All Will Be Well–A Sermon for Weary Times


Rev. Anna Woofenden
The Garden Church, San Pedro, CA
Scripture: Jeremiah 31:27-34 and Luke 18:1-8

I’m tired. And not just because Bree and I just got back this morning from meetings in Seattle, after canceled flights and epically early morning trips to the airport. I was tired before we left early Friday morning.

I am tired of my newsfeed being filled with triggering posts and conflicting rhetoric. Tired of the tension that rises in me as I read people’s comments on political candidates. Tired of living in a country and world where misogyny and isms of all kinds are alive and well. Tired of my own wounds and traumas being triggered. Tired of entering into conversations on tiptoes or avoiding interacting with some relative or friend altogether because we don’t want to talk about politics. Tired of incessantly looking to God and wondering what on earth is going on while repeating over and over, “all shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things shall be well.”

“All shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things, shall be well.” These words from Julian of Norwich have been running through my head like a mantra. Some moments, I actually feel and believe them, but mostly I find myself repeating them over and over, willing them to be true.

I have been hearing from many of you this week that I am not alone in being tired this week and you have shared with me your own anxiety and feelings of fear and conflict and tension, whether from the upcoming election, struggles in our world and community, things going on in your own personal lives, or a concoction of all of the above.

And as I hear your stories, so much of me just wants to just calm and soothe us and just say, what I do believe to be true: that in the big picture, in the eternal view, God has got all of this, and it’s going to be okay. And I do hope that we can hear that and find that comfort in God and each other today. I hope that as we come together around God’s table and we feed and are fed together, that church can be a little respite of rest, a place of nurture, and a place where we can be reminded of God’s assurance and presence and care, and that we are not alone.

And yet, we hold this tension together and know that we can’t with integrity say “all will be well” and then just put our heads in the sand and pretend that if we just hide long enough everything will magically change. Because we know there are so many things in our world that are not well. There are things in each of our lives that are not well. And as long as all is not well in us and around us, how can we turn a blind eye to the pain and suffering and the things that need to change? We know we need to keep showing up and being part of the work in our world, and yet, dear ones, we come together and we admit and confess in this sanctuary together, we are worn, we lose heart at times, and we are so very tired.

Our gospel story today starts out with Jesus saying, “This is a parable about the need to pray and not lose heart.” I think this may be a parable we need to hear today.

In a certain city there was a judge, Jesus says. A judge—a cop, a corporation, a system, a conglomerate, a legislator—who neither feared God, nor had respect for people. And in that city, there was a widow who kept coming to him. A widow likely being in a vulnerable and marginalized position not having authority or respect within the patriarchal culture of the day. And this widow, she kept (over and over and over) coming to him and saying, “grant me justice against my opponent.” For a while, the judge refused. But later he thought to himself, “though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so she may not wear me out by continually coming.”

Not because the judge had some change of heart, not because he was good or just, but because of the persistence of this widow, because of her insistence, because she kept bothering him, her request was granted.

I have this picture in my head of this widow, a scrappy woman with worn and determined lines on her face, showing up at the door of this judge, day after day after day, and knocking on his door. “I’m still here.” “I want justice.” “Don’t forget about me.” “I’m not giving up.”

It seems a little bit like my insistent humming of this mantra, “all will be well, all will be well, all manner of things, will be well.” Looking to God, hoping She’s paying attention and that somehow this will be true, showing up in the world, making being part of change, believing that this needs to be true. And then keeping showing up in the world, showing up to each other and encouraging each other to look again, showing up here and insisting on being community together with all kinds of people, showing up to the hard conversations and continuing to insist that God is in it.

Throughout the Hebrew scriptures, and certainly within rabbinic tradition, reminding God of God’s covenants is a normal practice. “God you promised us….don’t forget.” “God you said you’d take care of us, but it sure doesn’t seem like it right now.” “God, are you paying attention?” “God, I don’t understand it, I’m tired, I’m scared, I don’t know any more. Help.” “Will all really be well?”

Our friends in the book of Jeremiah were having a pretty rough time; they had much to worry about and cry out about and remind God of. And then the Lord reminds them, “I am making a new covenant with you, and I will put my law within you and write it on your hearts and I will be your God and you will be my people.”

This covenant is one that God offers and promises and is with us here today. I will make a new covenant with you, ______, _______, _______, and I will put my law within you ______, ______, _______, I will write it on your hearts, and I will be your God, and you will be my people. I will be your God, and you will be my people. And God shall be with you. And in this, all will be well.

In a passage from Emanuel Swedenborg, we learn that on a deeper level the words “And God shall be with you” are telling us about the Lord’s Divine Providence—the way God leads and guides us and governs the universe. And that Divine Providence is the assurance that the Lord is with everyone, leading us and providing that all things that happen—whether sad or joyful—befall each person for good. That all things that happen, whether sad or joyful, befall us for good. (Emanuel Swedenborg, Secrets of Heaven #6303)

God has made a new covenant with us and written it on our hearts and put God’s law inside us, and God’s laws supersede all of human laws. Not that we’re above or don’t need to abide by laws of the land and nature, but our ultimate identity, our ultimate place within the universe is gently held within the loving laws of God’s providence. Yes, because of our individual and collective freedom, hard and sad and painful things do happen. As we interact with other people and systems and the natural world, we encounter injustice and pain and loss. The presence of suffering is real. The need to be part of alleviating it for all of humanity is essential. And deep within us, far extending beyond us, this ultimate covenant is promised. And it’s that ultimate covenant that we can rest in.

That no matter no matter how hard it gets, no matter how tired we are, God is with us in it. No matter how many things need to change in the world around us, no matter how dark it looks, God is with us. This expansive force of Love is always drawing us individually and collectively towards the good. God is always making good on Her promise that, right here in this very moment and in the expanse of the eternal view “all (really will) be well.”

Julian of Norwich knew that “all will be well” was not an isolated comment to keep her apart from the suffering of the world. This vision, or “seeing” as she called it, came in the midst of the depth of illness about which she says this:

“In my folly, before this time I often wondered why, by the great foreseeing wisdom of God, the onset of sin was not prevented: for then, I thought, all should have been well. This impulse [of thought] was much to be avoided, but nevertheless I mourned and sorrowed because of it, without reason and discretion.

But Jesus, who in this vision informed me of all that is needed by me, answered with these words and said: ‘It was necessary that there should be sin (suffering and separation); but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

These words were said most tenderly, showing no manner of blame to me nor to any who shall be saved (or made whole).”

