Looking for the Living

Posted on April 24, 2025 by smaxreisert

Easter Sermon 2025. Scripture, Luke 24:1-12 (CEB):

24 Very early in the morning on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb, bringing the fragrant spices they had prepared. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3 but when they went in, they didn’t find the body of the Lord Jesus. 4 They didn’t know what to make of this. Suddenly, two men were standing beside them in gleaming bright clothing. 5 The women were frightened and bowed their faces toward the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? 6 He isn’t here, but has been raised. Remember what he told you while he was still in Galilee, 7 that the Human One[a] must be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” 8 Then they remembered his words. 9 When they returned from the tomb, they reported all these things to the eleven and all the others. 10 It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told these things to the apostles. 11 Their words struck the apostles as nonsense, and they didn’t believe the women. 12 But Peter ran to the tomb. When he bent over to look inside, he saw only the linen cloth. Then he returned home, wondering what had happened.

The great 20th century Protestant theologian, Karl Barth, once declared that pastors should preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.  I wonder what he would say during times like these?  How much time do we have?

There’s a lot going on, and much of it connected to who WE are and what we are doing today, but we’ll get to that in a minute.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were looking for a movie to see, out, in a theater.  Between New Year’s and Easter is a time for when we are not so much anticipating seeing a particular new film, or two.  We are more apt to check out what the Maine Film Center is offering and pick one—sometimes a film that looks really good to us and sometimes the film that seems the least bad.  A few weeks ago, I found myself unfamiliar with the offerings for that weekend.  So, I started looking at reviews.  For one of the films, the New York Times reviewer didn’t exactly give it a glowing review, but commented that it was “winsome and inoffensive.”  Bingo.  That’s the film we needed to see.  Winsome and inoffensive.  Just the thing, especially in times like these. 

Winsome and inoffensive is a perfectly reasonable quest when choosing a film, or a television show, or a book, etc. It’s not something that any of us should be searching for, though, this morning.  Let’s be clear about that.  Easter is not winsome, and it is not unoffensive.

We may be gathered in a lovely sanctuary, with colorful plants.  We may find ourselves charmed by familiar music, the pastels that are featured on many an outfit, the hats on some of the ladies, so we may be lured into thinking that today could very well be about something winsome and inoffensive.  It is not.

Let’s start with the women.  In Luke’s story, there’s a small group of women—Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary, mother of James and others— who bravely venture to the tomb.  They are going there to care for the body, possibly the spices are meant to cover the odor for people who want to visit the tomb, to spend some time in prayer and devotion regarding the terrible events that led to the crucifixion.  But, of course, the tomb is empty. Once they are informed by the two men in gleaming clothes that the body is not there because Jesus has risen, the women then go to the apostles, who have locked themselves away, fearing that they will be next, to share the important news.

The men receive the news with more than skepticism.  The translation says “nonsense.”  Other translations say “idle tales,” or something along those lines. Some commentators suggest that the word here is meant to convey something like 1st century “BS.”

This is not a winsome and inoffensive moment.  In the 1st century and before and since, there’s a terrible habit to view women as generally untrustworthy when it comes to matters of importance.  It’s not only a problem, it’s not backed up by scripture.  Luke’s Gospel champions women, especially those women connected to Jesus, from beginning to end.  Women are trustworthy and more than that, if it hadn’t been for the women, Christianity may never have gotten started, with no one to tell the tale of the empty tomb.

Now, let’s turn to the question that is asked of the women by the strange men in gleaming bright clothing, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”  This is a question of profound significance and one that leads us into places where we find that the message, again, is not winsome and it is definitely not unoffensive.

One of the Bible commentaries that I read this past week offered something that I found especially thought-provoking:

The risen Jesus is particular. Unlike some all-encompassing, cosmic force—the resurrected Jesus is not everywhere, all at once. He has gone missing from the place one expects him to be. “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” the two lightning-clad men ask the women. “He is not here” (verse 5). The weighty corollary to Easter faith is that, if our Savior lives, the tombs of certainty, finality, and respectability that we have gifted him will no longer be his dwelling. To encounter a living God, embodied and active in the world, requires that we face something more profound than a happy end. It requires that we face a Love stronger than death, particular in its commitment to lives lost and witnesses disregarded. [Jerusha Matsen Neal, workingpreacher.og]

This perhaps jumped out at me as we observe, through a stunning number of stories that have made it to the news media, even as so many have not, the disregard of persons, the aggressive assault on humanity, all supposedly in the name of freeing our country from very bad people who have come to this country, in so many cases, to escape war, natural disaster, terror, violence and chaos.  It’s one of the things that so often gets lost in the debates about immigrants—legal and illegal—that most of them very likely would have loved to have stayed where they were, where they were born perhaps, or close by, a place where their families were and maybe still are, where they had roots, but then something happened—occasionally something related to natural disaster, but more often related to human made disaster that brought violence, war, fear, terror and chaos, a possible forced departure from home, or in other cases a lack of food and clean water, etc, etc.

In the radical determination of the current Administration to rid our country of these supposed undesirable people—again, some here illegally, but many here legally and following the rules—we are witnessing a brazen assault on persons, on humanity, that people are being picked up and, in an alarming number of instances, have then disappeared.  There are others who have received emails informing them that they must leave the country within ONE WEEK.  In some of these instances the person is a US citizen, born and raised here.  Yet the notice declares that the government will find the person and kick them out, without a hearing, without any due process.  These notices offer no method of contact to clear up the error that was made.

Let me be clear here.  We, in the United States, have plenty to figure out when it comes to migrants, immigration, etc—legal and illegal.  What I’m talking about here is the treatment of, the perception of, the rhetoric regarding, those deemed “other,” that it has become all too common to treat those “others,” to talk about others, as less than human, as undeserving of any sort of respect or dignity, and certainly not kindness or compassion.

If this were some blatantly secular Administration, it might be one thing.  But, the current Administration boldly declares itself as closely tied with Christian values, Christian teachings, Christian morality.  In fact, the White House Faith Office is located in the West Wing.  Conservative and evangelical pastors are basking in their newfound access to the President.

