communion – Anna Woofenden

“For whatever you do for the least of these, whatever you do to one who is a member of my family, you do to me.”

Last month when we gathered down by the docks in a grassy spot after walking the streets of our community together, we talked about this thing called the Revised Common Lectionary. The Revised Common Lectionary is a series of readings that walk preachers and congregations through the Bible in a three-year cycle. And I shared how I, as your preacher, have chosen to use this calendar of scripture for our worship services. Now, there are a variety of reasons for this choice, one of the main ones being that it makes it so I don’t just pick the readings that I like—or that especially speak to me—and use them over and over and over again. I want to, and to have us all, be challenged by reading the breadth and variety of Biblical texts, and to have a shared accountability that we don’t just keep going back to the same scriptures, and preaching the same sermon over and over again.

With all this in mind, you can laugh with me when I tell you about our gospel text for this week, Matthew 25:31-45, the parable of the sheep and the goats. This scripture more than any other, is the one that I have preached on, wrestled with, been inspired by, and worked with in the forming and developing of this church. I’ve read it backwards and forwards, written papers on it, had it preached to me at pivotal moments, chosen it as the text for my ordination sermon, and, and—I’m not making this up—I have it engraved on the back of my iPad. “For I was hungry…” Matthew 25.

And seriously, it is integral to why we’re here today, starting a church that integrates the natural and spiritual, individual and communal needs, and a church that is committed to working together for changed spirits and hearts, in conjunction with changed physical lives. It has led me to believe that the spiritual and the natural work are inter-connected, and that Jesus is pointing to this reality when he equates one’s eternal place with what one does for “the least of these who are members of God’s family.”

So, out of all the Sundays of this three-year cycle of scripture, out of all the passages of the Bible that we could explore. it’s today, at our third Gathering, that the Revised Common Lectionary lands on this passage. And I laugh and I wonder at the movement of God and the confirmation that there is such a thing as Divine Providence leading and guiding all things. You with me?

This story has been following me around for years. But it first came into my life in a meaningful way when I was in an undergrad psychology course in 1998. Dr. Sonia Werner, a brilliant psychologist and Swedenborgian scholar, made a chart that changed my view of the world and of what church and ministry and following God might mean.

Along one side of the chart she put:
For I was hungry and you fed me
I was thirsty and you gave me drink
I was a stranger and you welcomed me in
I was naked and you clothed me
I was sick and you cared for me, and
I was in prison and you visited me.

Along the other side of the chart she had outlined what Emanuel Swedenborg, the Christian mystic and theologian whose teaching our tradition turns to, and outlined what he calls, “the levels of the neighbor.”

So along the top of the chart she wrote:
Spiritual useful services—love toward God and love for the neighbor
Moral and civic services—love for the society in which a person resides
Natural useful services—love of the world and its necessities
Corporal useful services—self-preservation for the sake of higher uses

Dr. Werner’s offering, carried in the Swedenborgian teaching that there is an internal meaning, or layers upon layers of teaching that we can find in the Biblical text. It awoke something in me as it moved from being an edict on what boxes I had to check off to “inherit eternal life,” to a story that Jesus is telling us about how engaging others is how we engage the spiritual life, in an interconnected and multi-layered way.

The intersection of these two series—the natural, mental, emotional, spiritual and the call of Jesus to give food, offer drink, clothe, visit, care, and welcome—are at the core of vision of the Garden Church.

To re-imagine church as an entity that cares about people—mind, body, and spirit—and to be a body that engages individual transformation within the context of communal, societal, and global relationships. Because I really do believe that it is in these actions, of feeding those who are hungry, and clothing those who are naked, and caring for the sick, and so on, that we also find spiritual transformation.

And so when people ask us, “is a church or is it a garden?”, the answer is always, “Yes” because we’re about the transformation of mind, body, and spirit. We’re about the transformation of earth, food, health, and community. They are all intertwined.

Just the way that when Jesus was asked how to inherit eternal life, he didn’t talk about just what you believe, or a certain formula of morality codes, he talked about actions and the way we treat one another as the way we interact with God.

