Sunday, June 25, 2023

What Do You Need?

Rev. Debbie Cato
Job 2:11-13/2 Timothy 4:9-18
Fairfield Community Church
June 25, 2023 

God of long winters and longer summers, in the words of Paul, do your best to come to us quickly. Come to us with loud praise and joy, or appear to us in a still, small voice. Come to us through friends, or come to us through strangers. Come to us in this text and in this hour of worship, and come to us quickly if you can. We are seeking you. We are always seeking you. With grateful hearts cracked open by love, we pray. Amen.


What Do You Need?

 

This is week three of our series “I’ve been meaning to ask…”  We started with “Where are you from?” and we discovered that although we are all from different places geographically and we are different in the things we believe, the things we enjoy, our personalities are unique, and the way we look is unique, we have something very important in common.  We all come from God.  God created us each from the dust and God breathed His own breath into us that began our life.  Think about that.  Think of how sacred that makes each of us.  We each came from God.  We are each a beloved child of God.  We all came from the same place.

Then last week we asked, “Where do you hurt?”  We recognized and admitted that we have each suffered pain.  Physical pain, emotional pain, and mental pain.  None of us are exempt from pain and suffering in our lives.  For authentic relationships, we need to be able to share our pain with others and we need to be comfortable hearing about the pain of others.  We need to be able to acknowledge it.  Respect it.  Not solve it.  Not give advice.  But listen and acknowledge.

Today we are asking the question “What do you need?”  What do you need? We all have needs and we need each other. I’ve certainly learned that this year.  We each have unique needs; we can’t assume to know what is best for others. 
Sometimes the trauma is so great that it’s hard to even know what we need.

In Job, we have a person who has suffered extreme trauma—the trauma of losing his livelihood – 7,000 sheep, 3,000 camels, 500 yoke of oxen, and 500 donkeys - his present and future wellbeing are very much in question. Job has also seen all of his children – 7 sons and 3 daughters - die a sudden, unexpected death. Job has suffered physical pain and discomfort.  He is covered in sores from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.  Pain that must have seeped deep into his bones. Everything about Job’s life is gone. This is very real trauma.[1]

In the midst of Job’s afflictions, three of his friends promptly leave their own homes and come to him. They tear their garments, weep loudly, and sit with him for seven days, saying nothing. Their response is the ministry of presence, of true solidarity, of seeing his excruciating pain and joining him there.[2] In silence.  Just being present.

Sometimes there is nothing to say.  Nothing to do.  But being there; being present, is powerful.  It speaks volumes.  It says I care, and I am here in the midst of your crisis with you.  You are not alone.

Beaten and imprisoned, Paul writes to Timothy with a simple request: “Come quickly.” He lists those who abandoned him, but says, “I hope that God doesn’t hold it against them!” In his greatest moment of need, Paul doesn’t need revenge, but instead asks for companionship. In essence, this is what we all need—for someone to come quickly, to gather the items we want, and to simply show up.[3]

While Job asked for nothing, Paul is active. He has requests. He has needs and he is making them known. “What do you need?” This is such a direct and vulnerable thing to ask. It isn’t a limiting question like, “Would you like me to make you a casserole?” It is open-ended, and when we offer this question to another, we do not know how they will respond.

Paul is in his 2nd imprisonment in Rome.  He responds with needs, wants, and a desire for justice. The list is long, both in things that Paul wants brought to him,  and in wrongs he needs to name.

Paul offers us a moment of intense humility as he opens himself up to share what he needs. It’s hard to ask for help. It’s hard to say – “this is what I need.”  The grievances, the stuff—all of it is important, and offering space for folks to respond openly and honestly about what they need is such a sacred act. We may eventually move to a place where we talk about what we can and cannot provide, but first we must trust the person to know what they need. We can respond to the needs they name with additions and deletions and clarifications, helping them really target the need that caused the specific request to arise.  But, the first step is hearing—really hearing—what someone's needs are and discerning how we might respond.[4]

Asking the questions, “What do you need?” is risky.  You don’t know what the response will be.  The person may say  “I don’t need anything.”  And you need to be ready to accept that.  You must respect their request.  Even when you want to do something so badly.  “Nothing” is a legitimate response.  A request really.  You can ask again later, after more time has passed.  But do not continually pester.  Give them space.  Honor their needs. Remember, God is always with them.

The response may be, just be with me.  You need to be ready to just be present.  To just be there.  In silence like Job’s friends.  Let the hurting person lead.  They’ll talk if they want conversation.  They’ll eat if they  want to eat.  Your role is to just be present.  To be there with them.  To stay out of their way.  This can be hard to do but it may be the most important thing you can do.  The ministry of presence is sacred and more important to the person who is struggling than you can imagine.