Last Sunday, April 13, the White House issued a bold proclamation for Holy Week.  Here’s a bit of that proclamation:

This Holy Week, my Administration renews its promise to defend the Christian faith in our schools, military, workplaces, hospitals, and halls of government.  We will never waver in safeguarding the right to religious liberty, upholding the dignity of life, and protecting God in our public square.

As we focus on Christ’s redeeming sacrifice, we look to His love, humility, and obedience—even in life’s most difficult and uncertain moments.  This week, we pray for an outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon our beloved Nation.  We pray that America will remain a beacon of faith, hope, and freedom for the entire world, and we pray to achieve a future that reflects the truth, beauty, and goodness of Christ’s eternal kingdom in Heaven.

And, then the following DAY, on Monday, the President met with the President of El Salvador.  That visit included time with the press—perhaps you’ve seen some of it.  And, during that time, the Kilmar Obrego Garcia situation came up, the man who was mistakenly deported to a prison in El Salvador.  There were a lot of noteworthy dimensions of the ensuing conversation, if you will, that were disconcerting and unsettling, but for me, I noticed how Mr. Obrego Garcia was talked about and treated as if he were not quite fully human.  There was not one shred, not one hint, of compassion for this individual, his family, his situation.  The disconnect with the lofty notion of the US being a beacon of faith, hope and freedom, and the reality of what’s happening with immigration is astonishing.

Christians around the world gather today to declare a bold Alleluia in response to the amazing and remarkable story of our resurrected Messiah.  Many will wonder and debate what truly happened on that first Easter.  Some will maybe not think about it so much, just going through the motions of what seems expected of them.  Some will make bold assertions and then declare that those who are not able to make the same are somehow not worthy of God’s love.

The challenge of Easter—this Easter, last Easter, next Easter, the first Easter—is to recognize and appreciate that this isn’t about one single, mysterious, earth-shattering event.  It’s about a whole bunch of mysterious, earth-shattering events, when we realize that resurrection is really about a whole bunch of moments that pull us in and then ask the same terrible question, “Why are you looking for the living among the dead?”

So much of our lives, whether we realize it or not, are spent in that not so wondrous and inspiring place, looking for the wrong thing. We want things to be not so challenging.  We generally want life to be winsome, easy-going, inoffensive. That’s fine for a movie.  It’s not when it comes to faith.

Our faith calls us in to ask us this question that will move us out of ourselves and the small tombs that outline our lives, pushing us into a new awareness that is life-giving and life-affirming, but also hard and demanding, often asking that we engage fully, joyfully and unabashedly with a Savior who, at first, looked to have been defeated, crushed by the then Empire.  But through suffering and profound agony, offered a new way, a reminder that God’s intentions for humanity are not to be found in the earthly ways of power and authority— of Empire— but in service, in relationship, in community, in a love that pushes us into ways of being that so often makes us squirm.

We are called to ask ourselves the question:  Why do we look for new life in the midst of old, tired ways of being?  Why do we look for assurance in trampling on the humanity of those who seem different from us, instead of following Jesus’s example of compassion and community?  Why do we look for safety and security in the creation of the “other” who can then be treated as somehow “less than,” rather than pursuing justice through respect, dignity, and compassion for all people?  Why do we look for the living among the dead? 

To declare ourselves Easter people is to recognize—maybe for the first time, maybe for the 100th—that we follow a savior who is always just ahead of us (did you notice that the Risen Christ isn’t even in today’s scripture passage?) beckoning us to follow, even into the challenging dimensions of life and faith, that, while difficult, are fulfilling, rewarding and life-affirming.  Our Savior is not to be found in the old and dead places, but in the moving forward, with all of our doubts and uncertainties, with all of our wavering, yet willing to take the risks of faith, a willingness to offend those in positions of power and authority, to offend those who wish to build a hierarchy of persons, with only some deserving of respect, to offend those who claim the title “Christian,” but then act consistently in ways that undermine the essential qualities of the Christian faith.

The invitation today is an amazing one, but it is also a daunting one.  Yet, it doesn’t take much looking around to realize how significant it is to be about this holy work, of following, even as we falter and stumble, as we strive: to see each person as a created child of God, and to demand that others do so as well; and, to feel and to know that the faith that is here in this sanctuary among these our friends and companions, that we may then go out of these doors, to live as compassionate people who see the dignity and worth of each person.

That is the invitation. That is the call.

Thankfully, we don’t do it alone. We have each other and we have Christ as our companion.

Let us trust that Christ indeed is with us. Amen.

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That Helpless and Hopeless Feeling

Posted on April 16, 2025 by smaxreisert

A week ago Saturday, I attended the Augusta, Maine version of a Hands Off Rally. Everyone seemed so awed by the thousands of people who showed up on a overcast, chilly and raw day. In applying for a permit, the organizers had estimated six hundred attendees. The count was around 3,000, in little old Augusta in little and (literally) old Central Maine. People waved their clever signs, some elaborately done and others scrawled on an old piece of cardboard with a dying Sharpie in the parking lot just before the rally began. I can’t say mine was the most original, but I wasn’t the only one to assert that maybe Maine should become a part of Canada:

The rally featured a lot of cheering and chanting, with a general air of excitement and anticipation. After a long stretch of speakers, the crowd went on walkabout, around the block, along a couple of busy streets, early on a busy Saturday afternoon. Although there were a couple of cars (full of young men, I noticed) who made it clear that they were not in agreement with the ragtag crowd chanting things like, “This is what democracy looks like,” most of the occupants of vehicles seemed to be eager to show their support. They honked their horns and offered thumbs up, etc. It certainly felt good to be in the midst of such a swell of humanity staking a claim on what now seems in short supply— decency, dignity, respect, and love toward self, neighbor, community and world.

When my friend and I walked back to the car, she said something like, “So, now what?”

And, that’s when the little bubble of hopefulness that had been constructed in the midst of the rally burst. It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened, although, truth be told, most days just involve the hopeless and helpless part and none of the excitement of the Hands Off rally. It’s clear enough that there’s not much that can be done, not much at all. We can attend more rallies. We can wring our hands. We can speak up and out. We can call the offices of our elected officials. We can pray. We can wait for the midterm elections and get more involved.