Each of us have sheep and goats in us—ways that we act and engage the world around us from a place of love, wisdom, compassion, and action; and parts of ourselves that look inwards in ways that further our own selfishness and gain. We’re invited to hear this passage not dictating a specific set of delineated instructions that will let us know whether we pass or not. Instead, this story calls out as a herald of the interconnected whole. That the spiritual life is housed in the physical life. That tangible actions of goodness to those around us, are the way that we experience eternal life and where we see the way of Jesus, the face of God, in the world around us.

And so this call to action is not about, “Go, quick go! Sign up for one more ‘helpful’ volunteer opportunity to make sure you get enough points to get into heaven!” I believe it’s calling for something much more profound and beautiful than that. This story calls us to transform the way we see God and see our neighbor. It is telling us that how we interact with the people around us is also our interaction with God. It is telling us that when we look and truly see and connect with the humanity in front of us, we are seeing and connecting with the Divine.

This passage not only calls us to action, to the acts of feeding people, clothing people, engaging those who are imprisoned, and caring for those who are sick. It calls us to something even more profound and transformative. After the first half of this tale, when Jesus lays out these six areas of care, he says that the righteous will ask, “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you drink, a stranger and welcome you in, naked and give you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or imprisoned and visited you and cared for you?” And Jesus says, “whenever you did it to one of the least of these, who are members of my family, you did it for me.” When we’re doing our own internal work towards compassion and goodness, it changes our external work. When we come together to work and serve with others on the physical level, our hearts and spirits are changed, transformed, saved from the draw to the insular, selfish, materialistic lives that we can all get caught up in.

In a few minutes we’re going to gather around the table and share in the sacred meal, in Communion. We come around the table every time we meet, because at the table we are reminded—in these physical, natural elements of bread and wine—of the profound spiritual realities. We will bless and share the bread and say, “the bread of life” and the cup and say, “the cup of salvation.”

Because in these acts, we remember, we experience the abundance of life and love, and that there is enough for all to feed and be fed. And we remember God’s new covenant that is made with this cup. That transformation, or salvation, for each of us, and all of us, as God is constantly drawing us together, making all things new.

And we come around the table because we look across the table, and we see each other, and the love and wisdom in each other, as we answer God’s call to see precious humanity in each face we meet. We engage these natural elements, bread and wine, flesh and dirt, water and lettuce seeds, because they are the container for the spiritual—as we are the containers for the spiritual. Each of us, the least of these, are interacting with Love Incarnate when we engage flesh and blood.

And we come around the table, to share in this sacred meal, in a spirit of Thanksgiving. This ancient Christian practice of sharing the bread and wine as the Lord did with his last meal while he was on earth has been named throughout traditions as “the Eucharist”—the Great Thanksgiving. And so as we are in a season of collective Thanksgiving, of gratitude and awareness of the abundance, we come together and share this Sacred Meal in remembrance of the love that Jesus calls us to, and in Thanksgiving for that which feeds us to be present in the world.

Because bodies matter. Minds matter. Spirits matter. Relationships matter. Being in communion with one another, with the Divine Love, with our human family, matters. We come around the table every time we meet because we are reminded of the abundance of the love of God and the call to compassionate living between us.

As we follow Jesus call to feed, and nurture, welcome, and accompany each other and our human family in this interconnected web of life. Whatever you did for the least or these, who are members of my family, you do for me. Amen.

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October 1, 2014October 2, 2014

Picking up the Manna

Sermon by Rev. Anna Woofenden
The Garden Church
San Pedro, CA
September 28th, 2014

Exodus 16:1-15, John 6:22-35

“This is the bread which God has given you to eat” signifies that this is the good which must be taken and integrated into our lives. In the ultimate sense, this is the Lord in you. Because “bread” signifies heavenly and spiritual good, in the supreme sense, it is the Divine itself. In this passage, “the manna” signifies good, which is God itself. That this is good when it is taken into oneself and made part of our life, is shown by the action of “eating”; for the good which is from God makes the life of heaven with people and nourishes and sustains it.” Excerpts from Heavenly Secrets 8465, Emanuel Swedenborg)

Over the course of the last seventeen years, and particularly the last four, I have moved a lot. I have done a lot of packing and unpacking. Setting up homes, meeting people, wondering “Will I find friends?” “Where should I hang that picture?” “Will I find a place to belong?” And it’s those things that I notice, that tell me, “You are home.” I look for the signs that it is becoming home, that I belong.