All shall be well. Dear ones, this promise is as true for us today, in this moment in time and in our world as it was for Julian of Norwich in her confined cell, in the 14th century. God does not promise us a life or a world devoid of pain and suffering and conflict. But God does promise that She will be with us and that everything, whether joyful or sad is held within the loving eternal embrace of God, and that in every moment we will have the opportunity to respond to the good God is drawing us to.

Because ultimately, we will find our identity and our security—our rest in God our creator—not in our political affiliation or physical security, not in being right or winning the argument, not in knowing what’s going to happen next or being able to fix all the ills we see all at once. God has written Her law on our hearts, He will be our God and we shall be God’s people. And in this, we can rest.

And then, even when we’re tired, we can keep showing up and knocking on the door of the world. We can continue to persistently believe that justice and change not only need to happen, but can happen as we wear the systems and powers of the world down, as we keep showing up and bothering them until they change. Because the kingdom of God, the way of heaven is always persistently breaking through. And all things, however difficult, can be used by our transformative God, for good.

And while we keep praying and staying awake to the needs of the world, we must also lean back and surrender into God’s loving embrace, resting in that covenant: we belong to God and we are always within God’s eternal holding and in God’s immediate loving presence. This covenant is for each of us, dear ones, each one of you, and us here together as we call out to God and believe together that: “all will be well, all will be well, all manner of things, will be well.”

Cultivation Series Part Three: Participation


Rev. Anna Woofenden
The Garden Church
October 2nd, 2016
Scriptures: Micah 6:6-8, Acts 2:42-47
Listen to the Audio

Thursday morning I went on an early morning walk and I walked to a place on what I like to call, “the Garden Church historical tour.” I went to the shady patch under the trees where we had our very first Garden Church Gathering, two years ago last week. I stood and thought about all the people who have been part of this work at different parts of this adventure, from the founding board members to the people who showed up when we were meeting once a month in the parks and walking around the community, to those who showed up here once we opened our gates and keep showing up. All the different beautiful people who have shown up to make church together.

Last night, when so many of you and so many wonderful members of our community gathered together in this space to celebrate and support the Cultivation of community, I stood and looked around: at the beauty under the sparkling lights, at the amazing spread, at the event that this awesome team pulled off…at all the people from all different parts of our community, those who have been with the Garden Church since it was just an idea, those who have been working and loving the San Pedro community all their lives, those who just came in the gate that evening. And all of them, all of us had in common that we showed up.

And that’s what I want to talk about together today, showing up. As we wrap up our three-week Cultivation series, looking at what it means to be church and make church together, we look at our third marker-point of being a Cultivator—Participation. Two weeks ago, we talked about our first marker of being a Cultivator—Prayer—and explored our spiritual commitment, and committing to regularly pray on our own and together, because our hearts and lives are changed by commitment to regular spiritual practice. Last week we talked about pledging, how we are all interconnected and how the way we use our financial resources is part of our spiritual practice and being part of the interconnected whole together. And finally this week, we’re looking at our third marker-point of being part of this community—Participation. Being involved. Showing up.

One of you said to me recently, “Showing up” is a refrain you use often.” I hadn’t specifically noticed this before. I know that I preach ad nauseum about the power of all kinds of people eating together and the dignity of all human beings, and how we want to be part of cultivating more heaven, here on earth. But this “showing up” wasn’t something I had consciously taken on as a theme.

But when we started talking about it, I realized it was, it is, because somehow it’s actually at the base of all of these other values we are working to embody here at the Garden Church.
In order to come around God’s table with all kinds of people, we need to show up.
For dreams to be realized, for empty lots to turn into vibrant urban farms and sanctuaries, we need to show up.
For us to find reconciliation in our relationships and families, between races and classes, we need to show up.
For us to regenerate, or grow in our spiritual lives, we need to show up.
For us to be changed by a conversation with someone we wouldn’t normally interact with, we need to show up.
If you want to see God in the faces of all you meet, you need to be out in the world meeting people and showing up.

Showing up is something that we need to do for our own spiritual practice with God, and showing up is something we need to do together, as we love our neighbor. In the Swedenborgian tradition, we talk a lot about the trios, the trinities of the Divine and of spiritual life. One of the core trios described is Love, Wisdom, and Useful service. At the core of all things is love, but for it to be experienced in the world, it needs to be coupled with wisdom and put into action in useful service. But it doesn’t end there; it then circles back around, and as we engage in useful service, we need wisdom to guide us, we experience love, and the circle continues. And in order to encounter and engage the Divine, to be part of that cycle of love and wisdom and useful service, we need to show up.

Now I’m not saying that showing up in life is always easy. It’s a simple phrase that I believe is core and true, but it’s not easy. Showing up requires deep prayer, for strength and humility, showing up requires our commitment and practices. Showing up to open our gates and have each of your wonderful faces walk through them takes a lot of work behind the scenes, cultivating resources, nurturing the networks and relationship. Showing up for some people means a battle to get out of bed in the morning, to overcome mental and physical challenges. Showing up means doing the work to be present to each other, to look inside ourselves and examine the places in us that would prefer to stay walled off, not reach out, not be present. Showing up to God means being willing and humble to rest in God, to trust God, to believe in our value and worth as creations of a loving creator.

And showing up, while it’s not always easy, and it takes determination and choice and often hard work, is also so simple. And as this beautiful passage from Micah reminds us, it’s all God asks. God does not delight in the giving of oil and rams, of burnt offerings and sacrifices. It’s how we show up and what we show up to. Doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with our God.

Showing up doesn’t mean we always know the outcome or are going to be able to accomplish things exactly the way we had planned. Showing up is that humble walking, that surrender to God, being reminded step by step that She is the one who knows the way and is leading and providing and though we rarely know exactly what God is going to be up to, it seems that research shows that it will be more surprising and delightful and uncomfortable and transformative than anything we could come up with on our own. And here’s the magical thing, when we show up, and expect God to show up, God always does—and then other people show up too.

I have told some of you about how 4:05 on Sundays is my nemesis, but 5:20 is a joy. And you know why that is? Because you all show up. Often at 4:05 there are just a handful of us here (and oh so many blessings to those of you who are here then). And sometimes as I pray and ring the singing bowl, I have a little chat with God. Sometimes it’s more polite than other times and often includes the words, “Um, God, I showed up, where is everyone else??” But God is always faithful, because you all are here, and then more of you come in and then I see an interaction between two of you that brings me to tears. And then we all pray together, and by the time we’re sharing Holy Communion and then gathering around the dinner table with all sorts of neighbors loving each other, my faith in God and church is once again renewed, as we all show up at the table together and God totally shows up.