Not much of it feels especially hopeful or helpful, in terms of making any kind of meaningful change to the strange, increasingly harsh and authoritarian universe we now appear to inhabit. The bits of news that I consume (from the New York Times, the Boston Globe, The New Yorker, and even The Economist, that I read mostly online, to the video pieces from the PBS NewsHour, CNN and even Fox, just to mix it up a bit) all signal to me that we now living not only in a new and difficult time, but a dangerous one.

I was especially alarmed by the spectacle from the White House, on Monday, of the President of El Salvador and President Trump, both of them practically giddy at the prospect of being able to wash their hands of the terrible miscarriage of justice when an administrative error led to the wrongful deportation of Kilmar Armando Abrego Garcia to the infamously horrific prison CECOT in El Salvador, while Stephen Miller spewed lies and distortions. Miller was vociferous in maintaining that Mr. Abrego Garcia is a terrorist, even though there is no evidence to back up that claim. Then, there was the line-up of administration stooges all trying to one-up each other in backing up the lies, while also praising their glorious leader. Not one person expressed even a shred of remorse for the man’s plight, or for his family. Worse still, there was the suggestion, made by Trump himself, that El Salvador should build even more large prisons, so that the US can send “home-grown” bad guys, with sense that the assessment of “bad” belongs to the Administration. Having one’s day in court may be coming to an end for all of us.

I could begin a list here of all of the other things that I find unsettling, like the assault on the great state of Maine and Trump’s narcissistic need for constant praise and declaring his policies and actions as the best ever, “like nobody has ever seen” (good thing I didn’t start a drinking game related to this sentiment). To set out to build such a list would only make me even more hopeless and helpless, while also taking up a crazy amount of space.

That we are still in early days is close to overwhelming. And, it’s not just the shift in policies and practices, and the roller coaster ride regarding tariffs that hints at complete incompetence, but the profound shift in tone. It’s a small thing, to be sure, but I find it unconscionable that Trump and his minions are still beating up on Joe Biden. As if we need any other signs or signals, but this offers yet another clue to the fraying and fracturing of basic human decency. It’s also disturbing to witness the President’s need for every country on earth, except for maybe Russia, to bow down to the United States, in subservience and awe of the power and greatness of the US, asserting that to be in good relationship with the US essentially means that other countries must forfeit their dignity and their own sense of place on the global stage.

With Trump in office, there’s a lot of the Make America Great Again slogan, from the President himself as well as his enthusiasts. But, it’s hard to understand what’s so great about any of this. Is is great to lie and distort? Is it great to strip people of their dignity and due process? Is it great to parade power and to demand loyalty and subservience? Is it great to show not one iota of compassion regarding the mistreatment of other people by our own government? Is it great to treat those who disagree with utter contempt?

I’m not sure where all of this will go, but I feel especially mindful of the stark contrasts of story as we are now in the midst of Holy Week. For a President and an Administration of people who claim close ties to Christianity (although, I’ll note here that the large cross that once dangled around the neck of the press secretary seems to have disappeared), it’s mind-boggling to have such incongruity when it comes to notions of power, status, loyalty, etc. It’s not that I think the US ought to be a more clearly Christian country, but when the leaders of the country make such bold assertions about their Christian faith, how in the world can basic elements of that faith be so absent from their rhetoric and actions?

So, I’m feeling hopeless and helpless. But, I’m also aware that it’s not a bad thing to admit to such feelings, particularly during Holy Week. There’s a whole lot of helplessness and hopelessness in the stories that we consider and pray over during this momentous time. Perhaps leaning into the hopelessness and helplessness will lead to a new awareness of the Easter message, and the reality of Easter.

I can only hope.

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Losing Our Humanity

Posted on March 17, 2025 by smaxreisert

In the ceaseless barrage that has become an element of our everyday lives since the inauguration of the current president, it’s been difficult to figure out how to respond, how to cope, how to think about it all, how to resist. The one thing after another approach is, by design, dizzying, so it’s no wonder that it’s become a challenge to focus on any one thing, let alone more than one thing.

One of the issues that keeps popping up for me, waving at me for attention, is the assault on our basic humanity. For much of my adult life, it has felt like we have been able, generally speaking, to acknowledge and appreciate the dignity of persons. We have been able— again, generally speaking—to perceive our common humanity, despite obvious and not so obvious differences among us.

Here’s just one example from the church I have served since 2005. When Old South began the process of considering an Open and Affirming statement, in 2007 (I think), there was an interesting array of responses to the process. There were some people who were very eager to discuss and then fashion a statement. There were other people who were not so eager, but recognized the significance of such a statement (especially in the very open and welcoming community of Hallowell, Maine). And, then there were those who wanted just to adopt a statement without any discussion (do we really need to talk about this?). And, there were a few who really struggled with the issue.

Except for a very small number of people (three, if I remember correctly) who chose to leave rather than consider such a statement on welcoming the LBGTQ community (as well as a whole host of other people, like those who are divorced, those who have never married, etc), most people in the church were willing to engage in the process. I remember hearing, from time to time, the sentiment that the whole homosexual thing— and even more so, the transgender thing—was mysterious and hard to understand. Yet, it was also clear that most people understood that we were, and are, called to recognize the basic humanity of each person, that each person is loved by God, that we are to treat others as we wish to be treated. You know, like Jesus taught. Eventually, most people at Old South came to understand that the essential issue was not to “get it.” Instead, we were (and still are) called to love and to welcome. Just as each person wishes to be loved and welcomed.

At the time and in the years that followed, it felt like Old South was something of a microcosm of what was happening in other places around the country. There may be aspects of life that are mysterious to us, there may be people who completely baffle us, but each person is a human being and is deserving of dignity and respect. It is this acknowledgment of basic humanity that allowed a great swath of Americans, over a rather remarkable short period of time, to accept big changes in our culture, like gay marriage.

And, now . . .