Like instinctively reaching to open the silverware drawer and opening the one that actually has the silverware in it, or driving to the grocery story without using the GPS. That moment when I have a spontaneous outing with a new friend and realize that I DO have community and placing the picture of three little children who mean the world to me, where it belongs on my bedside table.

We began our worship together by naming how we are a community on the move, we are a community that is becoming, forming, exploring who it is that God is calling us to be, together in this community. And we began by unpacking our Garden Church tabernacle. That funny word, “tabernacle.” I like the way it roles off my tongue, tabernacle. In Hebrew the word is: mishkan, “residence” or “dwelling place” of God.

The image, the story of the tabernacle goes back to the ancient stories of the Hebrew Scriptures, the part of the Bible that’s often referred to as the “Old Testament.” The tabernacle comes into the story of the Children of Israel when they were wandering in the desert, having just escaped from slavery in Egypt and heading towards the Promised Land, the land flowing with milk and honey. Now this journey went on for forty years, and they were not always so keen about it, as we heard in our scripture today.

They would complain about their circumstance, whine about God and Moses and even wish that they were back in slavery, rather than out in the desert. But every time they stopped on their journey, they would set up the tabernacle.

They would stop. And take the time to painstakingly place each pole in its proper place, each carefully measured support, the specific layers of cloth, and then the sacred objects. In the outer part of the tent they would place an oil lamp, a table for bread, the altar of incense, and then in the inner tent, the holy of holies, you’d find the Ark of the Covenant, with the two stone tablets that held the Ten Commandments, God’s words to them. And a golden urn holding the manna. These sacred objects, reminding them who they are as a community, who God is, and the way God leads and provides and is present with them.

I imagine it something like me putting that photo on my bedside table, or us setting up our table with the bread and the Word, the candle and the cup.

Here’s home for this moment. Here’s God with us. Here’s where we belong.

This story of the Children of Israel is packed with rich images and reminders of how the Divine interacts with humanity. The story of the manna that we read today is one that I never tire of telling. Probably because it’s just so totally human and seems like something I would do.

So they’re hungry. And God say’s there will be bread from heaven. They wake up in the morning and they saw, “when the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground.”

And they did not say, “Oh, look, God provided for us.” Or, “I always knew and believed the Lord was looking out for us and would give us all we needed.” No, instead they said, “Manna?” Or “What is it?” They called it “Manna” because this literally means, “What is it?” and they DIDN’T EAT IT AND CONTINUED TO GO HUNGRY!

Then Moses comes and points out to them, “hey people, duh, THIS is the bread which the Lord has given you to eat” (okay, that’s my paraphrase) and it’s then that they begin to stop, to notice, to realize, and bend down, scoop it up, and take it to their tents to prepare and eat.

Friends, this is as true for us today, as it was for our ancestors centuries ago. What we need is all around us; God is everywhere and moving in all things. It’s not that there is not enough for us, or for the world that leads to scarcity in our lives, or loneliness, or hunger on any level. It’s that we, individually and collectively, so often get stuck in the greed, the selfishness, the apathy, the isolation, and the slavery. Like the children of Israel enslaved in Egypt, we become enslaved by our fears, by our prejudices, by the collective systems that favor some and oppress others. We become enslaved by thinking that we are all alone, that no one is struggling like we are, that we don’t belong. We can look around at the world around us and see suffering and pain and wonder, “What’s the point? Where’s God? Is there hope?”

And this is why we’re gathering together to be a community that works together, that worships together, that eats together, because we believe that there is hope, there is goodness and healing, reconciliation, hope, joy, fun, laughter, connection and food enough for everyone. This is why we’re re-imagining church, because we believe that God, Love, is in all things, animating all things, moving through all things, and we are charged with seeing it and claiming and engaging love put into action in the world.

We get to be reminded how God says, stop, look, ask “what is it?” and then bend down and pick up that heavenly goodness, that which sustains, God’s love available and amongst us and manifesting in so many ways.

Going out into our communities and asking, “what is it?” “Where is the goodness and hope? Where are the needs and struggles? Who are my neighbors that I am called to love? How are we called to be church, to bring more heaven to earth, in this place?

Last week some of us went out and spent the morning walking the streets of San Pedro, with the Garden Church and the community on our hearts and minds. We went out on a mission to look, to wonder, to ask, “What is it?” Where is the Spirit moving in this community? Where is there land? Who are the people? What are the needs? Where can you get fresh vegetables? We were looking, watching, listening, asking, “What is it?” Where is God moving? Where do we fit into this web?