Their response may be like Paul’s.  A list of things they need.  You may or may not be able to meet those needs.  Be honest.  Perhaps you know other people that could help; that could meet those needs.  Maintain your own boundaries of what you can and cannot do and don’t feel guilty about it.

Once we understand that we all come from God.  That we all are beloved children of God, it makes asking the questions, “where do you hurt” and “what do you need” more important.  They are both risky questions because we don’t know what the answers will be.  We need to be ready for whatever those answers might be.  No judgement; no questions.  They are what they are.  We need to be ready to sit with them and to provide what they say they need or find someone who can. But being able to ask these questions, and have these questions asked of us, deepens our relationships.  It makes us more authentic and real with one another.  It gives us an opportunity to be Christ in the life of one another.

“What do you need?”  May we each be in the position to ask this question and be there for someone.  Amen.



[1] Sanctified Art.  Commentary.  “What Do You Need?” Rev. Remington Johnson
[2] Sanctified Art.  “What Do You Need?”  Theme Connection.
[3] Sanctified Art.  “What Do You Need?”  Theme Connection.
[4] Sanctified Art.  Commentary.  “What Do You Need?” Rev. Remington Johnson


Sunday, June 18, 2023

Where Do You Hurt?

Rev. Debbie Cato
1 Samuel 1:1-18/Mark 5:21-43
Fairfield Community Church
June 18, 2023 

Holy God,  Today we will read stories of those who have known hurt — people who have carried shame,  who have lived with grief and chronic illness, who have felt alone and ignored, who have seen the depths of suffering.  As we listen, we will be reminded of  the hurt we have carried during these fragile days — memories and regrets co-mingling in our chests.  And as we listen, we will be reminded that our neighbors, our siblings in faith,  also come to this space carrying burdens. So dust off our ears and stretch open the canvases of our hearts so that in our pain, we might lean into one another as we lean into you. Pull us close. We are listening. Amen.

 

Where Do You Hurt?

 

Today is the 2nd week in our sermon series “I’ve Been Meaning to Ask …”  Last week we asked, “Where are you from?” Today our question is:  “Where Do You Hurt?”  Where do you hurt?

Both of our scripture passages today are about people  in pain.  Hannah is in deep emotional and mental pain, the bleeding woman (who doesn’t even have a name) is in physical pain, and Jairus is in emotional distress, his daughter is dying.

This week’s question implies that all of us have known pain and suffering. I would suggest that we have all known both physical pain and suffering and emotional and mental pain and suffering.  We have been hurt, disappointed, misunderstood, scared, grieved, and faced the unknown.  In order to encourage connection, in order to deepen our relationships with one another, we must get curious about the pain others carry and the pain we ourselves carry. Bearing witness to each other’s pain helps us foster compassion.[1]

In Hannah, I see a woman who has been mocked, shamed, diminished, and ignored. It’s important that we acknowledge and recognize that Hannah is whole just as she is. Her pain is rooted in not being seen. 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. She cries out to God, “Just look at my pain and remember me!”[2]  Just look at my pain and remember me.  What courage that took for her to bear herself.  What strength. It is in the moment her pain is acknowledged and blessed that she finds peace.

We need to ask ourselves, whose pain have I mocked? Whose pain have I questioned? Whose pain have I dismissed?  We need to remember when we were Hannah and look for who is screaming in our midst. Where does it hurt? When we ask this question, we must remember to also say: “I see you.”[3]  “I hear you.”

 Every time I read the story of the bleeding woman it makes me angry.  It infuriates me that she is considered unclean because of her medical condition.  It makes me angry – and it makes me sad, that she felt so low, so beneath everyone because of a medical condition that was beyond her control, that she had to “sneak” a touch of the bottom of Jesus’ robe.

 Yet, I am so inspired by her bravery. Think of the courage it took this woman to join the crowd; to get close enough to Jesus to touch his robe.  God calls her to demand the care she needs and the dignity she deserves. The power of her presence is palpable. The physical placement of the woman’s hand among the feet of the crowd exhibits her power—the power of her presence. Can you imagine her stretching out her hand?  Just catching the edge of his robe?  Jesus knew immediately that she had touched him. God’s call, her demand for this miracle, and her belief in it, made it possible.[4] She is healed, Jesus says, by her faith.

Who, by their presence, is demanding us to act on our call from God? What is our role as a disciple in this time of global pain? Are we stepping into our role with gusto? Who needs you to ask, “Where does it hurt?”[5]

 How many of us are hurting in silence, hiding our pain because we believe it to be shameful? Maybe we have been taught that certain problems are not for polite company, and we have learned the painful, practiced art of smiling through everything. Maybe our pain has been invalidated or ignored so many times that we begin to believe there truly is something wrong about our feelings or experiences. Maybe we’ve been told to “get over it.”  Maybe it feels easier to bury our emotions for fear of how they will be perceived.