There are so many examples of the current administration heaving any recognition of the Christian (and other religions too) call for a sense of basic humanity, loving neighbor, treating others as we wish to be treated— despite the ties to Christianity of so many who work with and for the Mr. Trump. A few weeks ago, the press secretary disparaged federal workers who did not want to take the administration’s buy-out deal, as individuals who were bent on “ripping off” the American people. It appears that there’s a policy that requires Republicans to refer to Sarah McBride, an elected representative from Delaware, with male pronouns and male-oriented titles. The President, as well as Republican lawmakers, have engaged in vicious insults and name-calling. This, of course, is nothing new to the President, but it seems like he all-too-eagerly now seeks to dismiss and denigrate certain individuals, and entire groups of people, even when they are not the subject of conversation), and the members of his party are completely falling in line.

We are losing so much in such a short period of time.

And, in the midst of all of the loss, we are losing our humanity.

If one bothers to listen closely, you can probably hear the lament of our God.

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May Resistance Not Be Futile

Posted on February 28, 2025 by smaxreisert

In the television series Star Trek: The Next Generation, one of the most villainous and terrifying of all of the strange new civilizations that the crew of the Enterprise boldly encountered was The Borg. The Borg was a collective of beings, part human-ish and part technology, that sought to assimilate others into their “hive.” The Borg were known to declare, when other beings showed reluctance to join up with The Borg, that “resistance is futile.”

I think of the Borg a lot these days, especially around the notion of resistance. I’ve noticed that resistance has become a motto, a declaration, a pronouncement, in response to the Trump administration— its policies, procedures and pronouncements. As I approach and depart from Old South, for instance, there’s a homeowner with a yard sign that simply says, “Resist!” Then, there’s the order of spices I received from Penzey’s, with a free small pouch of some sort of spice blend labeled “Resist!” And, there’s Maine’s brave governor who, when confronted with Trump’s unreasonable and unlawful demands, declared, “See you in court!” Alright, it’s not exactly “resist,” but it’s close enough.

And last Sunday, I found myself pondering resistance during my sermon. The scripture was Luke 6:27-38, part of the Sermon on the Plain in which Jesus talks about how God’s children are expected to behave— love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, etc. The teaching offers a clear and decided directive on grace, generosity of spirit, and loving beyond the normal human instincts to love. Good relationships are not based on the transactional— you give to me and I’ll give something comparable back to you. Instead, good relationships, good community, are found in love, respect and extravagant generosity:

 “But I say to you who are willing to hear: Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who mistreat you.  If someone slaps you on the cheek, offer the other one as well. If someone takes your coat, don’t withhold your shirt either.  Give to everyone who asks and don’t demand your things back from those who take them. Treat people in the same way that you want them to treat you. “If you love those who love you, why should you be commended? Even sinners love those who love them.  If you do good to those who do good to you, why should you be commended? Even sinners do that.  (Luke 6:27-33, CEB)

Yet, on the national stage we have a President who is not at all concerned with love and generosity. Instead, we have a President who is utterly and completely transactional. While a president can pursue whatever policies and decisions he deems important, presumably putting into action what the voters voted for, this particular President has a whole bunch of so-called Christians backing him, working with him, cheering him on, influencing him, etc.

So, what’s going on here? How can these supposed Christians, especially those who love talking about their “faith” and their “religion” as fundamental to who they are and how they serve the public, support policies, procedures and behaviors that are so clearly in tension with the basic teachings of Jesus?

Those who perceive themselves to be children of God, who appreciate the connection they have to the Divine, recognizing and understanding the significance of the life of faith, presumably endeavor to behave as such and to live their lives in close connection to the ways of love as Jesus taught. People of faith ought to be willing and even eager to live lives of love.  And, the simple truth is: there’s nothing transactional about God’s love.  If we desire to behave as God’s children, as God’s people, we appreciate that we are called to live lives of love and generosity. At the same time, we are not taught to lives of passivity or being constant doormats in the competitive and harsh realities of life. “Turning the other cheek” is not about being passive, it’s about resistance in the face of injustice.

In these days, then, Christians ought to feel drawn to active resistance in the face of the emptiness and waywardness of always looking to balance what I/we give with what I/we get back.  To live as God’s people means that we see and treat everyone as a person created in God’s image, always seeking goodness, mercy and justice, the highest good, for each one and for all.

I’m not exactly sure how exactly I’ll be resisting and I’ll admit a bit of concern that my resistance may end up in the futility category. But, my faith has laid a clear path. There really is no other way.

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Land of the Hyprocrites

Posted on February 8, 2025 by smaxreisert

It’s been almost three weeks since the inauguration of our not so new president. It’s been almost three weeks of remarkable silence, or brazenly misleading wishful thinking rationalizations, especially from one sizable group that loomed large throughout campaign season and seems to have been incredibly active in getting this president elected, regarding one particularly striking element of the inaugural ceremony.

Given the onslaught of executive orders and the “muzzle velocity” (term used by Steve Bannon) attack on government function in the same almost three weeks, it’s not surprising that this one striking element has been lost in the shuffle, inadvertently or willfully. It’s a moment that, had it happened with Joe Biden or Barack Obama or any other Democrat, would have been covered 24-hours a day for days and days in certain corners of the news media. In this instance, though, the silence, or small bit of explaining away, has betrayed Trump and Trump enthusiasts for what they are: hypocrites. It’s not like such thoughts were not already swirling around. It’s just clearer now.

Here’s the thing. You might have missed it, especially if you, like me, worked diligently to ignore Inauguration Day. But, something happened that day that has been shockingly ignored, something that ought to be causing a great of concern to anyone who claims that their Christian faith is important AND that Donald Trump has been singularly called by God to “Make America Great Again.”

As he was being sworn into office, Mr. Trump did not place his hand on the Bible. Check out the top photo of this article.

It’s not that everyone failed to notice. Some people did notice, but were quick to dismiss its significance. Franklin Graham, who gave the invocation for the inaugural ceremony, blamed Chief Justice John Roberts for moving too quickly, claiming that the “he started administering the oath before Melania even got up there with the Bibles.” [here’s a link to an interview with Franklin Graham] Does Franklin Graham not know how photos work? The photo clearly shows Mrs. Trump standing there with the Bibles and Mr. Trump standing there with his right hand up, and his left hand at his side. Other prominent evangelical Christians have also been quick to note that the lack of the left hand on the Bibles is “not a concern,” declaring that Mr. Trump somehow may not have seen his wife (maybe he didn’t recognize her under that strange hat?) because he was so focused on the Chief Justice and taking the oath.