So what does it mean to be church together, what do we need to keep being church together? I think it’s pretty simple really. We need to pray in our own lives, walking more and more in the way of God. And pray together, for each other and with each other, to meet the world and its challenges and its joys with a spirit of prayer. We need to pledge. Paying attention to our resources and regularly practice giving them in a way that serves the well-being of the interconnected whole, knowing that we are all needed and that there is enough—enough and some to share. And we need to Participate. We need to show up. Literally, to be church together, to make church together, we need to show up. To walk through those gates, to be here regularly together. We need to show up with our whole selves, share our weakness and our stories, share our wisdom and our gifts. Show up with the humility to learn and to be changed, with the courage to be uncomfortable, with the tenacity to keep being curious and exploring.

Because when we show up, we’re not just showing up for ourselves, we’re showing up for others; our commitment to be here re-imagining church together impacts that interconnected web. What we’re doing individually matters, and who we are as a church together matters. Something powerful is happening here, as Jana said last night, it’s one of those “bright spots” in a world where it’s so easy to be engulfed in the polarization and struggle. And friends, so many people are engaged in this experiment and learning from it, gaining inspiration and lessons, rejoicing with us and praying with us. And already, in this short bit of time, you all have inspired others. There’s a dinner church that’s starting up in Boston in part because they heard me speak about our work here at a conference last year and thought, “we can do that.” There are people in our community who are growing things in their backyards and changing their food waste habits. There are churches and seminary students throughout our denomination and in our larger network that are asking questions about how one might re-imagine church in their context. There are churches here in our community who are partnering with us and asking questions about food security and our unhoused neighbors.

We’ve had visitors from as far as Australia and the UK, strangers that have become friends because they have heard of what we all are cultivating here together, and are touched and inspired by it. We don’t know who we will inspire or how our faithfulness will touch others, but we believe and trust a God who has a big interconnected picture in mind and calls us to be faithful to our part. Those early Jesus followers didn’t know that we’d be reading about them and talking about them two centuries later. They just were showing up, breaking bread together, saying prayers, learning and sharing things in common, being community together. But their faithfulness, their willingness to show up touches us today, in this long string of humanity that is choosing to show up and be curious, asking, “How do we love God and love neighbor together in community?”

Mother Gemma, who many of you met a couple of weeks ago, is a priest in the Church of England, and one of those people who has been praying, and pledging and participating from afar with us since the start. After being with us last month, her own visions for planting a church were re-affirmed and heightened. Last Sunday morning, she texted me and shared clarity of starting what she’s calling “Street Church.” Taking an old church and planting a church for “people who live and work on the streets. With a night shelter, showers for sex works, hot breakfasts, fresh coffee and mass every day for everyone.” We kept texting, and agreed that she should open up a bank account and that she and I at least would start giving to it regularly. I sent her her $20 via PayPal, and committed to continue to give monthly and pray, because Street Church needs to come into being. Mother Gemma needs to be able to show up to her ministry.

Because we’re all in this together and this work of re-imagining church is one that we share across oceans, across denominations, across cultures, as we’re all part of the Lord’s church on earth, the Universal Church that is looking to see, what does it mean to be faithful in this generation, what might happen if we keep showing up together? And as I look around this space, as I look at how this work is moving out into our community, as I look around at all of you, I’d say, “what happens when we keep showing up to make church together, to be church together?” Really good things. So dear ones, let’s keep it up. Let’s keep making church together, and being church together. Let’s keep showing up and trusting and believing and seeing and celebrating how when we show up, God shows up and the world is a better place for it. Do justice. Love kindness. And walk humbly with our God.

Cultivation Series Part Two: Pledging

Rev. Anna Woofenden
The Garden Church
Readings: Micah 6:6-8 and Acts 2:42-47
Listen to the audio 

On Tuesday evening, we met for our first Leadership Table meeting, the group of people who regularly sit around this circle and want to continue to come together to discover how we can make church together. Bree led us off with an exercise for our introductions. She took a ball of yarn and started off by introducing herself and saying why she was there, and then tossing the ball of yarn to the other side of the circle. Then Connie introduced herself and shared why she was there and then reached across the circle and gave the yarn to Stefan, who after introducing himself tossed it to Jedi, and so on. After all of us had spoken and each had a piece of the yarn in our hands, we looked at the web that had been created—beautiful gold threads weaving their way back and forth across the circle.

Then Bree invited us to notice how we are all interconnected. Referencing back to the prayer we pray each week in worship:
Living into your vision of more heaven,
Here on earth,
And naming our place in Your interconnected web of life,
We name our prayers to you.

And then she invited Peter to raise his arm really high, and then Nora to take her string across the circle, and Nancy to change places with Sarah, and as each person moved, we all noticed. We noticed how we all felt the movement on the string, the tug, the reverberations, as we are all interconnected.

Recognizing our interconnection and allowing the awareness of it to change our actions, change our hearts, is one of our core values here at the Garden Church, and leads us into this conversation today about who we are as a community as we make church together.

This week is the second in a three part series on what it means for us to make church together, to be church together, to cultivate church together. Each and all of us have the opportunity to be Cultivators, coming together to nurture and be nurtured by this community, to make and be church together. We have three markers of being a Cultivator, of making church together.

They are: Pray—our spiritual commitment, Pledge—our commitment of resources, and Participate—our commitment of our gifts and time and engagement. Last week we talked about prayer—or our spiritual commitment—and committing to regularly pray on our own and together as our hearts and lives are changed by commitment to regular practice.

As we move into talking about pledging—how we use our financial resources and how we financially support making church together—I invite us to think of it in terms of a practice that changes us, and in terms of acts of justice. Being a Christian, being part of spiritual community, gives us the constant opportunity to transform and change, our selves and the community we are part of. Including our relationship to money. Being part of a spiritual community can be what re-orients our relationship to money, positions, and things. As we increase our awareness to our interconnection and our commitment to love God and love neighbor, this actually leads to changes in what we swipe our credit card for and how we prioritize our giving.

