to do something, it’s less of a request and more of a command. But the magi don't do that - they were warned in a dream not to do that. And I would like to imagine, as they contemplated what to do next - return to Herod or go home by another way - perhaps one of them spoke up and said, “Forgot the long term plan - we just have to do the next right thing...and that’s to go home by another way. We’ll figure out the next - next right thing from there.”

“Do the next right thing” isn’t necessarily advice from the Bible although I do believe it is Christian - no, “do the next right thing” comes as advice from the Disney movie, Frozen II. I love this movie. I loved this movie before I had an Elsa obsessed kid in my life. It is deeply moving and full of sermon examples. For a children's movie, it's surprisingly theological.

So in Frozen 2, Anna and Elsa, two sisters, were told by their late mother that whenever they couldn’t see what came next, whenever it was too dark to find a star to follow, whenever they didn’t know what to do...just do the next right thing. In the movie, Anna experiences a deep loss. She is missing the person in her life who used to be a star for her. She is grieving. On top of that, she is coming to realize that the star, a goal, that she was following in her life...was no longer a path she could take. It is here that she reminds herself in song that even though the star has disappeared and she doesn’t know where this new path will take her...she just needs to start by doing the next right thing.

She sings:
“Can there be a day beyond this night?
I don't know anymore what is true
I can't find my direction, I'm all alone
The only star that guided me was you
How to rise from the floor
When it's not you I'm rising for?
Just do the next right thing
Take a step, step again
It is all that I can to do
The next right thing
I won't look too far ahead
It's too much for me to take
But break it down to this next breath
This next step
This next choice is one that I can make
So I'll walk through this night
Stumbling blindly toward the light
And do the next right thing
And with the dawn, what comes then
When it's clear that everything will never be the same again?
Then I'll make the choice
To hear that voice
And do the next right thing.”

Friends, where in your life are you asking - what now? What next? Where, along with the magi, and with Anna from Frozen, are you looking for new light to follow?

The good news is, even though another Advent and Christmas have come and gone and Christ has yet to return, there is light in this world because of Christ.

There have been times in my life where church and Holy Communion have been my guiding stars. When I told myself, no matter what happened in the days to come, I knew that in one week, I'd be back in a safe and loving worshipping community, meeting Christ at the table.

Perhaps the Star Word you pick up today will be a guide or a light for you, shaping you and giving prayerful direction for the year ahead.

Or just maybe - Christ will reveal himself to you in another star to follow.

And Christ is in our hearts. Look to Jesus - look to the inner light he brings you - and trust God to help you step by step, to carry on, and do the next right thing - bringing a little bit more light into this world - for yourself and for others.

May all of us find light in Christ to follow - and continue to do the next right thing.

Amen.

Call to Worship based on "Baptized in Water"

L: We are the Baptized.
P: Faithfully now God’s praises we sing.
L: We have been sealed by the Spirit.
P: Faithfully now God’s praises we sing.
L: We are God’s heirs.
P: Faithfully now God’s praises we sing.
L: We are freed and forgiven!
P: Faithfully now God’s praises we sing.
L: We are God’s beloved children.
All: Faithfully now God’s praises we sing. Amen.

“What Does It Mean to Be a Child?” a sermon on Luke 2:41-52

Luke 2:41-52
“What Does It Mean to Be a Child?”
Preached Sunday, December 29, 2024

Does anyone remember what it was like to be a middle schooler? Perhaps those parents or grandparents with middle school aged children remember it best. I’ll go ahead and say that the reality of a middle schooler is mystifying to me. This is actually an age that scares a lot of people. My sister has been a fifth grade teacher before and people’s responses to this are often something along the lines of “God bless you” and “Better you than me.”

