Luke 2: 1-20

Rev. Dr. Teri McDowell Ott

December 4^th, 2012 – MC Christmas Convocation

 One of the most often quoted movies in the Ott household is Will Ferrill’s classic comedy Talladega Nights.  I can’t recommend the whole movie to you, clearly Anchor Man is Ferrill’s best work, but there is one gem of a scene from Talladega Nights that is worth quoting.  In this scene Ricky Bobby, the NASCAR racing sensation played by Will Ferrill, sits down with his wife, Carly, and his family to say grace before enjoying a fine meal of Domino’s, KFC, and, in Ricky Bobby’s words, the always delicious Taco Bell.  Ricky Bobby begins to pray…

“Dear Lord baby Jesus, I just want to say thank you for my family, my two beautiful handsome, striking sons, Walker and Texas Ranger, and of course my red hot smokin’ wife Carly.  Dear Lord baby Jesus, we also thank you for my wife’s father, Chip.  We hope that you can use your baby Jesus powers to heal him and his horrible leg. Dear tiny infant Jesus….

Carly interrupts… “Hey, um, Ricky, ya’ know—Jesus did grow up.  You don’t always have to call him baby.  It’s a bit odd and off-putting to pray to a baby.”

Ricky Bobby responds, “Well I like the Christmas Jesus best and I’m saying grace.  When you say grace you can say it to grown up Jesus, or teenage Jesus, or bearded Jesus, or whoever you want.”

Carly sighs and Ricky Bobby begins again. “Dear 8 pound 6 ounce newborn infant Jesus, don’t even know a word yet, just a little infant and so cuddly…but still omnipotent.  Dear tiny Jesus with your golden fleece diapers and tiny little fat balled up fists we just thank you for all the races I’ve won and the 21.2 million dollars that I have accrued (Whoot!) over this season.  Thank you for all your power and your grace, dear baby God.  Amen.”

Now, as silly as this movie is, there really is some truth to us liking the little baby Jesus, or the Christmas Jesus best.  The Easter Jesus doesn’t get nearly as much air time as the Christmas Jesus.  The allure of a newborn baby is inescapable as we oooh and ahhh over the colored lights, tinsel, and greenery strung up to celebrate his birth.  But as we tickle this newborn’s toes and delight ourselves over his gummy smiles, Luke breaks into our romanticizing, our commercializing, and our trivializing to remind us that Christmas is about something more.  In the words of Luke, Christmas is about good news of great joy for all the people…for to you is born a Savior.

Written at the beginning of the 2^nd Century, the Gospel of Luke tells the story of a down-to-earth, country prophet named Jesus who became a sage of the people.  Through his masterful storytelling, Luke’s Jesus found broad appeal as the author sought to unify and universalize the Christian identity.  For Luke the birth of Jesus the Christ really was good news of great joy for all the people because Jesus transformed his society’s consciousness and offered real hope to the empire’s vast underclasses of hard-pressed and overworked children, women, and men.[1]  Jesus really was their Savior by highlighting the injustice of their social and economic circumstances and by proclaiming the Good News that their suffering was not of God.

What about those of us living in the 21^st century?  How might this 1^st century, country prophet, be our Savior?  What forces of oppression would Jesus highlight in our lives?  From what do we need to be saved?  I have long believed that we must acknowledge what is killing us, before we can know what will save us.

So ask yourself, “What is killing me today?”

Of course your first response will likely be “FINAL EXAMS!  That’s what’s killing me today!!”  Well, you’re on your own with those.  Jesus is not going to earn those grades for you.

But perhaps your anxiety is killing you, or your fear of failure.  Perhaps what’s killing you is the idea that “real life” and the “real world” come later, that today and today’s actions don’t really count.  Perhaps your dependency on alcohol is killing you, or a deep insecurity that tells you you’re no good.  Perhaps it’s your anger that you struggle to keep in check, or your failure to maintain a healthy relationship.  Or perhaps what’s killing you is the feeling that you are completely out of control, that the world is conspiring against you and that there is nothing you can do about it.

I imagine this was what was killing Mary and Joseph when they were told that the Emperor’s census would force them to travel all the way back to Bethlehem.  Traveling in your third trimester is painful enough.  Just imagine traveling by burro.  There are no ‘thought bubbles’ above Mary and Joseph’s heads, but their inner monologues could not have been pleasant.  Then they arrive in Bethlehem and what do they find?  There is no room for them in the inn.  All we have to do is imagine our connecting flight being cancelled leaving us to spend Christmas Eve at O’Hare, to understand how frustrated, and tired, and upset Mary and Joseph must have been.  I imagine they felt completely out of control and it was killing them.