There’s just one word: hypocrites.

In the barrage of major announcements and sweeping plans to disable, bend and/or break various elements of the government, it’s no wonder that there’s been little in the way of discussion regarding the placement of Trump’s left hand when he was sworn in. There’s no requirement for a hand to be placed on the Bible, after all.

It is an incredibly despairing moment, though, albeit in a sea of despairing moments, that we have experienced over the last almost three weeks. It’s still more despairing that this incident will not only be forgotten, explained away with casual disregard, but will be ignored by those who ought to be taking it seriously, as a signal that what they believe to be true simply isn’t. For a man who claims that he was saved by God himself to do the work that he is now doing, how can those so-called Christians who voted for him not take issue with the fact that he did not swear his oath with his hand on the Bible, in a display of respect of and some level of deference to God?

And, even if it’s true that the Chief Justice moved quickly, why didn’t this supposedly God-fearing President not pause the moment to wait until the Bibles (there were two) were within reach? Why are all of those so-called evangelical Christians and the like not demanding an accounting, demanding that Mr. Trump explain himself?

Hypocrites.

I realize that there’s a lot going on, and that much of what’s going on is music to the ears of conservative Christians. Yet, by not taking any sort of issue with what happened at the inaugural ceremony, those same Christians fall still further from the faith to which they think they cling. Jesus had serious words to say about hypocrites, including a warning that, while they may look beautiful on the outside, they are actually like whitewashed tombs full of dead bones. (Matthew 23:27-28) Not taking the oath with one’s hand on the Bible may not signal whitewashed tombs of dead bones, but the question is too important not to be asked.

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When the Quality of Mercy Is Decidedly Strained

Posted on January 29, 2025 by smaxreisert

“The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”

William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

Who knew that mercy would be such a hot topic? And, who knew that a request for mercy could lead to such anger and outrage?

The past week has held a lot of news coverage and commentary over the remarks of The Right Rev. Marriann Budde during her sermon that was part of an inaugural prayer service, in which she spoke directly to the President to offer a plea for mercy for those in this country “who are scared now”— gays, lesbians, transgender folk, laborers, asylum seekers, etc. The newly sworn-in President has demanded an apology. A senator from Ohio declared that the remarks were an “insult to all of us who came to this country the right way.” And a representative from Georgia said that Bishop Budde should be added to the deportation list.

Among the many problems embedded in this odd episode are two very big ones. First, for a political party that so often claims to be aligned with conservative Christians, how can a plea for mercy garner such scathing hostility? The second problem is an alarming lack of awareness of the role of the clergy, especially when clergy speak from the pulpit. Again, for a political party that claims to hold dear basic Christian tenets, with a leader that once stood in front of a church defiantly holding a Holy Bible, how can there be such disregard for the sacred role of ordained preachers?

Mr. Trump and his buddies don’t need to agree with this particular clergyperson. They don’t need to heed her advice or her plea. But when they are sitting in that church during a worship service, they ought to respect the office and the pastoral role, recognizing that Christian clergy are called to speak— in love, in hope, in authenticity, after careful study and prayer, without fear, all the while grounded in scripture. Christian clergy are not beholden to political parties or those in positions of political power. A clergyperson’s authority comes from a higher source, as we mere mortals attempt to discern through the lens of faith. While clergy ought to be respectful of the community to which they speak (the powerful, the not powerful, and everyone in between), and it seems clear enough that Bishop Budde was respectful and measured in the direct plea that she made, it’s a grave mistake for anyone to expect clergy to bow to the intentions and attitudes of the audience/congregation, even those in high elected office. In fact, political leaders should appreciate that clergy are often called to challenge and to hold up patterns and policies that are lacking in justice. It’s what Jesus did, time and time again.

In a service of ordination, clergy are generally (to my understanding) called to make certain promises regarding their vocation. Among those promises: the continued study of holy scripture; the preaching of the Good News; and prayerful attention to the needs of the congregation, the community and the wider world. For those of us bold and/or foolish enough to follow the call to ordained ministry, preaching is a sobering and weighty undertaking. That the current President and his allies fail to comprehend that role, and that call, is a sad commentary on how they view the Christian faith in general.

It’s especially concerning that the criticism of Bishop Budde is so focused on her plea for mercy. It turns out that mercy is a big Bible kind of word. It’s mentioned a bunch of times— “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy” (Matthew 5:7); “ For judgment will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy; mercy triumphs over judgment” (James 2:13); “Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:16). Those are just a few of many examples.

Mercy is almost always cast as a sort of double blessing, as the Bible and Shakespeare have noted, that to show mercy is to receive mercy. Mercy offers its own kind of special grace, giving just as much, if not more, in the giving than in the receiving. It’s too bad that this situation has been met with such vitriol. While the President may feel those who elected him expect certain policies to be put into place, a bit of mercy would be a good thing— for everyone. After all, isn’t that what Mr. Trump is claiming he experienced on that July day in Butler, Pennsylvania? If that was a moment of divine grace and mercy that dropped from heaven, Mr. Trump should be more obviously offering at least a bit of mercy in response.

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Me and My Misanthropy

Posted on January 15, 2025 by smaxreisert

Confession/Admission: I’ve always been a bit of a misanthrope, suspicious of my fellow human beings, and sometimes just downright untrusting and disliking of them. When I completed my required-for-ordination unit of Clinical Pastoral Education at Brigham & Women’s Hospital in Boston way back in the summer of 1991, trust was the biggest issue that my supervisor highlighted. I needed to work on my trust issues, she informed me. It continues to be a struggle, especially since there’s so much that feeds (legitimately, I believe, at least at times) my tendencies to be suspicious of others, and to generally not like many of them (or worse, as in the case with some prominent public figures).

For my entire adulthood and most of my youth, I have perceived my faith as a counterbalance to my natural inclinations toward misanthropy. Jesus encourages me to see people differently, to see each person as a child of God. And that I have tried to do. Jesus has taught me to love God with all of my heart, soul, mind and strength, and my neighbor as myself. Helpfully, some wise person noted that Jesus taught that we must love our neighbors and that loving is different from liking. This, I have also endeavored to follow and to allow that teaching, that commandment, to inform how I live my life.