At the 7:00pm Christmas Eve service, I shared a little bit about what it tells us about God that God, the God of the universe, of all creation, chose to come to us in the most vulnerable form possible - a baby. I’m going to quote that sermon here now because, one, it’s still Christmas in the church! And two, many of you probably didn’t hear it or need reminded to be brought up to speed:

“And here's the kicker - here's the thing that always gets me - God sent us Jesus, born into the world, born into this unsafe, dark world….in the form of a baby. The most vulnerable form God could have ever taken. God didn't come fully formed as a king or general or political leader or even as a capable adult… God came as a vulnerable baby. A newborn baby. Who needed to be held. And loved. And cuddled. And rocked to sleep. And nursed at the breast. Who couldn't hold up his head. Who is precious and so so so small in comparison to the bigness of the world.

This tells us so much about the kind of God our God is - that God is a God of tenderness and love. Of care and mutuality. That God isn't daunted by the darkness of the world, knowing there is still so much light to be found. That God acts in small but impactful ways. That God knows fully what it means to be human in our world. To know our fears and our darkness. To walk alongside us, truly as Emmanuel which means God -With- Us and in the midst of that darkness, show us a better way. Show us the light. The light that will never go out. The light that the darkness will never overcome.”

And just as Jesus was a small, human, vulnerable baby without head control and who needed to be burped and held and rocked and shushed…Jesus also grew to be a very human twelve year old boy. The mystifying and terrifying age of what we call “middle schoolers.” We don’t have many stories of Jesus at this age but the Gospel of Luke gives us this one story - today’s Gospel.

Jesus was “lost” from his parents, for several days, as he remained behind in the temple. I remember getting lost once, when I was a little younger than Jesus was here. I fell asleep at my parents’ feet on the ground at some sort of festival on the Canfield Green. They moved on, not realizing that I was asleep on the ground. Unrelated - I wish I could sleep like that again! Anyway, I woke up and was terrified to find they were gone. Unbeknownst to me, at that time they too were terrified, searching frantically for me. Maybe they could relate to Mary and Joseph here. The story ends well though because there was a Help/Emergency tent staffed by emergency personnel who quickly helped us be reunited, they did not have to look for me for days like Mary and Joseph did. But it does make us wonder - what was this experience like for 12 year old Jesus? What was he thinking? Both as the God-Child but also as the very human twelve year old that he was.

A friend who works with middle schoolers gave me some great insight into what this age group is like - and yes, our world has drastically changed but I still believe that when we look at today’s 12 year olds, we can learn a thing or two about Jesus as a 12 year old, 2000 years ago. And 12 year olds often swing between two worlds. One minute they are very concerned with being grown-up and mature and getting glimpses into the adults they will be. They are worried about crushes and dating, appearances, body-image, what the future holds for them - at times they are like little adults. And then the next moment, they are doing something ridiculously silly, once again like a child - playing with toys and laughing uncontrollably. The confusing part about this age group - both for them as children and us as adults - is you never know which one they are going to be at what moment. Little adults, trying out the personas of who they will become. Or letting the child inside of them be free.

Theologian and deacon, the Rev. Barbara Dunlap says this about this text and what could have been going through Jesus’s head in our text from this week:

“Jesus was trying out a little independence. He was interested in what was happening in the temple, and he didn’t ask permission because he was ‘almost a man.’ But I suspect he might have been a little nervous {and/or} scared when he realized his parents weren’t there. But when they did get there, he had to play it off like that was what he meant to do….this age of kids is super smart. They have so many questions. They want to know more about things. So I’m sure Jesus was soaking all that in. And then he taught them some things. Which older people rarely want to hear from tweens. We think we know everything, but they know so much we don’t know. Especially in certain areas. So he explained it, but [maybe] they brushed him off as ‘just a kid.’ Maybe he spoke with the equivalent of slang? Skibidi sigma rizz, etc. Adults hear those words and ignore everything else as unimportant because we don’t like feeling like we know less. But these kids feel that way All. The. Time. They feel like they are constantly trying to keep up with us, and when they know something we don’t, we often ignore them. So I think that’s a lot of what was going on. But Mary saw what was happening. [Mary saw] who Jesus really was. She had those mother’s eyes and really saw him. Under the shaggy hair and Crocs with socks. Beyond the sus and the lost aura. The real him. And that’s what we need to do with all tweens [and] teens.”

