M & M's, Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 7/17/22

Now I imagine you think, as any sane well educated person in the area of treats would, that I will be writing about the famed candy called M&Ms. These are small round multi-colored, candy-coated chocolate candies that can pop into my mouth, and do—sometimes without my knowing it. Oh, they make them with dark chocolate, ever so much better for your health. And they also make them in bulk, so you’ll never run out. They, it is said, melt in your mouth but not in your hands.

These handy candies were invented in, where else, the United States of America, in 1941, brought here by the Mars company founder, Frank C. Mars, who copied the idea from soldiers who in the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) carried  British-made “Smarties”— chocolate pellets surrounded with a colored shell of hardened sugar syrup, which kept them from melting in warm climates. Possibly these little beauties saved lives. I mean imagine stopping a whole battle to share these with enemy soldiers. How could you fight after that?  I also consider this a brilliant idea for Sunday morning’s coffee hours—attracting people to your parish, dragged there through the joy of children with godly M&M's in mind. It’s gospel!

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I stand by my idea. However, I am really writing about Mary & Martha, popular sister siblings in the Christian New Testament. Luke’s gospel tells the famous story of Jesus’s visit to his good friends Lazarus’s house in Bethany, a small town to the east  of Jerusalem. Lazarus had two sisters, Mary and Martha. Martha, the elder and more loquacious, and Mary the dreamer. We all know such sibling pairs. I am like the non-domestic, introverted Mary who could in awe listen to some guru talk about God and prayer and other spiritual intensities, heedless of the time or the meal. My sister is more domestic, like Martha, bustling about in the kitchen preparing a lovely meal, and pissed at my lassitude. Even today she can cook a good meal. I married a man who cooks.  

To be serious, the real matter in the biblical story is women’s reactions to Jesus’s reaction in this story. Mary sits at his feet, soaking up his every word. Martha is in the kitchen, irritated with her sister for not helping. Jesus comments that Martha is distracted by many things and Mary “has chosen the better part.” What say you?  

On one of my preaching Sundays in a parish where I served as Priest Associate, I threw caution to the winds, read this Gospel story and opened it up to the congregation, saying “Well, what do you think?”  Dead silence. “It’s okay I’m inviting you to share your own thoughts and feelings about this story.”  More silence. One hand shot up, as if this were a schoolroom. I nodded for her to speak. “Well, I don’t like this story. Never have. Makes me angry. Why would Jesus put Martha down like that?”  And we were off and running. 

“Did Jesus think praying all day was more than important than hospitality? I bet they all ate Martha’s meal, especially Jesus. I’ve heard a lifetime of sermons on this story, and no preacher ever sides with Martha. Jesus must have had a huge ego? I’ve been to monastic retreats, and believe me, those monks and nuns spend lots of time running back and forth to the kitchen, preparing and serving meals in between quick trips to the chapel. Mary’s too passive, not my type. Well, Jesus sure started sibling rivalry here! Is this story even true? Sexist. In Bible study I heard that this was only Luke’s agenda—getting Gentiles to listen to Jesus. But why would they follow? Just to pray?  So not the real Jesus, right?  Look here (she taps her finger on her own Bible) — this footnote says that this story’s purpose is to tell us that Jesus was open to accepting women as his followers. What self-respecting woman would follow this guy? I bet God the Father set his son straight on this one. Are you kidding? “

Laughter. 

No one asked me what I thought. There were no scornful words, no sullen scowls, no grandstanding or lecturing, although a few just listened. I let this "homily-of-the-whole" go on for over 15 minutes. I was pretty sure I would have to move from the center aisle up into the pulpit to get their attention. My movement caused the hubbub to die down although the atmosphere crackled with energy. What to say? A traditional closing. 

 The Word of the Lord.

 Thanks be to God.

This back-and-forth conversation was lively and full of laughter— refreshing, and definitely the Word of the Lord. They were talking to each other, engaging with scripture as if it were their own story. It is.  

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And the M&M’s?  Each small morsel is the same on the inside. All are a different color on the outside. And all together they are irresistible—just like us. 

 

Advent IV—Wonder, Wonder, Wonder: How Can This Be?

Advent is the season of anticipatory joy, the season of wonder.  Children are good at wondering.

Advent is nearly over and I am late with this post. Still: I want to remember with you Mary’s first response, the one for which she is less famous. When the angelic vision informed her that she would become pregnant, though a virgin, and bear a son who would be, in today’s lingo a spiritual rockstar, she  said: How can this be? 

Mary’s older cousin Elizabeth, through angelic vision to her priest husband Zechariah, found herself suddenly pregnant in her old age.  Both asked the same thing, and variations thereof, that Mary asked: How can this be? This was her first wonderment.

How can this be? is a wondering question. It is an Advent question and a daily question— both in those days and in these days.

How do we find enough stamina and  courage to carry on when unexpected, startling, confusing and challenging things happen, whether good or not good, tragic or miraculous? We are rendered powerless, and we wonder: How can this be? Where is God? How will I cope? 