But, now I’m struggling more than ever, as we approach January 20, 2025 and Inauguration Day (my daughter’s friends are calling it Innauseation Day), the swearing in as president a man I loathe— a convicted felon, a misogynist, a person who revels in name-calling and other forms of excessive meanness, a man willing to encourage an insurrection when he didn’t get his way, a man who appears to believe that he’s never made a mistake. These are not my opinions. They are all backed up with video, audio, and various forms of social media, many items posted by the man himself.

I am not only wresting with the loathing I feel for the incoming president, but there’s also a fair amount of loathing directed at my fellow Americans, for this time the president assumes office not because of the strange ways of the Electoral College, but with the popular vote. Grasping at feeble strands of comfort, I find a bit of solace in living in a blue state. Sure, Maine might be only barely blue, but: a. It is blue (for now, at least, although Trump won the county in which I live), and, b. I am surrounded by a lot of blue, living in the Northeast, with other (mostly) states/people who are not drawn in by name-calling, meanness, misogyny, and the demonizing of others. Still, there are plenty of Trump voters around and I’m finding it increasingly difficult to tone down the deep feelings of anger, suspicion and bitterness I feel toward them.

I find myself in territory where it’s hard for me to know how to be, what to do, etc. There are so many misanthropic thoughts floating around in my head as we approach The Day, next Monday. And, to complicate things still further is that I serve as a pastor and teacher of a small church where people turn to me for guidance. How do I grapple with my loathing for Mr. Trump, Trump voters and worse still, Trump enthusiasts, in the midst of a community of faith, a church in which we are taught to love God AND neighbor, when the loving, but not necessarily liking, isn’t really working?

In the past, when an Inauguration Day loomed that involved the swearing in of a president for whom I didn’t vote, there’s been plenty of dislike and disgust. This time is different in that the misanthropy that is rising to the surface, that I’m trying to beat back each and every day, involves so many more people. It’s not simply that I share community with people with whom I disagree (after all, I live in a household with at least one person who usually votes differently than I do). Now it feels like there’s a deep and wide gulf in how we perceive and appreciate basic human values.

Shortly after the election, there was an especially poignant essay published by the New York Times, written by Naomi Beinart, “I’m 16. On Nov.6 the Girls Cried, and the Boys Played Minecraft” (11/16/24). Despite the gap in our ages, I felt a kinship to the woes Ms. Beinart expressed: “We girls woke up to a country that would rather elect a man found liable for sexual abuse than a woman. Where the kind of man my mother instructs me to cross the street to avoid will be addressed as Mr. President.” That half of the country finds this man fit to lead the country, while the other half believes (and knows, given the easily available evidence) that he should be in prison, or at least shunned because of his views on just about every group and every person who doesn’t look like him or have the same sort of body parts, feels profoundly alienating and disturbing.

I may very well find a way to avoid the ceremony of Innauseation Day, but there will be lots of days after that and I can’t avoid all of them. My life and my profession won’t allow that. Will my faith continue to serve as a counterbalance to my misanthropy or will the weight of attitudes and actions by the incoming administration, buoyed by its supporters and devotees, be too much for my faith to bear?

Help me, Jesus, help me.

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The Gift of Christmas 2024

Posted on December 23, 2024 by smaxreisert

This Advent Season at Old South, even as we have moved through very familiar themes (focusing on the first chapter of Luke— annunciation, Elizabeth’s pregnancy, Mary traveling to Elizabeth to spend three months together, and finally, Mary’s song of praise) and traditional Advent words (hope, peace, joy and love), we have experienced a season that is nothing less than profoundly new and wondrous. Yesterday, at a congregational meeting following worship, members of the church voted to accept a purchase and sale agreement— an offer— for the sanctuary building. There’s a lot to get through to close on the building, but the fact that the membership managed to accept this offer, without vitriol or schism, is a remarkable moment in the life of the church.

The small community that makes up Old South in Hallowell can no longer adequately maintain the lovely structure in which the congregation has gathered for decades, with its large organ, stained glass windows and imposing steeple. And necessary repairs and renovations are simply beyond our financial capacity. It’s time not only to let go, but to entrust that beautiful building to another’s care.

Much of the expressed emotion has centered on grief and heartbreak. A week ago, when we announced the offer and the plan for a congregational meeting to accept the offer, one woman (who knew that the announcement was coming) burst into tears. A few other people have been resigned to the news. They don’t exactly like it, but they’ve seen it coming. Any anger in the group is held by only a couple of people, who have come to a sort of acquiescence. While they didn’t vote in favor of accepting the offer, they did not vote to reject it either.

My hope is that we can work through our collective grief, moving beyond all of grief’s stages, to find ourselves not only accepting our situation, but recognizing the great gift that is before us: possibility. What new and meaningful connection and service might be ahead of us as we right-size our physical plant and our budget? What new opportunities might we explore as we renovate the parish house and move fully into it?

I’d like us to embrace that we are not “giving up” and moving ever-closer to closure, but taking a big faithful step into a newly forming future. With so much time, energy and treasure given to that big sanctuary building that may now be freed up for other purposes, what new calling might be out there to enliven our ministry and our mission?

In yesterday’s New York Times (12/22/24), columnist Ross Douthat wrote the following in a piece entitled “Religion Has Been in Decline. This Christmas Seems Different”:

This Christmas seems different. There is statistical evidence that the latest wave of secularization has reached some sort of limit. There is suggestive cultural evidence that secular liberalism has lost faith in itself, that many people miss not just religion’s moral vision but also its metaphysical horizons, that the arguments for religious belief might be getting a new hearing. Notre-Dame de Paris has been rebuilt from its ashes. I rashly predicted a religious revival earlier this year, and at the very least I expect religious trends in the later 2020s to be different from the trends of the 2010s.

But different probably means really different, not just a return to what existed in the past. The last bastions of the before times, the old religious establishments, are likely to remain in existential trouble.