This passage in our readings today from the Book of Acts about the founding of what we now know as the “Christian church” gives us a place to start as we too are discovering what it means to be church together. Last week we focused on the idea of prayer, this week, let’s turn our attention to this idea of sharing all things in common… I know, it sounds a little overly idealistic, like I’m suggesting we all move out into the woods and have a commune together. But I think actually this radical call is both available, and necessary within our current context here and now today, in the middle of the city. It’s the invitation to move beyond only our own needs and to be in community together. Because the truth is, we are all interconnected, and the choices I make have an impact on others.

Being part of community together is the constant reminder that we are all tied up in each other’s well being, and can change our priorities and re-orient our connection to each other and to money.

Our passage from Micah asks: What shall I bring before you, God? What makes God pleased? And it’s not all the things, all of our money, all of our position that pleases God, it’s our changed hearts, our transformed actions, our doing of justice, loving of mercy and compassion, and walking humbly with our God. Being part of a church together reminds us every time we gather of God’s deep truth that we are all tied up in each other’s wellbeing. Hearing and seeing God’s truth regularly together combats scarcity, and breaks down consumerism. God’s truth invites us to look honestly at our collective societal sins, and then it’s the voice that is constantly assuring us that “there is enough, there is enough, there is enough, enough and some to share.”

When we put our attention to this awareness of our interconnection, life can suddenly become more complicated. Because choosing to follow Jesus, choosing to live lives of faith, is more than just adhering to a set of beliefs; it is an invitation to an entirely new way of living in the world. And this life calls us to care about the things that Jesus cared about: Seeking justice. Rescuing the oppressed. Living a life of love and transformation. When the Lord walked on earth, he mixed all sorts of things up when it came to people and wealth and possessions. Those words of the Magnificat, Mary’s Song, that we heard just now in song, turns things upside-down as the focus goes from things and wealth, to people and relationships, as the powerful are brought down and the lowly lifted up, as the hungry are filled with good things and the rich sent away empty.

Hanging out with Jesus changes our relationship with things and money and each other and God and ourselves. Hanging out with Jesus means that we’re going to likely be uncomfortable, we’re going to be asked to look at places in ourselves that need to change, we’re going to be challenged to learn to love in new ways and to be part of seeking and doing justice. As Dr. Cornel West put it so well: “Justice is what love looks like in public.”

“Love (ing) the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and love your neighbor as yourself. (Luke 10:27) means actively changing the way we interact with each other, with money, with things, with the world around us, and reorienting ourselves to the way of God, of justice, of being part of this interconnected web.

And friends, oh how we need this in our world right now. How desperately we need to shift this in our culture today. So much of the chaos and pain we see around us stems back to issues of greed and materialism, needing to accumulate money and power as the economic divide deepens and the distance between people increases. We see how fear and scarcity lead to hoarding and keeping resources all to ourselves. We see how poverty and oppression, racial discrimination, anti-immigration rhetoric, violence and marginalization are fed and reinforced the more we as a culture think that the resources are ours and ours alone.

Kerri Meyer, who many of you met a few weeks ago when she was in town for our preachers retreat, wrote “There is Enough,” the blessing song we sing each week. I asked her why she wrote it and she said:
“I wrote ‘There is Enough’ out of my heart’s response to reading the works of Wendell Berry and out of my own craving for a theology of abundance. These are the words of Creation, of Elijah visiting the woman, of the loaves and fishes, of the community of Acts, and I think of the Kingdom of God. I’ve been without an income, relying on Jen, and we’ve only been scraping by in a place where I swear the economy is weighted in favor of the Empire. I want to be generous and so I have to believe these words. I want to be able to receive generosity, so I have to believe these words. ‘There is enough and some to share’ is the opposite of what the idol of capitalism demands we believe. It’s the motto of another possible world.”

God did not make us to be servants and slaves to the world’s pleasures, and to sacrifice all our rams and oil on the altar. God calls us to this life of doing justice and loving mercy, and walking humbly, because it re-orients everything as we begin to believe and live more and more into these words: that there really is enough, enough and some to share. And so in this second week of our Cultivator Series, on pledging, I invite each of us to think seriously about our own financial choices and giving habits broadly, and also to look deeply at how giving to our church is part of our individual and collective transformation.

There’s no one right way to do this work of re-orienting our lives and choices to justice and generosity, which is why we need to keep coming back together in community and wrestling together, and seeing each other, and seeing God teach us. When one of you who I know is currently living in your car or struggling each month to barely make rent pulls out a few dollars and puts it in the offertory or when another of you writes a very large check when you know the church’s bank account is getting ridiculously low, this is living in interconnection. When we are paying attention to each other’s needs, and genuinely caring about the wellbeing of each other, this is being church together.

Yesterday afternoon I walked a few doors down to Farmer Lara’s house. I had in my hand a check for her, the not-nearly-large-enough stipend we give her every month for the immense amount of work she does to keep our farm running and growing here. And I had a bucket of compostables, extra ready to go on the heap from the juicing I’d done that morning. I got to her house amidst a play date and the kids running around, but she had ready for me the big pot that I’d sent the leftovers of soup home with her on Tuesday along with a lovely lunch-sized jar of soup that she’d made, ready for me to take home and eat today.

As I was walking back over, big soup pot in hand, this sermon and our topic today was present with me. “This is kind of what it’s all about,” I thought. It’s this exchange, this sharing, this interconnection. It’s having enough in the church bank account to be able to write the check, enough time while feeding your family of four to make up a single serving jar to feed your neighbor, enough to make the effort to compost those food scraps instead of putting them in the landfill, enough to walk down the street and give a hug and check-in and make these exchanges.

Committing to covenantal community, to being and making church together, and particularly when we talk about money and pledging, is not about forcing giving or shaming you or reinforcing a culture of scarcity. Being church together is an opportunity to be transformed, changed, and to do our part in the transformation of the interconnected web of community and society as a whole. Making the choices and living in gratitude and trust and abundance, loving mercy and doing justice so that more and more we can look at the world around us and find us all singing together, “there is enough, there is enough, there is enough, enough and some to share.”

Cultivation Series Part One: Prayer


Cultivation Series Part One: Prayer
A Sermon for the Garden Church
San Pedro, CA
Rev. Anna Woofenden
Readings: Micah 6:1-8 and Acts 2:42-47

Listen to the Audio of this week’s sermon


I remember the smell. A warm, sweet pipe tobacco. Just strong enough to be distinctive, but lingering enough not to overpower. He’d pick me up when I had a question to ask and listen intently, taking seriously the deep theology of my four-year-old self. I don’t remember the questions. But I do remember asking. Asking my pastor, Rev. Kent Junge, and him looking me in the eye and wondering how to answer.