One brilliant way we cope is simply to tell a heroic story, personal or communal. Most such stories tell of a God of spectacular reversals. Such stories are remembered and told over and over and they keep us in hope. Everyone has a heroic story. The Bible is full of such stories. We wonder and still say together: How can this be?

Luke's gospel tells the whole story of the birth of Jesus Christ and its prequel. Here’s what Mary did after accepting the inevitable facts of her condition and before marriage or birth: she set out, presumably alone, or at least no escort is reported, to cross the barren hills to visit her cousin Elizabeth. How can this be? Both women believed God was involved somehow, and both were scared in their vulnerable circumstances. The biblical story is called The Visitation. Here is The Visitation icon written by Benedictine nun Sister Marie-Paul. She was born in Egypt of Palestinian origin and Italian descent. She now  lives in a small community of French-speaking sisters near the summit of the Mount of Olives overlooking the Temple Mount in Jerusalem.

Mary and Elizabeth embraced and talked to each other. They shared all their thoughts and feelings, all of them. This is a common practice women have, often before acting. They get together and talk about the best and the worst. I call my women friends right away when I'm befuddledWhether we agree or not, we listen to each other, and more often than not derive no secure answers, except through the connections we make and the stories we tell, there comes necessary strength to carry on. How can this be? I have no idea.  I wonder.

Children are expert wonderers. Here is a recent and true story of one such child. I dedicate this true little story to a dear friend, a woman whom I have named the stealth evangelist. She is in California now visiting her son and daughter-in-law and their two sons. The oldest is a boy named Jack. He is just six and he loves it when his Grandma reads him stories, mostly because Grandma has  time to reflect with Jack, to have a conversation about the story they read. Many times Grandma has read  Jack a book by Eton Boritzer called What Is God?  The book illustrates in words and drawings the basics of many world religions. All of them have a special prophet/leader/founder. All religions conclude that God is Love. The Christian prophet/founder is Jesus Christ. Jack knows that he is a Christian, but has not been to church much. He wonders—a lot—about this Jesus.

This Christmas Grandma decided to tell Jack that Christmas is when we celebrate Jesus’s birthday. Jesus was born at Christmas.  Jack’s eyes flew open. He looked at Grandma with an expression of wonder and incredulity and said: No!  (Jack’s version of how can this be?)

Jack is on wonder overload now, and Grandma is empowered. They are now reading the biblical story in Luke 2.  Jack wonders about everything, chiefly mangers and angels, and he says: “Read it again, Grandma. Read it again.”


      

2016.10.23 Dominus Flevit

As Christian women we are appalled by Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump's recorded remarks that disparage women and condone sexual assault. Such language cannot be dismissed as “locker room talk.” Mr. Trump must offer public contrition that fully acknowledges the seriousness and depravity of his actions.

The sin of misogyny has caused many of us to experience sexual assault or sexually abusive language that threatened our safety, dignity and well-being.

Christian leaders cannot condone such violent speech about women as a minor mistake or an innocent attempt to be “macho." These excuses teach our young people that such language is acceptable and do further harm to those who have been abused.

We urge all religious leaders to preach, teach and help their communities heal from the twin sins of sexual violence and misogyny. While we are disheartened by Mr. Trump's toxic words, we believe this moment presents an opportunity to teach our daughters and sons that they are loved, and to teach all Americans how to speak out against sexually violent language.
        -Rev Jennifer Butler, CEO, Faith in Public Life.


I signed this letter with little hesitation and then immediately wondered if I should have. Was it “Christian” to condemn another person? Oh well, I thought, it’s in line with the biblical prophetic tradition, and we all know that it’s okay to condemn the sin but not the sinner, don’t we?  Besides, I’m not Jesus.  Even as Lyn, I know that misogyny and the toxins it stokes—violence, rage, profound physical and spiritual pain, and social disorganization—are godless. 

One of the most poignant places we visited in 2012 when we went to Israel was the location at which Jesus is remembered in the New Testament as looking out over the beloved city Jerusalem and weeping. The site is a small chapel at the foot of the Mount of Olives with a dome shaped like a teardrop. Built in 1955 it's called Dominus Flevit: The Lord wept.

Luke’s gospel remembers it thus: “As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, ‘If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace!”  This lament may reflect the historical destruction of the Temple in 70 CE. A great political mess of contending parties—Pharisees, Sadducees, Herodians, Tax Collectors, Samaritans, Zealots and Scribes—warred for primacy and authority in Jesus’s time. All of these spiritual and political streams buzzed in and about Jerusalem. Jesus was trying to recall their attention to God’s ways of justice, compassion and peace. No wonder he wept.

I weep too scanning the national scenario in the USA right now. I also rage. I’m a woman, and, like most women, I know the sting of misogyny. So does the woman who is running against many currents to be elected our next president.