We came back from our community mapping adventure and sat around my dining room table and heard each other’s stories.

“I saw two grandpa men sitting in chairs by the sidewalk and chatting and saying hello to everyone that passed…”

Another said: “I encountered friendly people, and people were excited about the idea of a Garden. I stopped at a retirement home and the people had ideas for the residents to join us in the dirt.”

Another noticed that the street they were walking on has a great deal of socio economic shift as you go up the hill.

One of you talked about your neighbors who live in the park next to you and how you want to invite them in, but don’t, and your eyes got teary as you talked about being able to soon invite them to share in our community meal of the Garden Church.

Another reported that they found no place to buy groceries, and another wondered why so many vacant lots are filled with parked cars, and who’s cars are they? We saw women walking to yoga, and little children pausing to play on the sidewalk. Old and young, all colors and shapes and sizes of people, humanity in our community.

I met a man who was sitting on the steps of the post office, who I see often when I’m checking the mail. And this time I stopped and went over and introduced myself. When I asked him his name, he mumbled something I couldn’t understand, and when I asked again he said, “how about you call me Michael Jackson, Michael Jackson the rapper” and his face burst into a huge grin as he said it. “Okay, Michael Jackson the rapper it is, I said.” We both were laughing as I said goodbye and walked on. Manna, manna from heaven.

These simple human connections when we stop, we look, and we engage another part of God’s humanity, when we bend down, pick it up, look around, where is God working in the world, how can we be part of it.

And that’s why we Gather here, as the Garden Church, that’s why we believe that God is always making things new and we are honored and privileged to be re-imagining church for this time and place, because the provision is there, the dew is stretched over the ground, it’s up to us to look around and ask, “what is it” and to bend down and pick it up and have this bread from heaven.

And that’s why we will celebrate the Sacred Meal, Communion, Eucharist, Holy Supper, however you name it. Because as we follow in the traditions of the Passover meal that our ancient ancestors ate, and the manna they bent down and picked it up and ate. And we follow in the tradition of Jesus, the Christ. Jesus, incarnate love, who said when he was on earth, “I AM the bread of life” and then fed, and healed, ate with and was in community with the people that others deemed “outsiders” and who Jesus saw and claimed as friends. And then, who on his last night before he was betrayed, took bread and broke it and shared it around a table and took bread, blessed it and broke it, saying “this is my body”, “I am the bread of life,” “do this in remembrance of me.”

And because it’s God’s table, not ours, we find a place around the table where we belong not because of what we do, or have accomplished, not because of our race or gender, our family history, or whether we feel we measure up. Belonging at God’s table is embedded in the very core of our spiritual DNA. Each of us, created in the image of God, embodiments God’s love and wisdom. Belonging comes not just with receiving, but knowing that you can give. We come around this Sacred Table, this Sacred Meal, to remember that we’re all part of this bigger interconnected whole.

We share in the bread, the cup, the food, the drink, because God is always present to us, available to us, and yes we can find this on our own, in the world, but something happens when we come together as a community, as the human family, as the church, and see each other, see the Spark of the Divine in each other and feed and are fed together.

And that’s why we are here, that is why we are reimagining church, because we’re hungry. We’re hungry for being part of something meaningful. We’re hungry to put our energy towards things that matter. We see the disconnection in the world, from ourselves, from nature, from each other, from God and we want to take a step towards connection.

We gather around the table, remembering who we are in God and in community. And then we go out, and we walk in our community. And we stop. And we notice. And we ask, “What is it?” and see how the Abundant God of heaven in earth is feeding us, and inviting us to feed others.

Amen.

October 9, 2013October 9, 2013

Without Exception

“I’m grateful that my car got towed and I’m out $322” was not a phrase I’d expected to say by the end of the day. But God is funny that way.

The sermon that morning was about money, and how uncomfortable we are talking about it—especially in church. One woman shared about her shame around not having enough to care for herself, another man his experience that money is not a thing, but a language. Our preacher brought us back to the table and God’s currency—the bread and wine—that all are called to receive, without exception. She reminded us of the way of communion at the Food Pantry and how we give groceries to all who come, without exception, much to the chagrin of non-profit norms and volunteers who have strong opinions about others worthiness to receive. But at the Food Pantry, and around that same communion table on that on Sunday holds the bread and wine, food is offered to all. Because that’s our best guess at following the way of Jesus.