For instance, Catholic Poland, one of Europe’s last hubs of intense national religion, seems to be following the same de-Christianizing path as Ireland and Quebec and Italy. The American Protestant Mainline isn’t about to leap up from its sickbed, nor is an all but expired Anglicanism in Britain. Likewise, groups such as the Southern Baptists and the Mormons, fast growing a few decades ago and struggling today, aren’t going to automatically rebound or boom again.

Instead, any growth is likely to be nondenominational, subcultural (think Latin Mass Catholics or converts to Eastern Orthodoxy or communally oriented Protestants), mystical and sui generis, with notable flowerings in places where traditional faith has rarely grown before (like in the tech industry, say).

Might we be able to morph ourselves into a really different kind of community, one that is willing to move into new dimensions of what it means to be people of faith?

To better appreciate what we are looking at, we need look no further than the holy day upon us: Christmas. Christmas is all about recognizing, wondering about, and endeavoring to engage with our God who comes to us in very unexpected and surprising ways, even in the smallness and vulnerability of an infant. That infant is calling to us, and asking us to see with new eyes, with a new awareness.

That infant isn’t done with us.

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The Shocking Absence of Pregnancy in the Season of Birth

Posted on December 5, 2024 by smaxreisert

The Revised Common Lectionary (RCL), the three-year cycle of scripture readings (four readings per Sunday, usually one from the Hebrew Scriptures, one psalm, one epistle passage, and one Gospel passage) followed by many Mainline Protestant churches/denominations as well as the Roman Catholic Church, leaves a lot to be desired— especially during Advent. While it is a good goal to encourage broad usage of scripture, and to guide preachers into areas that may not be as comfortable as others, there are some serious issues in the actual line-up of suggested readings.

Advent has long been a season that has caused deep consternation for me, when it comes to following the lectionary. In recent years, I have chosen to leave the Advent RCL readings behind and chart my own path. Although Advent is generally understood to be a time of preparing for both the birth of Jesus as well as Christ’s return, there’s remarkably little offered in terms of actual pregnancy. Sure, there’s not a lot of scripture devoted to stories of pregnancy, even Mary’s. But, the Bible is certainly not devoid of such stories. So, where are they in the lectionary? Why are they largely ignored? Especially in the season that leads us straight to a birth??

In Year A of the RCL, preachers and parishioners must wait until the fourth and final week to get a scripture passage that focuses on the birth of Jesus (Matthew 1:18-25). A small part of Mary’s pregnancy narrative is one reading in the fourth and final week of Year B. And, adding to the insult, churches may use Mary’s Song of Praise (Magnificat) as the Psalm for that same week, but only the song itself. The RCL committee, in its supposed wisdom, cuts out the parts that identify the speaker and the context. In Year C, it’s once again a big wait until the fourth week, with the story of Mary visiting her pregnant kinswoman Elizabeth (pregnant with John the Baptist) and during that visit offering her song of praise.

Four whole weeks of Advent with a total of sixteen readings for each year and only ONE of those readings focused on pregnancy? What’s going on here?

Again, I realize there’s not a lot. Still, there is some excellent material, especially in Luke. Luke covers the circumstances around Elizabeth’s pregnancy before Mary goes to visit with Elizabeth and stay with her. Luke also shares the story of Elizabeth giving birth and the story of the naming of the child (there is a story here!). Matthew spends the first part of his Gospel covering the genealogy of Jesus and that genealogy involves quite a few interesting women— all of them going through the experience of pregnancy and giving birth.

This important season leads us to reconnect with what it means for God not only to take on human flesh and to dwell among us, but to take on that flesh in the form of a vulnerable infant who grew in a woman’s womb and was then born just like most other babies are born. It is an outrage that we Christians are not spending more time with pregnancy and birth in our worship lives, especially during Advent.

One of the most compelling of the early stories is the visit of Elizabeth, a much older woman who thought she would never have a child but is then surprised (like Sarah) to find herself pregnant with someone who would grow into a person of great significance, and Mary, a much younger woman who takes on a pregnancy, with someone of greater significance, even though she is not married. These women stay with each other for three months, during the last months of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, and in the early to mid stage of Mary’s pregnancy. I’m sure I’m not the only woman to have found that it is an amazing experience to be pregnant at the same time as a friend, moving through the indignities of pregnancy along with the wonders of new life. That spirit of companionship offers a valuable lens for exploration and reflection, regardless of whether or not one has personally experienced pregnancy.

It’s about time that churches, church leaders, and denominations— not to mention the Revised Common Lectionary Committee— incorporate these stories into the lectionary. While it will be challenging to wade through the profoundly difficult reality of those whose pregnancy stories are full of heartbreak, these stories are too important to continue to ignore.

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What Do We Do Now?

Posted on November 12, 2024 by smaxreisert

Sermon preached at Old South Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Hallowell, Maine, November 10, 2024.

28 One of the legal experts heard their dispute and saw how well Jesus answered them. He came over and asked him, “Which commandment is the most important of all?”

29 Jesus replied, “The most important one is Israel, listen! Our God is the one Lord, 30 and you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your being, with all your mind, and with all your strength.31 The second is this, You will love your neighbor as yourself. No other commandment is greater than these.”

32 The legal expert said to him, “Well said, Teacher. You have truthfully said that God is one and there is no other besides him. 33 And to love God with all of the heart, a full understanding, and all of one’s strength, and to love one’s neighbor as oneself is much more important than all kinds of entirely burned offerings and sacrifices.”

34 When Jesus saw that he had answered with wisdom, he said to him, “You aren’t far from God’s kingdom.” After that, no one dared to ask him any more questions.

Mark 12:28-34 (CEB)

It’s been difficult to figure out what exactly to say today. Should I directly address the election this past week? Should I ignore it entirely? Should I do something a little bit more subtle perhaps? I’ve had a whole slew of questions rolling around in my head, and as those questions rolled around my head, there was the realization that I had to admit that I was feeling a little bit lost, not sure what to think or feel.  But, as the days continued, with more and more issues raised that were increasingly unsettling, it felt more and more unavoidable that I couldn’t just ignore the election and its results.

There’s a famous quote that probably every preacher knows, attributed to the theologian Karl Barth:  “We must hold the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.”