“As it turned out, Clinton, who began her campaign intent on breaking the last barrier—the glass ceiling—has found her most compelling rationale in her own role as a barrier, a bulwark against the impossible alternative. As I was leaving our interview, she smiled, looked me in the eyes and left me with a casual reminder. ‘As I’ve told people,’ she said, ‘I’m the last thing standing between you and the apocalypse.’ ” (Mark Leibovich, “Her Way”, NY Times Sunday Magazine, October 16, 2016.)

Is it that dire? I don’t know, but some days it feels that way as the delusional scenario of individuals and groups “building proud towers which shall not reach to heaven . . .” (Hymn #573, Laurence Housman) unfolds.

Still, I’m not one to sit around. I’m powerless, not helpless. SO: I sign petitions like the one above. I pray with specificity. I order books for grandkids. I write to steady my convictions in hope.  I remember I am a Christian and  I remember dominus flevit.  Tomorrow I will vote for Hillary and get my little oval “I voted early” sticker with the American flag on it.

I'm voting for her because she is practiced and practical. Second, I'm voting for her because she has stood her ground and managed to avoid serious head bleeds from glass ceiling shards as she pokes through a barrier that needs breaking. Finally, I am voting for her because I am not afraid of her.

I am voting for her, because I bet, that behind the necessary defenses, she weeps.

2014.02.02 Holy Scripture: Proclamation and Story

Holy Scripture is holy precisely because we can’t pin it down to any one point of view, no matter how hard we try—and oh, we try, oh we try.  

Scripture is made up of proclamation + story. The proclamation is always the same, something like, God is still around, faithful. For Christians, the proclamation is Jesus Christ is Lord, and no other—not Caesar, not your money or possessions, not your best beloveds or your passions, not your work or works, not even your religion. 

I'd say that Christians dare to proclaim that Jesus is Lord, exactly because in that birth, life, suffering, ignominious death, and beyond, we perceive God's faithfulness and thus we have hope, no matter what.

Hope is my favorite spiritual gift and virtue.  It is vast, spread beyond what can be known, always open-ended. Hope embraces all things, all the contrasting complexities of life, all futures, and all possibilities—the holy and the unholy. Hope can see in the dark.

Biblical stories are vehicles, accompanying the singular proclamation. They tell us how real people live the proclamation out with hope. The proclamation has power, yet so also does the story itself. We often discover that our own stories find place in these ancient stories. 

Take the story in Luke’s gospel (2:22-40) about Mary, the young mother of Jesus coming to the Temple, as tradition demanded, to dedicate her firstborn son to God, in remembrance of how God  had delivered all the firstborn sons of Israel from death at the hand of King Herod. 

Envision a new young mother, probably exhausted and anxious but obedient to the demands of her religious tradition. She likely felt possessed by a love too consuming to describe, a love that made her also feel possessive. Mary, I’m sure, felt excited and nervous as she clutched her child. Probably most of us have felt such possessing/possessive love for someone or something. You could crush it with your ardor.

Enter old Simeon, a very old man, stranger to Mary. He took the baby from her arms, blessed him, and then in an aging cracking voice chanted a strange old hymn as he rocked the babe in arms.  
   
    Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word; for
    mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all
    people, to be a light to lighten the Gentiles and to be the glory of thy people Israel.
     

What was Simeon saying? He continued with a grim, fearsome prophecy: this child will open the hearts and minds of the people (a dangerous thing to do) and many will oppose him. And . . . a sword will pierce your own soul too, dear woman.

How horrifying to Mary. What does this mean? Where in this story would Mary find hope?

Perhaps in the figure of Anna. Anna, a much ignored figure in scripture and sermon, is 84. She was married and widowed after just seven years. She’d never left the Temple—60-some years of worship, prayer and fasting. That’s faith! Anna came forth after Simeon to praise God and prophesy the redemption she’d recognized in the child.  

Anna was a woman who had experienced crushing grief, yet she held onto her hope in God and God’s faithfulness. She’d survived “hell” and kept hope. Without knowing it then, Mary saw in Anna all the virtues she herself would need going forward. I think the presence of Anna brought hope into Mary’s heart.

I knew an Anna once, an old salt who had lived long by the sea; it was in her bones. She was raspy and grouchy and often preachy. She had received a mail order degree in theology from Oral Roberts University—very conservative. Like the biblical Anna, she hung out around the church most days. She took the Bible literally, every word. If it weren’t in there it simply weren’t! She and I were of different minds yet we both loved the stories, and we could chuckle together. 

One day this contrarian told me as she pounded her fist into her hand: “Ya know. I was dead set against the ordination of women.” (I braced myself.) She continued, “But I converted.” (I felt inflated, imagining myself part of her conversion.)  “Ya know what changed my mind? It was old Anna in the Temple. I read that story over and over. I thought to myself, ‘Well, if an old timer like that could come into the church and preach prophecy then I guessed it was okay for all women to speak in church.”

An old woman—a story—a light—a hope—a christ—our God.