As the sermon time ended, the words “your ways are not my ways” rang in my ears as we moved towards Communion.

And I remembered Friday. It had been my third week at the Food Pantry, and I had finally allowed myself to receive food. All the volunteers go shopping first, before we open the doors. But for my first two weeks, I had not partaken. I was thrilled to be there giving out the food, but, “No, no, I don’t need to take any.” My internal dialog was filled with stories of how others needed it more, and though yes, I am a grad student living on a frugal budget, I do have enough money to go to Trader Joe’s, and who am I to take food?

But on Friday, I was convicted that if I was going to be part of this community, I needed to receive as well as give. Something happened as I walked around that circle, picking up plums, a watermelon, a beautiful box of strawberries, and four pineapple yogurts. And something happened when I ate one of those yogurts this morning on my way to church and felt the nurturing gratitude that I had breakfast to eat, though I hadn’t had time to go to the grocery store in days. Something similar happened when I walked from the seating area to the communion table. I took that currency that’s beyond the earthly substance, yet embedded in the bread and wine, and received together in community, without exception, something that is so beyond what any of us could earn. The bread of life that comes down out of heaven and gives life to the world.

The opportunity to receiving that currency didn’t end there that day.

”Am I going crazy?” I asked, “I parked it here, right?” We walked up and down the block in disbelief and all four agreed, my car that I had hurriedly parked there at 7:00 am as we gathered to carpool to church, was now gone. I didn’t burst into tears; the thought of all that it might mean to deal with having my car stolen sent me into an exhausted frozen fog.

“Really not what I need to deal with right now” I said, and went on to methodically call the police and go through 15 minutes of reporting and being sure my car was stolen. Then the phone rang and the Berkeley police deportment informed me that my car had not been stolen, but had been towed due to “partially blocking a driveway” (an allegation that all four of us felt immediately compelled to question). My relief at the car not being stolen was deep, though brief, as I talked to the towing company and discovered the price tag on getting my car back, and the extra fee for “storage” for the afternoon, as if my car was a studio apartment’s worth of boxes or something.

My friends stood by and swore with me at the appropriate moments, and offered helpful support, and then we all piled back into my friend’s car and drove to the towing facility. I got out and was met by Diego, the towing guy.

His friendly demeanor softened me and I found myself saying, as much for myself as to him, “I won’t take out my frustration on you. I know it’s not your fault.”

He went into the office to run my vehicle registration and my credit card, while I lifted the yellow carbon copy slip from under my windshield wiper. Finding there the added insult to the towing fee—the City of Berkeley wanted their cut of the car capture.

I texted the tidings of this yellow scroll to my friends in the car. Along with insisting that they were going to take me out for food and drinks after my car was released, one, in good theological form, wrote: “If anyone asks for your coat, give him your shirt as well—right?” To which I replied, “Do I really have to be a Christian right now too?” And then went on to insist that I was being nice to the towing guy.

But this moment of not yelling at the innocent towing guy was not the extent of what God was working on. Because God’s ways are not our ways. No, an opportunity to follow in the radical way of Christ and community, to be a Christian, would come through a text an hour or so later, with cheese fries in front of me and a frosty glass of cider in my hand.

This text said, “Just heard about your car. Shit. Please let pastoral care fund help you cover the cost. Will give you a check Tuesday. Aaargh.” I read it out-loud to my companions at the table, and started to express a mixture of deep gratitude, while totally brushing off the offer because, of course, “I would figure something out on my own.”

And then community happened. Again. Because even if you’ve only known each other for a few weeks, we are called to be the church for one another, and sometimes that means holding up a mirror. I looked and saw my self-reliant, independent, don’t-receive-help-that-you-can’t-repay self looking back at me, and I knew. The call to follow Christ, the call to be human, the call to live in community, isn’t all about the giving. It’s also in the vulnerability of receiving.

Because if all are welcomed, without exception, to the bread of life, and if each one of us is a beloved child of God, worthy to eat that bread and drink that cup, then I can’t always be the one handing it out. Sometimes I have to put out my hands, and receive.

Tag: communion

Gathering Around the Table | A Sermon for The Garden Church

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Picking up the Manna

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Without Exception

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