The pipe-smoke smell melds with the smell of fresh-cut grass in my four-year-old religious associations. Rolling down the huge hill outside of church with the other children that I saw only on the Sundays we came, and occasionally for special social events. We drove 2.5 hours each way to go to church. It was the closest Swedenborgian church to us, and the place my parents chose to worship. The consistency and dedication were not lost on me. I loved church. The people. The stories. The music. The candles. The snacks. And rolling down that hill.

I don’t know exactly how old I was when we stopped attending regularly. But I remember missing it and not understanding or knowing why it wasn’t the thing to do anymore. We had family worship at home for a time. We would pull the chairs around in a circle and sing and read the Word and say the Lord’s Prayer. I always wanted to be involved, and likely was the bit bossy biggest sister, as shared how I thought it “should go”.

Sometimes we’d gather with other Swedenborgians in the neighborhood. Old friends, extended family, and we’d create worship together. One year we even put on a Nativity play. I helped my aunt direct it and I think played Mary. I remember delving deeply into the story and wanting to perform it well. I loved those gatherings and cherished the shared spiritual community. Each of those gatherings fed me. And I wished for more.

This longing and looking for places of spiritual home, a place of belonging, being in community where faith and God and questions and wonder are present—places where encountering the sacred together is not just permissible, but accepted—has followed me throughout my life.

This longing has informed my call to ministry, to the various communities I’ve been called to nurture, and to the founding of this community. My own longing and looking for places where people are gathering together to love God and love neighbor in authentic ways certainly has fueled my work in being part of movements that are creating and nurturing communities and church plants.

And in leading and nurturing in various settings across the country, as well as right here in San Pedro, I continue to discover that I am not alone in this longing, this longing to be part of something that is bigger than oneself. This longing to be people of faith not only on our own, but within community. Finding that something happens when we bring our selves together in community and we let ourselves get a little bit real, and a little bit vulnerable, when we rub shoulders with people we wouldn’t otherwise, being committed enough to each other that we can get annoyed, work through it, and hug each other as we pass the peace. Finding that hearing each others’ stories of faith and doubt, struggle and trust are what give us the strength and the courage to keep showing up.

I don’t know why each of you specifically have been drawn around this table and keep coming around this table, but I have some guesses that we all share a similar longing, a similar desire to, if even just for an instant, brush against the sacred in the presence of all these other humans—making church together.

This week is the first in a three part series on what it means for us to make church together, to be church together, to cultivate church together. You could call it a “membership series” but here at the Garden Church as we re-imagine church, we’re reimagining some of the structures and vocabulary. So we’re using the word “Cultivators.” Each and all of us have the opportunity to be Cultivators, coming together to nurture and be nurtured by this community, to make and be church together.

Here at the Garden Church, we have three markers of membership, of mutual commitment, They are: Pray—our spiritual commitment, Pledge—our commitment of resources, and Participate—our commitment of our gifts and time and engagement.

We will spend the next three weeks exploring these three markers and what it means to make and be church together. And we’re going to let these two scriptures sink in and live with us for these three weeks, as I believe they will help inform us of both what it means to be faithful to following God and what it means to faithfully be church together.

As we think this week about the marker point “Prayer,” I invite us to reflect on both our own spiritual commitments, maybe explored through those stories from your childhood, from throughout our lives where we have felt that longing for spiritual community, where we have glimpsed the Sacred amongst community together, and what our commitment is to each other, as we are being and making church together.

We chose this short passage from the book of Acts, as it’s a striking parallel to where we are as a community today. The book of Acts is the telling of the stories of the early Christian Church, before they were called Christians, before it was called a church. Jesus had recently lived, and taught, and healed, and then been crucified and then rose again and here was a growing collection of people, Jesus’ followers, who were gathering together. Gathering together and discovering what it meant to be faithful together, what it meant to be community together, what it meant to make church together. And in this passage, we get a snapshot of some of the ways that they were individually and collectively responding to the way of Jesus:

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. All who believed were together and had all things in common;  they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.  Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts,  praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. (Acts 2:42-47)

One of the first things I notice about these stories from the early Christian church is how much doing, how much engagement there is. Walking in the way of Jesus in these early days was not signing your name to a particular creed or set of beliefs.

The maker point was in the actions… “Devoted themselves to teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread and the prayers.” The breaking of bread and the prayers…

Coupling this image with this beautiful passage from Micah, where the Lord is recounting the journey and the stories of the people and ends with these well worn words:

God has told you, O mortal, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?(Micah 6:8) 

I am struck by the action that is invited, implicit even, in this life of faith, in this following of God and being spiritual community together. What does God require of us: Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God.

The invitation, as we explore together what it means to be a church, is to think about our spiritual lives—to think about our own spiritual practices and spiritual journey and how that connects to our collective spiritual journey.

The invitation is to reconnect with that longing you have somewhere inside you, maybe one that you haven’t been in touch with for years, that desire to come together in community, to belong, to encounter the sacred in the breaking of bread and the sharing of prayers.

The invitation is to be in touch with that longing and to respond to it. Those early Jesus followers had these longings it seems, and they responded to them and devoted themselves to the way of collective spiritual life. They devoted themselves to learning the teachings, and they devoted themselves to the prayers. I’m struck by the term “the prayers.” This was regular prayer, individually, and collectively—spiritual practice that was consistent and that they were devoted to.

It invites us to the question of what our prayer practice is, individually and collectively together, and reminds us of the importance of regular prayer and spiritual development. Each of us doing our own spiritual practice every day is important. All of us coming together to pray each week is important. Being devoted to our spiritual practices is essential…. Prayer, our connection and conversation with the Divine, is what fuels us, what keeps us connected, what turns the world up-side-down.

This, what we know as the Garden Church, was born out of prayer and has taught me so much about the power of prayer and collective listening. And it continues to teach me how all of this, all of this, is actually of God and lead by God and though it certainly has required a lot of human work, it is the vision and action of God.

The very first thing that was done in the forming of this church, before there was a location picked, before we had a Board of Directors, before it even had a name was to form a Prayer Team. It was the first official act of forming the Garden Church. A group of people who I emailed and asked if they would help to hold and pray for God’s guidance in this creative venture and exploration of what re-imagining church. And so, we began to pray together. Every two weeks I would send out a list of prayers and an update on how prayers were being answered. And we collectively prayed and worked and prayed and received, and prayed and were lead as this church was planted into being. And prayer continues to lead us forward.