In the book of Samuel, Hannah has been belittled, patronized, and provoked for her infertility—a bodily condition over which she has no control. Some of us, like Hannah, may be all too familiar with the particular grief of infertility. Others of us carry the secret sufferings of child loss, postpartum depression, sickness, job loss, economic insecurity, or addiction. What would we say if someone stopped to ask us, “Where does it hurt?” and then acknowledged the validity of our honest answers? Would we, like Hannah, be able to share our pain with a humble and dignified honesty that trusts that there is no “right” or “proper” way to feel? Would such honesty with our own hurts and disappointments allow us to be more present to others’ problems?[6] Would it bring us peace?

In Mark, we find Jesus in the midst of human life—and all its hurting. He is in the swarm of the crowd with sweaty human bodies and the scent of a woman’s blood. Jesus stops and listens to this long-hurting woman—as if pain were not so shameful but something we all experience. Jesus’ healing disrupts the injustice of a woman who has been rejected and labeled impure for her condition.[7]   He returns her dignity and self-respect to her.

Then, Jesus enters a stagnant, grief-filled room at Jairus’s house, no doubt smelling of sickness and death. He reaches out and touches the body of a girl already thought dead. With the girl, Jesus disrupts death itself.[8]

How might we allow Jesus to disrupt us—enabling us to acknowledge others’ pain so that we may seek life together? First, we must be willing to acknowledge and share our own pain – whatever it might be.  This is the beginning of healing.  Then, 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.  We must be willing to ask and to listen and to say, “I see you.”  “I hear you.” “I care.” 

 I’d like to close with a poem by Rev. Sarah Speed, one of the pastors who is a part of Sanctified Art.

 

On my hardest days,
I believe that God is there - 
standing in the rain with me,
holding me up and sharing in my grief.

No matter where I go – in joy or loss, in pain or in love,
in heartaches or in gratitude – I believe that God is there,
leaning in,  noticing where it hurts, and carrying me through it.

 And so, I believe we are called to care for each other as God cares for us.

 On your best days in the sun
and on your worst days in the rain,
I will do my best to be there for you too.
Amen.



[1] SANCTIFIED ART I'VE BEEN MEANING TO ASK SERMON PLANNING GUIDE
[2] Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity.  Sanctified Art.  “I’ve Been Meaning to Ask … Where Does It Hurt?”
[3] Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity.  Sanctified Art.  “I’ve Been Meaning to Ask … Where Does It Hurt?”
[4] Hannah Garrity.  Sanctified Art.  “I’ve Been Meaning to Ask … Where Does It Hurt?”
[5] Hannah Garrity.  Sanctified Art.  “I’ve Been Meaning to Ask … Where Does It Hurt?”
[6] Rev. Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum.   Sanctified Art. Commentary.  1 Samuel 1:1-18.  “Where Does It Hurt?”
[7] Rev. Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum.   Sanctified Art. Commentary.  Mark 5:21-43.  “Where Does It Hurt?”
[8] Rev. Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum.   Sanctified Art. Commentary.  Mark 5:21-43.  “Where Does It Hurt?”


Sunday, June 11, 2023

Where Are You From?

Rev. Debbie Cato
Genesis 2:4b-15/John 1:35-51
Fairfield Community Church
June 11, 2023


Holy God, We don’t always know how to pray,  but you find use anyway. We don’t always know how to listen, but you are in our ears all the same. We don’t always know how to believe,  but you surround us with beauty, and we find ourselves held together in love. Where we come from there are so many distractions. Where we come from there is so much noise. Find us. Hold us. Be in these words. Help us hear. Amen

Where are You From?

 

Today we are starting a new series called “I’ve been meaning to ask…” It will take us through the next four weeks – all the way through the first Sunday in July.  Some of the best conversations start with good questions — questions we’ve been meaning to ask, questions that keep us curious, questions that deepen our relationships, and questions that lead us deeper into courage and connection. This series is from Sanctified Art, a small group of pastors that develop sermon themes and liturgy. I’ve used them before for Advent and Lent.

Sanctified Art crafted this worship series around four guiding questions: “I’ve been meaning to ask… Where are you from? . . . Where does it hurt? . . . What do you need? . . . and Where do we go from here?” As you can see, these questions aren’t surface level; they invite us to tell our stories, to share our pain, to really care for one another, and to dream about a new way forward together.[1]  An authentic way forward.  A faithful way forward.