In addition to this text challenging us in how we view and interact and learn from tweens and teens - I also think we need to consider what Jesus as a tween tells us about God and what challenge it has for us. Just as Jesus as a vulnerable, helpless newborn tells us so much about God, and how God is truly Emmauel - “God-With-Us.” God-With-Us in our humanness, God-With-Us in our fear and darkness. God-With-Us in the light that shines. God-With-Us in the midst of everything that it means to be human…Jesus as a tween, not a child and not an adult, that tells us about God too. It means that “God with us” includes God-With-Us when we oscillate between child and adult.

Tweens and teens don’t hide this switch that I mentioned very well - where they oscillate between inner child and inner adult…but I don’t actually think that goes away. I think all of us, whether we be 12, or 32, or 62 or 82…all of us have an inner child and an inner adult. We go back and forth between being uncertain and fearful, like a lost child…and then pretending we have it all together, like an adult. We just do better at hiding it. Because when we were children we believed that adults really had it all together - and, as adults, I think we know now that sometimes we are still figuring it all out…and this is what I think these stories about the 12 year old-son-of-God tell us - it’s okay to admit that we are still figuring it out. And in fact, while we should “grow up” in the maturity of our faith… As our text says about Jesus, “And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years and in divine and human favor.” And as our Old Testament text says about Samuel, a boy of a similar age, “Now the boy Samuel continued to grow both in stature and in favor with the LORD and with the people.” We are called to mature in our faith, our wisdom, our understanding. To not stay at the basic understanding of a child but to seek nuance and deeper understanding…or even deeper questioning…part of growing up is realizing you don’t have all the questions…and part of growing up is being okay with that inner child who is full of questions and curiosity and wonder about the world and about God.

We should always approach our faith like a child who wants to get lost in the temple for days, to know that while we have much to teach, we also have much to learn. And we never stop learning. My favorite adults - whether they be 32 or 82 or even 92…my favorite adults are those who never stop learning, never call themselves a finished product. We are called to be children in faith - full of wonder and curiosity, full of questions, full of openness to learn.

As United Methodists, as Wesleyans, we have a term for this - it’s called “sanctification.” And that’s the never-ending journey of letting the Spirit shape us, working with the Spirit, journeying…toward becoming more holy. More full of love of God and neighbor. We call this growing up in the faith…but sometimes growing up in the faith means accepting our inner child who just wants to sit at the feet of Jesus and learn. Sometimes growing up in faith means accepting we don’t have all the answers. Sometimes growing up in faith means listening to and learning from those younger than us. Sometimes growing up faith means keeping our inner child and their curiosity and wonder alive inside of us.

My prayer for us today is: may we learn from tween Jesus. May we allow our inner children the freedom to question and to wonder and to learn. May we allow our adult selves to continue to grow and mature in our faith. May we know beyond a doubt that God-With-Us means God-With-Us in every stage and every age. That we are never alone and that God is never done teaching us.

Amen.

"Born Into This World" a Christmas Eve sermon on Isaiah 9:2-7 & Luke 2:1-20

Isaiah 9:2-7
Luke 2:1-20
“Born Into This World”
Preached Christmas Eve, Tuesday, December 24, 2024

As members of my congregation know, I gave birth to my second child in September and just returned to work one week ago. I knew when I was pregnant that I would be returning to work, the church, just before Christmas. And so throughout my leave, from time to time, my mind and my heart would turn to my Christmas Eve sermon - what would I say to all of you about the birth of Jesus? How would my late nights holding a baby shape what God has to say to me - and to you - this Christmas? And so, as a small content warning, I’ll be sharing some reflections on the early stages of motherhood - at least in the introduction of my sermon and then we’ll get to the more theological stuff.

After the birth of both of my children, in those extremely early days, I found I could only pray one word prayers. Christian writer Anne Lammott says that there are really only three types of prayers and they can be summed up in one word each: Help, Thanks, and Wow. And I have found this to be infinitely true - especially in those times of life where we are just surviving, hanging on.

After the birth of my first child, I prayed almost exclusively “help” prayers. I prayed a "help" prayer every night. The prayer was just one word over and over "sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep." And since I was talking to God I would throw in a couple of pleases. "Please Lord, let us all just sleep. Sleep sleep sleep sleep please."