Of course, these days, “newspaper” has a bit of a different meaning. Yet, the advice still holds that the life of the faithful ought to be connected, in a meaningful way, to the realities of the world in which we live.  But, the preacher must be careful too, not to abuse the privilege of speaking from the pulpit, or what amounts to a pulpit, by bullying people into a perspective that is not actually grounded in scripture.  So, it is with some trepidation that I offer a few thoughts on what has transpired in the United States in the last week.

Not only were the results of the election not what I had hoped for, but the results were so much worse than I thought they could be. Perhaps some of you feel a kinship to that thought. There might even be a couple or a few of you, I might guess, who voted for the winner, but are feeling a little bit distressed at some of the early indications of what is to come.

For those of you who are paying any attention at all to social media or certain news broadcasts, you might have seen one of the more disturbing responses to the election, a sense that something truly terrible has been unleashed.  One example is a video of a man named Nick Fuentes, a young white supremacist who has had dinner with Mr. Trump in the past. Nick Fuentes is an influencer of young men.  He is a Holocaust denier and misogynist who streams videos on X, formerly Twitter, and other platforms, although not on YouTube, since he was kicked off.

After the election, Fuentes posted a video, in which he is so gleeful that he can barely stay seated.  And, in his unhinged gleefulness, he chants, “Your body, my choice.  Forever.” There is no adequate word to describe my response to that video, if I’m thinking about words that I feel comfortable saying in this sanctuary.

So what is there to say? How do we deal with all of this?  How do we live our faith in the midst of the reality in which we now and will be living?  And, still more of an issue is that a part, perhaps a big part, of the effort to elect Donald Trump came from people who claim attachment to the same faith that we do and that many of them somehow connect Christianity to policies that are not at all connected to the lessons contained in the New Testament.

It is a challenge, to be sure, to try to figure out how so many people who claim the same faith as we do, seem to have such a fundamentally different approach with passages like our focus passage for today.

Today’s lesson on God’s greatest command, God’s most important expectation, outlined by Jesus himself, is pretty straightforward. 

[Y]ou must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your being, with all your mind, and with all your strength. 31 The second is this, You will love your neighbor as yourself. No other commandment is greater than these.”

There are no asterisks here in this passage, no little notes to indicate that it means something different from what it actually says. Today’s passage is one of Jesus’s clearest lessons and teachings that you can’t wiggle out of if you are a person of faith.

Yet, lots of Christians are wiggling out. And, they are the same Christians claiming that they want this country to be a more explicitly Christian country. And, somehow that means, that immigrants are not welcome, that those fleeing terrible violence in their own home countries are not allowed here, that women’s bodies belong to the men in their lives, that it is perfectly fine to demean and degrade those who appear and seem different, to demonize those on the periphery, on the margins of our society, especially targeted at those who are transgender.

How can it be that those who claim not only the same faith that we do, but also explicitly talk about the United States needing to be a Christian nation, how is today’s lesson not at the forefront of their preaching, their policies, their leadership, their lifestyle? I wish I could answer that question, but I can’t. I don’t know. But, like many of you, I have a lot of questions and I wonder a lot about how to live and be, as we move into what is likely going to be a very difficult time for those of us who do not share the vision of Mr. Trump and his advisors.

This past week as I was searching for guidance, as I was trying to find some shred hopefulness or a perspective that I thought would be worth sharing today, I stumbled upon a short little video on YouTube, offered by a retired Episcopalian priest.

His perspective offered the reflection that Christianity has never been a religion that, at its essence, is a faith of the majority.  At its foundation, Christianity calls to the faithful to love each other, to care for the marginalized, to turn the other cheek.  These are demands far too difficult for the majority to take up.

So, Father David suggests (see clip here) that this is the time to renew our faith and our commitment to the way of Jesus Christ and with confidence and with some fear and trembling know and recognize that God stands near us.

As we learn in the scripture for today:

The legal expert said to him, “Well said, Teacher. You have truthfully said that God is one and there is no other besides him. 33 And to love God with all of the heart, a full understanding, and all of one’s strength, and to love one’s neighbor as oneself is much more important than all kinds of entirely burned offerings and sacrifices.”

34 When Jesus saw that he had answered with wisdom, he said to him, “You aren’t far from God’s kingdom.” 

We would do well to take a moment, consider deeply and powerfully, some of the lessons from the earliest Christians, those who set themselves apart by looking out for each other, caring for those on the margins, lifting up the lowly and seeing everyone as deserving of God’s love.  In those early days, women were partners in the work, not just sent off to cook and clean and have more babies.  The New Testament is littered with stories of women who were engaged significantly in the work, in the ministry.  I’m not sure about what kind of pets she might’ve owned, but the original childless cat lady may have been Mary Magdalene, the apostle to the apostles, the one who was the first to share the good news of resurrection.

So what do we do next?

First, we continue to be people of faith, people of good intention, people who seek to love our neighbor as ourselves, people who understand that to love God, to worship God, requires that we look after and love our neighbor as ourselves.

Secondly, we do number one even more. It’s important that we wrap ourselves around those who are feeling especially vulnerable, those who are feeling targeted by the unleashed hostility toward those who don’t neatly fit into what has somehow been determined as the only way people are supposed to live their lives.

Third, we do yet even more of numbers one and two.  Over the past couple of years, here at Old South, and continuing even now, a lot of time and energy is, and has been, spent on how to deal with our buildings.  We cannot escape the issues that continue to be very much present, but this is an important moment to make sure that the issues with our buildings don’t get in the way of the work and ministry we are clearly called to do.  Taking another lesson from those early Christians, we ought to be reminded that they did not show their faith, demonstrate their love for God and neighbor by erecting buildings.  Jesus’s teaching on the most important lesson was, and continues to be, very clear.  We must stay focused on that.  We are the ones who show love of God and love of neighbor, not the building we inhabit on Sunday mornings.

Let us stay focused.  Let us be a community that takes seriously this most important of lessons, and while doing so, help and encourage each other, remaining steadfast, not collapsing under the weight of disappointment.  It’s a hard road, yet we are called to be resilient.  We have everything we need.

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