So as we gather here today, drawn together around this table, we continue to pray together and to reflect on the place of prayer in our lives and this work.

What is the place of prayer within us, between us, and outside of us? How do we pray? What are we praying for?

And as we pray, we walk humbly with our God.

As we pray together, God transforms us and the world around us.

As we pray for the people here and now.

Pray for those who are searching.

Pray for our leaders, our future, our landlord, our land, our staff, our neighbors, our neighborhood, our friends, our enemies, the soil, the rain, the earth beneath our feet.

As we pray, we’re not merely inviting God’s presence into our lives and into the life of our community. It is in our prayers that we realize that God is already here. It’s God who is drawing us together, it’s God who placed that longing in our hearts, it’s God who’s table we gather around, it’s God who invites us to share this meal together, to pray together, to be church together.

God has told you, O mortal, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?

“Sermon Tapas” Revs. Anna Woofenden, Gemma Sampson, Sylvia Miller-Mutia, Asher O’Callahan and Alex Raabe


The Garden Church, San Pedro
Revs. Anna Woofenden, Gemma Sampson, Sylvia Miller-Mutia, Asher O’Callahan and Alex Raabe
Scripture: Deuteronomy 30:15-20 and Luke 14:25-33

Listen to the Audio of this week’s sermon “Sermon Tapas” a collective sermon from our preaching group at the beginning of our yearly preachers retreat.

All the People, All the Tables



A sermon for the Garden Church
San Pedro, CA
Rev. Anna Woofenden

Listen to the Audio of this week’s sermon “All the People, All the Tables”

Scriptures: Jeremiah 2:4-13
 and Luke 14:1, 7-14

I just got back from a wonderful road trip vacation to the Northwest, with my love. We drove up through California, spending a few days wondering at the redwoods and walking the rocky beaches before heading north to visit much of my family in Oregon and Washington, and then heading back south to see friends and chosen family in San Francisco. As we stayed in many different people’s homes and visited with loved ones, we found ourselves most often, around a dinner table—be it the picnic table by the pond on the property I grew up on, or the little table tucked in my grandmother’s kitchen. Around these tables, we heard stories, got caught up on each other’s lives, made small talk, and inevitably, someone would ask about you all, the Garden Church, and how it’s going.

And we found ourselves talking about this table. And that table. And how all different kinds of people keep coming around them and sharing and eating together. Yes, we’d share about how much produce we’re growing and the great discussions over theological Thursdays, and the cute Little Sprouts, and then we’d more often than not come back to stories about the table. Recounting how people who are living in the parks and people who work for multi-million dollar corporations come around this table together and find connection and friendship together.

I told them about how one of my favorite parts of communion is when we take it around this circle and then out, into the garden, to the person hanging by the front gate who thinks they’re “too smelly” to get any closer, to the parents chasing after their toddlers, and to the toddlers, to the teenager lurking in the shade. I told them about a few weeks ago when Jarret had brought his friend for the first time and when I leaned over to serve him communion, Jarret whispered, “his name is Joel” ensuring that I could serve him communion with his name. I told them about how some weeks I am sure there’s not going to be enough food, and then you all start walking through the gates and someone brings an unexpected dish and another something else… And how just about every week I stand back at some point during dinner and look at you all eating and talking and am just down-right amazed at how beautiful it all is. To have all kinds of people—eating together.

You’ll notice that I preach on this whole eating together—and Jesus eating together with people—thing a lot. You might ask, “Rev. Anna, don’t you have any other topics you could talk about?” But seriously, it keeps coming up in the gospel reading, because Jesus eats with people. A lot. And usually it’s with unexpected people and in unexpected places, and it does things that turn the social order upside-down. And this week’s gospel is no exception. Jesus is having dinner with some Pharisees (religious people who distinguished themselves by strict observance of the traditional and written law, and commonly held to have pretensions to superior sanctity), and when Jesus noticed that some of them sat at the head of the table, vying for the best spots, he told this parable:

14:8 “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host;

14:12 He said also to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid.

14:13 But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.

14:14 And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite those people that you know will invite you back, but instead, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. Invite the people around your tables that you would least expect, the ones who might not have dinner otherwise, the ones who you don’t know, the ones who don’t usually get invited over for dinner.

Every week, we celebrate one of Jesus’ meals, a meal that has become known as “the last supper.” It’s the meal that the sacrament of Holy Communion arose from—when we come around the table and remember what Jesus left us to remember him, and his love—bread and cup, broken, and blessed, and passed and eaten together.

And that meal, I believe, was no expectation to Jesus’ turning things upside-down by eating with all different kinds of people.

Yet, at times that meal has become emblazoned into our collective imagination, into artwork and legends, as a pretty contained picture, such as the Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper, with twelve well-behaved disciples, neatly gathered around a table, having a proper meal.

But stories like today’s gospel should tip us off to this not being Jesus’ way, and that even this meal that has become reenacted in such specific ways, likely was much more alive and messy and overflowing with all the wrong people than our ritualized tellings include. Likely it was much more like this feast that Jesus describes in this parable, a table filled with all the unlikely people—the ill and the lame and the disenfranchised and those who wouldn’t have been invited to the table and the ones who couldn’t spend Passover with their own families and the ones who didn’t have families to spend it with.

At one point, I took this question, “Who was at the table at the Last Supper?” to an in-depth reading of the gospel of Mark, wanting and wondering, because the traditional answer of the twelve male disciples just wasn’t sitting well with me. In part, my curiosity is with history and scripture, what happened, what stories were told, who told them, what has been suppressed, what has been remembered, but the question of “Who was at the Last Supper?” held more.

Because it’s quickly followed by the question that haunts me, troubles me, follows me around like a seven-year-old pulling on my sleeve and that is the question: “Who is around our table?”

Throughout Christian history, the sacrament of Communion, Eucharist, Holy Supper has been practiced. The blessing, breaking, and eating (or sometimes just viewing) the bread. The blessing and pouring, passing and drinking of the cup. This meal that Christ infused with incarnational memory—“Do this in remembrance of me.”

This is the meal that can be one of gathering together, breaking through our barriers, be they of class or race, denomination or creed.

And this is the meal that has precipitated barricades around the table, barring people from the table based on their profession of faith, denomination, moral standing, difference, sexual orientation, race, class or opinion. It has been used both to include and to exclude.