I certainly prayed this “help” prayer for sleep this time around too - but the one word prayer I prayed over and over the last couple months, especially in those early newborn days was “safe.”

I would pray it before sleep, mentally cataloging where each child was. Agnes - safe in her bed. Winifred - safe being rocked in dad’s arms. Safe and so I can shut my eyes and sleep. There was a night in the early weeks of postpartum where I had some medical complications and I had to go to the hospital, spending the night away from my newborn baby. And I just prayed over and over until I fell asleep - Safe, safe, safe, safe. Keep us all safe. Grandma and Grandpa have got Agnes - safe. Dad has Winnie - safe. And God’s got me - safe. Of course, God had us all but it brought me immense comfort to think of who was holding my babies and God holding me, cradling me and all of us in God’s arms, keeping us all safe.

I want to add that there were certainly lots of “Wow” and “Thanks” prayers alongside these “Help” prayers. So much can be said with a wow or a thank you. Deep appreciation for one's body and what it's been through. Gratitude for community that surrounds you with love. Appreciation for the beauty of nature, whether that be in a newborn's face or the changing of the seasons.

It made me wonder - what one word prayers did Mary pray that first Christmas night, cradling baby Jesus in her arms - not in an ideal setting. Did she pray for sleep? Did she simply pray the word “safe” like I did? Her baby had been born safely into the world - it was looking a little uncertain there at first. With all the traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehmen - with the question of WHERE she would give birth in this overcrowded city. With the animals!? Laying the baby in a manger!? But despite the hassle and the odds - her baby was born into this world and he now lay safely wrapped in clothes in the manger, and in her arms. Did she pray “safe” as a help, thanks, and wow prayer? Newborn babes, even under ordinary circumstances, certainly elicit all three types of prayers in abundance. And these were not ordinary circumstances with the angels and the shepherd visitors and their words - not the first time she had heard them, having heard them first from the angel Gabriel - of all that her son could be, would be. Could do, would do.

For here is the thing - Mary’s baby, Jesus, was not born into a safe world. That night he was safely held in his mom’s arms. But the world? Not a safe place. This is a reality that I know in my mind as well for my babies and try to hold the knowledge at arm's length. I can hold my children tightly through the night…but I cannot keep them safe forever. Not in our world, not in this world.

In our world, well…War, mass shootings, violence of all kinds. Hateful rhetoric, biases, and prejudices. A changing climate, pollution. Disease and sickness. Oppression and hunger. I don't need to belabor the point of the things that make this world not safe. If I go into any more about it, I'll ruin the Christmas vibe.

But that's the thing …just as our world is not a safe world. Neither was the world that Jesus was born into. And that's kind of the point. If it was a safe world, there would have been no need for Jesus to be born at all.

The Gospel of Luke reminds us that the Empire, one known for being oppressive, was conducting a census - the very reason Mary had to travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Soon, in response to the proclamation of Jesus's birth from the magi, Herod will issue an edict to murder newborn sons. Soon the Holy Family will become refugees, strangers in a strange land as they fled for their safety to Egypt.

This does not sound like a safe world. It is not a safe world.

Our Scripture from Isaiah today talks about a people in darkness. In Isaiah, just a couple of verses down from “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” and just a couple verses up from “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace”...we find THIS less than poetic line:

“For all the boots of the trampling warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire.”

We tend to kind of just...move right past this line. Almost like we’re mumbling it under our breath. Mumble: “For all the boots...rolled in blood...fuel for the fire.” Who wants to hear about garments rolled in blood on Christmas? That really kills the merry, jolly vibe. But this line gives all the more power to the meaning of Christmas: They have walked in darkness for too long! They knew darkness. They knew the boots of war that oppressed them, trampled them, killed them. The world was anything but perfect in the time of Isaiah - the Israelites were in exile, knowing what it meant to be crushed by violence and the trampling of warrior’s boots. And still - they looked for that Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace to come and rescue them.