These were the circumstances into which Jesus was born.  The Christian birth narrative tells of God entering human life precisely at that moment when we realize that we are not enough, that we cannot do it all, that we are not in control, and that we cannot save ourselves.  That’s when Jesus enters the picture–a beautiful, precious, newborn baby, his whole life ahead of him– is born into all of this mess.  Why?  Well, perhaps to let us know that the mess is not all there is.

The hope, inherent in the Gospel of Luke is that there is something or someone to turn to for salvation. In Luke this turning, or metanoia in Greek, is a turning away from the oppressive forces that kill and a turning toward the saving forces that offer the possibility of new life.[2]

For as long as I have been leading Christmas services such as this, I have always recognized someone sitting in the congregation who did not expect to be there.  Perhaps he was dragged there by a zealous mother-in-law, or perhaps he had just decided on a whim to check out why scores of people were pouring into the local church on a cold, dark Christmas Eve.  He usually sits somewhere in the back, or in a far corner of the balcony, with body language that conveys he feels completely out of place.  Unbeknownst to him, though, he can be clearly identified from the pulpit as he leans in to hear the Christmas story and as his eyes reveal a longing to be included in the good news of great joy. Sometimes those eyes even start to shine as his tears betray the reality that he is dying inside.

It is this person, this dying person, whom Luke desires to expose in a full spotlight of grace.  Luke’s spotlight sears the darkness of this person’s despair with messages of hope.  You are welcome here!  You are included in all of this!  Your suffering is not of God!  Your life means something!  You are worthy of love!  Luke invites him to reorient and transform his life around the saving hope that the darkness, the mess, and all that is killing him today, is not all there is.

Christmas reminds all of us that there is something more.  For to you is born a Savior.

When I finish we will sing O Come, All Ye Faithful.  I chose this hymn because I love it!  It is big and grand and beautiful.  I asked our organist to play it loud.  I asked the Chorale to sing it big!  Because this is a hymn that beckons to us, it calls us to Come!  Come!  Come and know the saving power of God breaking into the darkness, of God breaking into all of our mess.  Come and hear the saving message that your life means something, that you are worthy of love, and that grace abounds.  Come, let us adore him, because Christmas reminds us there is something more.  Christmas reminds us of the good news of great joy for all the people…for to you is born a Savior.

Now to this Savior, be all honor and glory, thanksgiving and power, now and forevermore.  Amen.

*Let us stand and sing together, O Come, All Ye Faithful.

Job 23: 1-9, 16-17

Rev. Dr. Teri McDowell Ott

October 14^th, 2012 – Monmouth College Homecoming Sunday

 In my preparation for today’s sermon I read a commentary that said, “Pastors who preach on Job 23 never make it to television.”[1]  Well, gosh darn it all.  There go all my hopes and dreams.  My parents will be so disappointed that I just blew my chance to be the next hit televangelist.

But seriously, I couldn’t pass up Job in the lectionary readings for today because I just love the guy.  Job is difficult, that’s for sure.  His story is worth avoiding because it’s about a good, faithful man who loses everything….his job, his house, his farm, his family, his health, in one seemingly careless swoop of the hand by God.  The Job mythos begins with Satan insighting God against Job.  Job is only faithful because he has it so good, Satan argued before God.  If you take away everything he has, Job will no longer be faithful. Well, Satan’s argument puts God in a bit of a spot.  God would like to prove that Job would be faithful regardless of whether he has it good or not.  So God gives Satan permission to take away everything Job has.  How difficult.  We’d like to think that God is above such devilish games.  Actually, we’d prefer not to think about Job at all, nor his painful God-given situation, so we avoid him and his texts that arise every three years in the church’s lectionary calendar.

But for me, Job will preach.  Job will preach because Job is about a faith that is tested and tried by unimaginable suffering and by God’s absence in the midst of that suffering.  Job will preach because every thoughtful person of faith will come to the same questions of God, to the same doubts of God, as Job at some point along their life journey.  And when they do (when we do) Job is here for us as a guide.  He is here for us when our faith butts up against reason.  He is here for us when we are suffering and God is nowhere to be found.  He is here for us when the darkness becomes overwhelming.

So I love Job.  I love Job because he is real, and raw, and honest.  There is no pie-in-the-sky theology here.  There are no shiny, happy people in Job’s story and it does not end with Job and Jesus walking along the beach leaving footprints in the sand.  No, Job is the real deal.  He is a real man of faith.