My own journey—as I am drawn to explore deeply this theology of the table—has led me not only to wanting all to be welcome at the table, but a theology of the table that names hierarchy and patriarchy, division and exclusion, and consciously breaks those patterns with the simple, yet revolutionary sharing of this sacrament. A theology of the table as a place of community, reconciliation, coming together, breaking down barriers and living and loving together as human family. And so, I took these questions—Who is around our table? And Who was at the Last Supper?—to the gospel of Mark and I found…the simple answer is, “the disciples.” Now I don’t know about you, but the first thing I picture is those twelve men gathered around this table, the twelve disciples, the disciples.

It wasn’t until I read the gospel of Mark. Cover to cover, and then I went through it again looking at every instance where “the disciples” are mentioned. And all of a sudden I’m quite sure, according to this author at least, that da Vinci did not get the proper guest list before he started mixing his paints.

In the Gospel according to Mark I counted the word “disciples” 53 times. As I meditated on these 53 mentions of “the disciples” there were a few themes that showed up. The first thing I noticed is that 20 of these mentions had something to do with eating. First who they ate with (Jesus, disciples, tax collectors and sinners), the breaking of eating laws (grain on the Sabbath, unwashed hands), and then we’ve got two miraculous feeding stories, we’ve got the disciples “forgetting the bread” when they’re out on the boat and then this story that we now know as “the last supper.”

Now with the exception of forgetting the bread (save one loaf) on the boat and the grain fields, and our text today, all of the other instances took place with three key players: 1. Jesus. 2. “The disciples.” 3. Crowds of people.

This leads me to my next noticing. Jesus certainly had a select following—people who traveled with him regularly. And then there were the crowds in each town. “The disciples” are a community. A group of people traveling with and learning from Jesus—followers of Christ. Distinct from “the crowd” certainly, but not as selective as only “the twelve” if my reading holds true.

The disciples, as I read through these passages, seem to clearly refer to a group of people, followers of Jesus.

It’s hard to know, because we weren’t there. But I can imagine from all I know of Christ’s counter-cultural, gender-breaking, gentile loving, tax-collector befriending ways. From where it says that just verses before this meal, he received an anointing by a woman at Bethany who poured out all that she had to perform the ritual act of prophetically claiming him as Christ, “the anointed one” calling him out as the priest and king with this abundant gift. This Christ, this Christ that seemed boarder-line obsessed with inclusion, breaking down barriers that held people apart, and abolishing anything that judged people on creed or skin, gender or class, this Christ is the one who called his disciples around the table. The disciples of Jesus.

And so the painting that I used to know has faded. It was useful in its acceptable and predicable way, but it has faded. And on the canvas there are new strokes appearing. Much more messy and crowded, confusing and boisterous. The room is overflowing as the women and men, young and old, able bodies and slow, creaking ones, those who lived lives of luxury before they took their sandals to the dusty streets to follow this Christ alongside those who are glad when bread is multiplied, as hunger had been their way of life.

This Last Supper, this gathering around the table, it seems it may have been a more eclectic crew than we like to think. It may have rocked the foundations of culture and tradition, before the bread was broken or the wine was passed.

And it keeps rocking the foundations today.

As I sat around my friends Sara and Martha’s table on Monday evening, with another beautifully eclectic crew that gathers at their home for dinner on Monday evenings, I was asked again about our table here. And as I described it, it sounded again something a little like this Last Supper. All different kinds of people, from all different backgrounds. We don’t agree on everything or think the same way. We may not hang out together outside of church, or live in the same neighborhoods. But we keep being drawn together around this table. And around that table. And looking in each other’s eyes, and feeding and being fed.

We keep showing up to a place where we can gather together in our brokenness, in our vulnerability, in our humanity, and with the hope of encountering the sacred. Around a table that is not a place of questioning our worth, qualifications, or cultural shibboleths. The table is a place where disciples, followers of Christ, lovers of God’s way—all of us hungry to share together in this sacred meal—are drawn around the table in our wholeness and brokenness, putting down grudges and judgments, labels and divides. We come together around the table to take the bread, bless it, break it, and share it—the Bread of Life given for us. And to take the cup, bless it, pass it and drink it, the Cup of Salvation shed for all. Around this table, God’s table, where all can feed and be fed.

“Enough and Some to Share”


Rev. Anna Woofenden

Listen to the Audio of this week’s sermon 
Scripture: Genesis 41 and Luke 12:13-21

Before I begin, a disclaimer: I know it’s not Christmas, but I’m going to use a story from “It’s a Wonderful Life” anyway.

Do you remember the scene at the very end of the movie? After Uncle Billy loses the Bailey Building and Loan’s $8,000 deposit and the small bank fails the bank examiner’s inspection, George Bailey is at his total and complete wits’ end. Where will he come up with the money to save the town and save his family? He sees no hope, and is preparing to end his life when an angel comes along and leads him through visions of what life would have been like if he hadn’t been in it. He saw how his brother would have drowned, how his mother would have suffered, how the town would have gone downhill had he not been part of it. Having seen how his life really did matter, he runs back to his family where his wife Mary has been rallying the town, and they collectively have come up with enough money and good will to get through the crisis together.

Now, you could say that this story is all about money, or a lack of money, that this plot line is all about economics. Yet, as anyone who watches it knows, the narrative invites us deeper. There’s something else going on here, something that holds both the reality of the physical needs and the deeper truths about spirit and heart and community.

Imagine with me for a moment the last scene for example: that iconic moment where George is receiving baskets full of money and his old high school friend calls from London and pledges $25,000… if you took that snapshot at face value, one might say it was all about the money, and yet, what is the feeling in that scene? It’s so far from greed, or being hung up on material possessions. The feeling is all about the people, the closeness that comes after desperation, the preciousness of family when you’ve glimpsed your life without it, the generosity of community coming together and offering the little they had to make together enough, enough to save the family and the town.

Some who read our parable of the rich man today might read it purely on the physical level, and go on to conclude that, “money is the root of all evil,” but I don’t think it’s that simple (besides, it is misquoting the original phrase which is, “the love of money is the root of all evil”). Instead, I would posit, selfishness and greed are the roots of evil, and whenever we are selfish, whenever we are greedy, this is the problem. Money, material things, clothing, houses, cars, any material possession are not innately good or evil; it’s what we do with it, why we do what we do, who we are serving, and how we interact that matters.

We had two parallel stories in our scripture readings today, both having to do with the storing up of grain—of material things—but each with drastically different intentions and markedly different results.