The world of Isaiah was not a safe world.
Jesus was not born into a safe world.
We do not live into a safe world.

But it is into this world, this unsafe, chaotic, messy world that Jesus came. Not just on that night in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago for through the acts of the Spirit, Jesus is still active in our world today… but God sent Jesus into our world because we KNOW darkness. And we need a light.

As the prelude to the Gospel of John says:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it.”

We need a light in the darkness. An anchor in the storm. Hope in the midst of despair. Love in the midst of hate. Peace in the midst of war. Joy in the midst of loss. And so God sent us Jesus.

And here's the kicker - here's the thing that always gets me - God sent us Jesus, born into the world, born into this unsafe, dark world….in the form of a baby. The most vulnerable form God could have ever taken. God didn't come fully formed as a king or general or political leader or even as a capable adult… God came as a vulnerable baby. A newborn baby. Who needed to be held. And loved. And cuddled. And rocked to sleep. And nursed at the breast. Who couldn't hold up his head. Who is precious and so so so small in comparison to the bigness of the world.

This tells us so much about the kind of God our God is - that God is a God of tenderness and love. Of care and mutuality. That God isn't daunted by the darkness of the world, knowing there is still so much light to be found. That God acts in small but impactful ways. That God knows fully what it means to be human in our world. To know our fears and our darkness. To walk alongside us, truly as Emmanuel which means God -With- Us and in the midst of that darkness, show us a better way. Show us the light. The light that will never go out. The light that the darkness will never overcome.

So here is my prayer for you this Christmas: that you may take a deep breath. And when the world seems unsafe, know that Jesus has already walked this path. When the world seems too dark, know that Jesus shines a light. That you can pray the word “Safe” and feel the arms of God holding you close, as God’s self in Jesus was held as a newborn baby, all those years ago, safe and secure in loving arms.

Amen.

“Things Might Get a Little Messy” a sermon on Mark 7:24-37

Mark 7:24-37
“Things Might Get a Little Messy”
Preached Sunday, September 8, 2024

This morning is a joy as we have a critical mass of our children here and blessed them and their backpacks, prayed for them, gave out Bibles… And, if I’m being honest, it was just slightly chaotic, right?

This whole week I have been on edge about this morning - mainly, will I make it to Sunday morning? I am almost 39 weeks pregnant, 4 days away from scheduled surgery to have this child, and having regular contractions. I kept on asking myself - will I really make it to Sunday? My assurance to myself was - it will be okay, even if I don’t. Sure, it might be a little more chaotic…but our DS Edgar or a gifted lay person would be more than capable of managing the chaos…I mean, leading worship and making it through the children’s moment activities. I did leave notes for someone else - just in case.

But let’s be honest - life with children - whether that’s birth, parenthood, grandparenthood, aunt and uncle-hood, or church life and ministry with children - life with children is going to be a little messy. Life is messy - period. Life with children…well, I wish I could go back and see how clean my house was 4 years ago.

And - that’s okay. Jesus calls us, invites us, into the mess.

As United Methodists, we tend to like things nice and clean. Just look around our gorgeous sanctuary and church! Our founder, John Wesley, was very meticulous. He was an extremely neat and orderly person. He kept a detailed journal down even to the minute. Some scholars have speculated on whether Wesley had OCD tendencies - although we should always be careful about diagnosing historical figures. But there was no doubt he liked things orderly…but that didn’t keep him from wading into the mess of ministry.

He said he “submitted himself to be more vile” when he transitioned to outdoor preaching - a venue that at the time was considered scandalous if not sinful but was the most effective way of reaching the masses.
He preached in mines and to miners - and I’m sure in the process got some dust on him.
He visited the prisons and the poor houses.
He preached against the slave trade in areas where there was still strong support for it - getting items thrown at him and narrowly escaped being tared and feathered.

For a man who liked things in a certain way - there is a reason we are called “Methodists” because of John Wesley’s meticulous methods for spiritual growth - but for a man who liked things a certain way, he certainly was still willing to wade into the mess of ministry.