Where are you from? This is our question for this week.  Where are you from?  I imagine you are all thinking geographically.  Most of you are from right here – Fairfield.  Or maybe Spangle or Waverly or Tekoa. You were born and raised right here.  Perhaps your parents were born and raised here, too.  Others are thinking of some other town they are from.  I was born in a small town in Minnesota – Springfield Minnesota.  That’s where I’m from. 

But lets think beyond geography and remember that we are all beloved Children of God. We are all made in His image. We are all shaped from the dust of the earth and the very breath of God. Each and every one of us  comes from the same place.  We were created by the same God. And though each of us is unique in looks and personality and the way we think, we are each made in the image of God.  Each one of us and every person that we encounter is a beloved child of God.  We are all from the same place.  We all come from God.

And yet, every one of us has a story to tell. Our stories are messy and beautiful, painful and hopeful.  Our stories are being written and rewritten over time. We learn so much more about one another, and our relationships deepen, when we commit to disrupting our assumptions and staying curious about one another.

To build connection and trust, we need to listen to each other’s stories and experiences to learn who and what has shaped us. To understand  why we think the way we think; why we believe the way we believe. We also need to feel seen and known for who we are. In this first week, let’s work to affirm the particularity of our identities while also acknowledging our common ground. Formed from the dust and God’s very breath in the garden of Eden, we have a common home, a shared birthplace, and a collective calling: to sustain and care for all of creation. The story of Jesus calling the disciples provides a helpful charge to “come and see” what the journey holds.[2]

The question, “Where are you from?” is sometimes coupled with assumptions, judgments, and even microaggressions—all of which can be exhausting and painful to receive. Our goal should be to acknowledge, disrupt, and release the assumptions we hold about others.

When I accepted the call to serve a church in Wyoming there was a member of the congregation who did not like me from the moment I arrived.  There was nothing I did or said – because she did not like me immediately.  She was always nitpicking at me.

I was leading a weekly Bible study during Advent that was well-attended.  She and her husband both came every week.  One night she stood up and completely out of context, she said, “I know that you are very liberal because you are from Washington.  Everyone in Washington is liberal.  You are all tree-hugging Democrats who approve of abortion.  You cannot approve of abortion and be a Christion so how can you be a pastor?”  She sat down and there was dead silence.

She made a lot of assumptions.  That I was liberal.  That everyone in Washington is liberal.  That I was a Democrat. That everyone in Washington is a Democrat.  That everyone  is a tree-hugger.  (whatever that is!) That I approve of abortion and that all Democrats approve of abortion and because everyone in Washington is a Democrat, everyone in Washington approves of abortions.  It was very painful to receive all those judgements so publicly.

In our passage from John, curiosity runs rampant, and Jesus is the primary focus of this curiosity. John has already known Jesus as the Lamb of God and he invites 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 not intrusive.

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.” Jesus seems to suggest that the disciples called him Rabbi because they did not fully perceive him. They saw him as a great teacher, but he is so much more.  They just haven’t understood that yet. Jesus invites them to his place so that they can understand 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.[3]

The disciples spend the day with Jesus and then, after that day, they call him Messiah. They have a new understanding of who Jesus really is.  After getting to know him deeper, their idea of who Jesus is changed.  Curiosity is contagious. Andrew, who followed Jesus, introduces him to his brother Simon. Philip introduces Jesus to Nathanael, who wishes to know if anything good can come out of Nazareth. “Come and see,” says Philip. The subtext is: “Don’t arrive at premature conclusions about anyone, or define them based on insufficient knowledge.” Curiosity is also a two-way street. Nathanael hears about Jesus and approaches him, but Jesus had already learned about him enough to call him a person without deceit.[4]  Relationships go both directions. 

The privilege of being a pastor is I get to listen to stories.  I get to be curious and go deeper into your lives and your experiences.  But I would challenge you that even with those you have known all your life, and those you have only known as neighbors and community members, there is so much to each of our lives that is awe-inspiring.

How do we cultivate a deeper curiosity that grants a fuller understanding of others, especially those who look, dress, and think differently?  It requires investment of sufficient time and resources to learn about them, a commitment to unlearning prior assumptions when needed, and a healthy curiosity that engages others while respecting their space.[5]

May we be a faith community full of authentic, non-intrusive curiosity so that our relationships grown deeper and more meaningful remembering that we are all from the same place – we all come from God.  Amen.



[1] Sanctified Art.  “I’ve Been Meaning to Ask” series. 
[2] Sanctified Art.  “I’ve Been Meaning to Ask.”
[3] Dr. Raj Nadella, The Samuel A. Cartledge Associate Professor of New Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA
[4] Dr. Raj Nadella, The Samuel A. Cartledge Associate Professor of New Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA
[5] Dr. Raj Nadella, The Samuel A. Cartledge Associate Professor of New Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA