Our confession last Sunday

I went to workshop on genocide at Christ the King church last Saturday.  It was excellent.  We first learned about the genocide in Cambodia, then in Rwanda.  Carl Wilkins, a relief worker in Rwanda for a number of years before the civil war broke out and the only American to stay during the genocide, was at the workshop and told his personal story.  

Two Tutsi people were living with Carl and his family and Carl knew these Tutsi people would be killed when they left.  His wife and children left for safety, but Carl stayed.  He protected his Tutsi friends and also prevented the killing of children in an orphanage. 
 
His talk was disjointed, rambling, loopy, but intelligent and he finally got his points across.  Sometimes he cried and he said he does that.  Fifteen years have passed and I think he’s still suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. 

The nations of the world knew that genocide was happening, yet not one nation attempted to stop it.  The UN sent troops but they were ordered to not use force, not even to protect Rwandans from mass slaughter.  Madeline Albright tried to get the interest of President Bill Clinton, but was unable.  The U.S. had “no interests” in Rwanda.  We did nothing.  Neither did Belgium, the past colonizer of Rwanda nor France, a protectorate of Rwanda.

I went to church Sunday heavy with this information and needful of something, I didn’t know what.  But I found it in our confession:

Leader:       God of history and Creator of all peoples, we stand before you as among those

accountable for the well-being of your creation.

Congregation:      We have failed you – as individuals, as a church, as a nation. We have easily spoken a commitment our lives do not confirm. We have lightly proclaimed a gospel our common life has denied. We have stood firmly against sins we were never tempted to commit.

L:      When we kept silent before popular evil,

C:      we called ourselves realistic.

L:       When we endorsed what everyone favored,

C:      we called ourselves good.

L:       When we forsook Christ’s cause of well-being for all your children,

C:      we called ourselves merely human.

L:       Blessed with riches,

C:      we have let the walls of gold entomb us.

L:       Honored with prophets and critics,

C:     we have abandoned their dreams and tamed their cries for justice,

L:      Commanded to serve,

C:      we have expected service.

L:       Pardoned in order to pardon,

C:      we have forgiven only ourselves.

L:       Received in order to give,

C:      we have given in order to receive.

L:       Blessed in order to bless,

C:     we have blessed in order to get.

L:       Saved by your grace,

C:     we thought we had it coming.

All:    Lord, have mercy upon us. Christ, have mercy upon us. Lord, have mercy upon us.

L:       Gracious God, make us all bold to ask for the saving grace of your forgiveness, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

All:    Amen.

 

Pastor Wayne granted us absolution. 

 

I am not one to assign guilt and shame, but after spending a day contemplating two genocides in the recent past and knowing that one continues in Darfur, I needed that confession and the absolution.  I do not have a personal hand in these horrors but I have responsibilities.  We all do.  We are one people.  Now, what will we do?

Reva Rasmussen, Deacon

No One is Outside the Love of God – No One

Sunday, January 25, our sermon was given by David R. Weiss.   David is a theologian, writer, poet and hymnist and a member of St. Paul-Reformation Lutheran Church in St. Paul.  He is committed to doing “public theology” around issues of sexuality, justice, diversity, and peace. 

He delivered a terrific sermon, “Jesus is here to recruit you to follow,”   in which he reminded us that God is inclusive, even though God’s children – us - tend to think God is exclusively on our side. 

As David says, “When Jesus begins his ministry . . . this is the God whose kingdom he announces, whose swirling activity of welcoming presence he declares is at hand. This is the God about whom he poses parables that challenge the world. This is the God for whom he sets a table at which – scandalously – everyone is welcome. This is the God on whose behalf he touches lepers, talks with women, blesses children, speaks to Samaritans, and fellowships with outcasts. In Jesus – and among the community of his followers – the Welcoming God portrayed in the story of Jonah comes fully to life. And as this holy and hopeful Presence moves in Jesus’ life, time and again those around him are surprised by the reach of God into lives [in which] they thought God could never go.”

David’s ministry has been captured in part by his book, To the Tune of a Welcoming God, a collection of poems, essays and hymns he has written.  You can learn more at his website http://www.davidrweiss.com/index.php

Reva Rasmussen, Deacon

A Church Blessing from Ireland

Enter this door as if the floor within were gold,

And every wall of jewels, all of wealth untold,

As if a choir, in robes of fire were singing here;

Nor shout, nor rush, but hush,

For God is here. 

–found in an old church in Ireland by Al and Phyllis Zumach last fall.

Each Winter as the Year Grows Older

Our hymn of the month for December is Each Winter as the Year Grows Older ( ELW 252).  It was written and composed by William and Annabeth McClelland Gay who, since their marriage in 1949, have created a new hymn text and tune each year as part of their Christmas greetings to friends and family.  The text of this hymn was for their Christmas letter in 1969, at the height of the war in Vietnam when many people were seriously proclaiming the “death” of God. 

In a letter to Marilyn Kay Stulken, William wrote, “. . . the ’sirens’ in stanza 2 speak of both seductive national voices calling for more troops, and of the actual sirens heard in bombed cities.”  The message of this hauntingly beautiful hymn continues to reverberate today, reminding us that as we once again begin our cold Advent journey, the flame of hope will keep burning until we arrive back in the warmth and light of Christ resurrected, the one who turns our grief to joy and our death to life.

Ella cries but finds peace anyway

We’re a growing congregation and baptisms are frequent.  Last Sunday, we celebrated the baptism of Ella.  She hasn’t been in this world very long but already she knows it’s not always comfortable.  She fussed mildly off and on during the service, was quiet momentarily when her family brought her to the baptism font, and then she began to cry again.  She cried throughout the baptism with water, and she cried while Pastor Carol anointed her with oil.  When Pastor Carol touched little Ella’s frowning mouth, Pastor paused before she said, “May you continue to sing the praises of God.”

Then Carol took Ella into her arms and walked the little wailing girl down the aisle, presenting Ella to her greater family.  Carol addressed Ella with the words she uses to address each person who is baptized, words she has adapted from a poem by Pablo Casals, words we all love to hear because they are a beautiful truth:

Ella, Do you know what you are?
You are a marvel. You are unique.
In all of the world there is no other child exactly like you.
In the millions of years that have passed, there has never been a child like you . . .

Pastor Carol held the new sister out to us.  We moved in the pews to look at this child, and we marveled at her beauty, secure in our knowledge that though she cried, it would not be for long.  We know this because we are older: we have experience in seeking succor.

When Pastor Carol and Ella turned back and approached the front of the sanctuary, Ella suddenly stopped crying.  Carol gave the peaceful baby to her parents, then turned back to face us.  It was one holy moment of many, as Pastor Carol observed that during baptism, every crying baby she holds finds peace when the baby is received by the congregation.  ”When taken into the body of Christ, peace always comes,” she explained to us, we who are the body of Christ.

What an amazing sacrament baptism is.