And it is into the mess of ministry that we too are called - and today especially, on our “Kick-Off” Sunday, we are going to talk about the mess of ministry, focusing on the mess of ministry with children.

As we raise our children and grandchildren - and as the whole congregation raises children - after all, in our baptismal vows we are all accountable to raising and loving all the children in our midst and our congregation. Raising children to know God and to know that God loves them - the responsibility does not fall solely on their direct caregivers. Although there is responsibility there. The whole congregation vows before each other and God to take that on for themselves as well.

And this can look like a lot of different things:
It can look like celebrating every time a family shows up in church instead of shaming them for the times they couldn’t get here.
It looks like volunteering for our children’s ministry if that is a spiritual gift you have.
It looks like supporting budgets and staffing positions that help us minister to children and their families.
It looks like celebrating, appreciating, and even giving thanks to God for the noises and motions of children in worship - because that means children are here.
It looks like agreeing to commit to walking with children in their journey of discipleship just as you walk with those who are in your same season of life.
It looks like looking for ways to become the village and support systems that so many young families lack these days.
It looks like flexibility and changes in the way “things have always been done” to make room for the present of the way things are and the future of how things could be.
It may even look like personal sacrifice, putting aside your own desires and preferences, to put the desires, preferences, and needs of children and young families before your own.
And it can look like so many different ways - as many ways as there are people and their unique spiritual gifts

We are called to help raise children of God. We raise them to claim the faith of Jesus. We raise them to show no partiality to others, as our Scripture from James says today. We raise them to love all like Jesus loves. We raise them to follow Scriptures, like Matthew 25 and our reading from James today - to make Scripture come alive through care and love for others. We raise them that their faith may be alive and not dead - for good works to accompany their faith.

And as we do all this…Things might get a little messy.

Things are already getting a little messy over here at Boardman UMC - and that’s EXCITING.

Our volunteers have been working tirelessly to create dedicated spaces for children’s ministry here at BUMC. Spaces that are for use for our children on Sunday mornings. And there was some literal, physical mess accompanying that - although we had to clean up some dirt mess instead to make a good productive mess of new paint and waxing floors and moving furniture. Right now we’re going to be “under renovation” for at least a year. We are making usable dedicated spaces now - with the hope that over the next year, with congregational wide support as part of a capital campaign, we can make the rooms fully what we dream them to be. The same with a dream and a vision for a pray-ground space in our sanctuary for our youngest children and their caregivers who prefer to stay in worship together. We are also working on a dedicated nursery and preschool aged space for Sunday mornings - with the hope that we can start offering childcare on Sunday mornings for those 4 and under and allowing 5 and up to be in Sunday School. And with the hope that we will start offering that childcare every Sunday morning by the end of this month! We have a new curriculum we’re starting today. We have new staff as Miss Allison and Miss LaToya starting a new position. We have new volunteers - did you know over the last year we went from having zero Sunday School volunteers to now we have over a dozen background checked and Safe Sanctuary certified volunteers? Friends, this is HUGE. And worth celebrating.

And up to this point…none of this has been super clean. There have been to-do lists and lots and lots and lots of conversations. And having people willing to jump in and figure it out as we go along. And people willing to jump in and paint ceiling tiles and move furniture down three flights of steps and so much more. We’ve started welcoming and embracing the mess. And there will be more mess to come - not just the room renovations but the mess that comes from raising children who know God loves them unconditionally. And that’s such a GOOD thing.

We’ll get back to this a little… And I want to reassure you that messiness is just part of the reality of following Jesus and our Gospel reading from today is a great example of that. We actually have two very messy stories in our 13 verses today.

At first we have the dialogue with the Syrophencian woman and the healing of her child. Some background on this that wouldn’t be obvious to us as modern readers.

This passage starts “From there he set out and went away to the region of Tyre.” Tyre was “gentile territory” - it was considered “outside the realm of Jesus’s ministry.” And it was not a region - both area and people - that was looked on favorably by the disciples of Jesus. It would have been on the other side of the fence, the wrong side of the tracks - and all the prejudices that come with that.