In the story of Joseph in the Hebrew Scriptures, we see how God guided Joseph to not only save the people of Egypt from starvation, but also save his own family, as he was led in the interpretation of dreams that there would be seven years of plenty and seven years of famine. Joseph was a good leader and an efficient manager. He organized storing up grain during the years of plenty, most certainly building barns and putting away the grain, in order to be ready to feed the community during the seven years of famine.

Then in the parable, Jesus tells us in the gospel of Luke that this very same action is not good. Jesus gives the example of a rich man who has an abundant harvest, and doesn’t have the storage facilities to keep it. The rich man asked himself, “What will I do? I know, I’ll build bigger barns, then I’ll store the abundant harvest so that then I’ll be set and I can relax and eat, drink, and be merry.” But then God replies to this rich man, “Fool, this very night your life will be taken from you, and these things you have prepared, then whose will they be?” Jesus ends the parable with these words: So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

So what do we do with these two stories? What do we do when the Bible seems to contradict itself, to be telling us two completely different messages?

This is one of the many places where we have the opportunity to hold the “both/and” that we often talk about here in our community. Not holding one exclusive or particular way of reading the text, but instead knowing that God is in the complicated, in the messy, and is always drawing out that which helps us to love God and love neighbor. When we hold these two texts together within a both/and reading, some interesting themes and messages start to emerge.

Here we have very similar situations and actions—an abundant harvest and storing up into barns—yet the motivation is different. In the story of Joseph, his reason for gathering up the harvest during the seven years of plenty and storing it away is for the common good. Whereas the rich man’s response to an abundant harvest is self-centered; his storing up is only for his own enjoyment and false sense of security, and doesn’t take into account God or others.

What arises for me from these two parallel stories is this: Motivation matters, intention matters, and the reasons we do the things we do matter.

It’s not the storing up that’s bad—but the question is, for what purpose? Saving for future material needs is one component of proper stewardship of God’s bounty. Appropriate concern for the future is balanced, however, with awareness of how the love of God and neighbor are involved. To be aware of how our choices affect all facets of our interconnected system, to make choices that take the marginalized into account, to give freely and generously of what we have to others, to be good stewards of what we’ve been given.

The rich man is not set as a negative example because he had the abundant harvest, or even because he was going to build bigger barns, but because with all the excess in his life, he turns to only pleasing himself. He gets stuck in that trap that we so easily can as well—that the goal in life is the abundance of possessions. We are encouraged to spend more, have more, use more, supersize and maximize. We start to believe that these are the signs of a good life, yet these are the signs of the external. What actually goes with us—what lasts? This parable reminds us, it’s our hearts, our interactions with others, our intentions and loves that endure—where your treasure is, your heart will be also.

In one of Emanuel Swedenborg’s books, he talks about what people are asked after death as they prepare to gravitate towards heaven or hell. Rather than asking, “What is your belief?” or “What are the things that you think about faith and religion?”, we are instead asked, “What is your life?” What is the life you lived? How did your faith and beliefs lead you to a life of useful service, a life in relationship with God, a life of serving our neighbor? It’s not whether we have grain in barns or material wealth, it’s really how we live and operate within whatever we have.

Being rich in God transcends economics. Being rich in God does not deny our need for material provision, for homes and clothing, beauty and food. But being rich in God is not dependent on it. Being rich in God, is responding to whatever comes our way, whether it’s abundant harvest or deep financial hardship, with knowledge that in the end, it’s where our heart is and what our actions have been that matter. We are all interconnected, and the choices we make for ourselves are part of the effect for many.

When we have our community meal later in our gathering, we’ll sing our blessing song as we go to dinner, “there is enough, there is enough, there is enough, enough and some to share.”

Our two stories today invite us to look at that fundamental question, a fundamental choice of how we show up in the world. Is there “enough and some to share?” Do we believe this?

Do we believe this when we’re living on the street? Or when our next child needs to go to college? When the car breaks down and then the refrigerator quits? What is our response when we encounter extra abundance in life? Is it to rush out and buy that thing we’ve been drooling over, or squirrel it away for a rainy day? Far be it from me to say that there is one right response to any of these scenarios. But what we have in this parable today is the invitation to pay attention to our responses and to our motivations and intentions in the choices we make.

On some level, we can all get stuck in the trap of thinking that material resources will save us.—if we just get_____, it will all be okay, if I figure out how to pay for this thing, if, if, if… Ultimately, we know that being rich in God is what matters; where our heart is, our treasure will be also.

And this awareness of our motivations and intentions applies to times of abundance, and it applies to times of loss and lack and struggle too. Providing for basic needs, saving for the future, being able to enjoy life, these are important things, and I believe that they are within the realms of faithful following. And wanting these basic necessities, working for them, this is right and good.

Just as we are given the invitation to read and hold scripture with a both/and attitude, we are invited to hold life this way too.

We need money and resources in order to survive in this culture and world. Truly everyone should have a clean safe house to live in, to be able to eat, to have access to education and clean clothing. Everyone should have the opportunity to sleep peacefully and not worry every night about their safety or where their next meal will come from. And yet, we’re not there yet. Some of us live in nice homes, others of us are camping out in the parks, some of us have to keep a super close eye on the bank account each month before we write our rent check and worry about making ends meet, some of us never know where our next meal is coming from. There is a both/and reality in our world and a both/and reality in each of our lives. And, there is an interconnected reality—each of our lives is intertwined with the lives of others, as well as with God.

And so each one of us, all of us, individually and collectively, is called to pay attention to the both/and of these stories and the both/and in the world around us. We’re called to pay attention to what is our relationship is to the material things around us: How do we respond when we encounter abundance? How do we respond when we encounter scarcity? And this is another reason we need to be in community, to keep interacting with each other, because it reminds us that it’s not all about us. Each of our choices impact the greater web of economics, of systems, favoring some and not others.

And this is why we need to commit, and then re-commit ourselves to a life where we ardently believe in the provision and abundance of God, and take it upon ourselves to be faithful stewards with whatever is given us. And with whatever is given us, whether it is incredible material wealth, or a bowl of soup, we can take into account the needs of others and we share. Be it sharing a piece of our burrito with someone, giving a percentage of our income to the church and organizations we believe in, opening our home to a family member in need, or helping the person in front of you in line at the grocery store. These practices, these actions help to change us from the inside out. They shift our focus from the “it’s all about me” of the rich man in the parable, to “how can I faithfully be part of feeding the greater whole” of Joseph. Remembering that we are all connected—part of God’s interconnected web of life—and that somehow if we all engage it and show up to it, that there is enough, there is enough, there is enough, enough and some to share.