And it is there that a woman starts begging Jesus. In this same story in Matthew, she is called a Canaanite woman. Now, Matthew, right away, by singling out this woman as a Canaanite is communicating that she is not only an outsider but the enemy. In the time of Jesus, Canaanite was already an outdated term to describe someone. Theologians and preachers talking about this text often refer to her as the Syrophoenician woman - a term describing where she was from, her ethnicity. But probably of Canaanite descent. And the Canaanites were the historic and well-known enemy of the Hebrew people - but it wasn’t really used to describe people living in Jesus’s day…unless perhaps someone wanted to clearly mark someone as not only an outsider, but the worst of the outsiders. One of them. And the Syrophoenicians, the Canaanites, let’s just say that there were a lot of religious, ethnic, and racial stereotypes about them. Bigotry against them by the Israelites was well-known and often played a role in every interaction between an Israelite and a Canaanite.

And this interaction gets messy. There is begging, there is…perhaps some testiness from Jesus. There is a lot of tension. This could have gone very badly for this mother, so desperate for her child to be healed. The onlookers likely watched this interaction play out with held breath - things were about to get messy…

But things didn’t get messy in the way many of them expected. Things got messy not because this interaction escalated into violence or shaming or even more of a public spectacle - as it very well could have. Things got messy BECAUSE Jesus healed her daughter.

Things got messy because Jesus just erased the line separating “us” and “them.” It got messy because Jesus just threw out all the perimeters and barriers of who he came to heal and minister to. It gets messy because Jesus just widened the circle of who he was in ministry with. We like our neat and comfortable boxes. We like our lines separating us and them. We like borders. And Jesus, in this act of healing, threw out the boxes, erased distinctions of us versus them, and ignored all human-made boundaries. This is something we continue to see Jesus do as he progresses in his ministry and something we definitely see the Spirit do in many interactions with the early church - willfully and joyfully stepping into the mess of ministry because the mess means more people, more diverse people, are welcomed into the family of God.

This story of Jesus embracing the mess of ministry is then followed by another messy healing - one this is way more obvious to us as being messy. Because it involves bodily fluids. The epitome of messiness. Jesus meets a deaf man with a speech impediment and he puts his fingers in his ears, spits, and touches his tongue. First of all, I am very against people touching my tongue? Just putting it out there. That’s not a socially acceptable thing to do, really - then or now. And I kept on trying to do research…where did Jesus spit? Did Jesus…spit on the ground, spit on his hand, spit…into the man’s mouth??? Uh…either way, things got physically messy in this healing.

Both healings were messy in different ways…because ministry is messy. Life is messy. Sometimes the mess is metaphorical, less definitive, the chaotic mess of interpersonal relationships and welcoming all sorts of people with all sorts of backgrounds and all sorts of needs into the church - and sometimes we can see the mess with our eyes. Spit. Or wet paint on walls. Or crumbs from communion bread on the ground. Mess is an inherent part of following Jesus.

We as a church have expressed the desire to expand and reach new people, younger people, and be in ministry to and with young families. We may not realize this…but if we have this desire, then we also need to accept the NEED for, the reality that, things are gonna get a little messy.

Our children and grandchildren, the children we raise in our community, may take the faith in directions we didn’t anticipate or expect, like Jesus did with the Syrophencian woman. They may take their faith and how they live it out into directions that previous generations aren’t ready for - that we aren’t ready for. That’s a kind of mess…but a good, beautiful, and holy mess. If they are expanding the faith out of love of God and love of neighbor - making their faith come alive - we are called to welcome the mess - invite it in - let the children lead the way.

A commitment to young families and kids always sounds good on paper - it’s what every church “wants.” But not every church is willing, ready, or able to accept the mess that comes with it. I think we are ready, or getting there, as Boardman UMC. The reality is messy - (giving birth is MESSY) and that’s what we’re doing, really - giving birth to a new thing - to reach a new generation with God’s love.

It’s messy. And it’s also all beautiful - and filled with love.

So friends, my prayer for us, my exhortation, my blessing for us is this: Let’s live into the mess, the beauty, and the love of teaching children about God’s love for them.

Amen.