While I was serving my first church in South Carolina as an Associate Pastor, tragedy struck our congregation when we learned that the young adult son of one of our members had been washed overboard of an Alaskan fishing boat and lost at sea.  The father of this young man did not receive the news of his son’s death until a few weeks after the accident.  When he did hear, the news crushed him.  Our Senior Pastor went immediately to visit the father.  When he returned from this visit he was depressed and discouraged.  He described for us how he had found the father, lying on the floor, screaming and crying, banging his fists into the carpet in rage and grief.  There was nothing our pastor could say or pray to help the man.  He was lost to the darkness this world can so easily dish out, leaving our pastor feeling helpless in his desire to offer consolation and hope.

Job, on the other hand, is not helpless in the face of such pain.  Entering the grief stricken father’s house, Job would lift the man to his feet, grab his fist, raise it to the heavens, and shout, “Today my complaint is bitter; [God’s] hand is heavy despite my groaning.  Oh, that I knew where I might find him, that I might come even to his dwelling!  I would lay my case before him, and fill my mouth with arguments.  I would learn what he would answer me, and understand what he would say to me.  Would he contend with me in the greatness of his power?  No; but he would give heed to me.”[2]

Job’s speech here, wherein he penetrates the darkness of grief with stark honesty, is a daring, and faithful act.  Oftentimes in grief, people give in to their fate, resigning themselves to their misfortune by saying simply that “It must be God’s will.”  Others abandon their faith in God altogether, turning their back in justified rage.  But Job offers a third way: he is unwilling to accept suffering passively, but he also refuses to abandon his faith.  He cries out to God.  He shakes his fist at God.  He rages at God in the midst of the storm because God is not dead to him, and God dare not abandon him.[3]

We will never understand God.  Job reminds us of this.  God will always be just out of reach of reason. God will always be cloaked in mystery.  God will always be the deep dark abyss before which we stand. We cannot understand God and yet Job tries.  Job pursues God with questions.  Job speaks to God out of his pain.  Job demands an audience with God.  He demands his day in God’s divine court so he can argue his case.  Job will not let go of God. His faith leads him to the darkness and into it because he believes God is there.

I used to be all up on pop culture and frequently referred to current movies in my sermons to illustrate a point.  Now that we have two young children and I can’t stay awake much past 9:30 my illustrations have been reduced to the adventures of Curious George and the books we read together as a family.  So this past Monday I read a new book to our kids that I thought was really great.  It’s called “The Pout-Pout Fish in the Big-Big Dark.”

The Pout-Pout fish is a story about a fish who goes in search of a pearl that his friend Ms. Clam lost.  She had a doozy of a drowsy, yawned, and out that pearl popped.  The pearl was lost somewhere in the deep, darkness of the ocean floor.  Well, Mr. Fish was a very good friend of Ms. Clam so he wanted to help her find her pearl.  But he had a problem.  He was faster than a sailfish, and stronger than a shark, smarter than a dolphin, but he was scared of the dark!

He was scared of the dark, but he was such a good friend that he swam and he swam.  He swooped through the water, and eyed every inch of the busy bottom land.  But he could not find the pearl.  Discouraged, Mr. Fish grew grim, until he heard a little voice whisper, “You can do it, Mr. Fish!  It’s in the trench, check there.”  In the trench there wasn’t any light, not the smallest, slim glimmer.  “I can’t keep swimming in this heap-deep black,” thought Mr. Fish.  Then the voice, now familiar, whispered to him again.  “You can do it, Mr. Fish.”  And he recognized the voice as his friend, Miss Shimmer.  And although there wasn’t any light, Mr. Fish felt braver….cheered on by Miss Shimmer, who said, “Two are faster than a sailfish, two are stronger than a shark, two are smarter than a dolphin, and two are bigger than the dark!” So they swam down the dark trench together, holding fin to fin, when suddenly, amazingly, light shone in!  There the pearl shone in the midst of all that dark.  Mr. Fish said, “Yes!” Miss Shimmer shouted, “Yay!”  “There’s Ms. Clam’s pearl!  Hooray!  Hooray!  Then they SMOOCHED and they smiled as they swam, weaving back through the darkness to a happy Ms. Clam.[4]

Job and the Pout-Pout fish hold something in common.  Both swim into the darkness in spite of their fear.  Job is afraid to know God.  He says so in verse 16, “God has made my heart faint; the Almighty has terrified me.”  But Job is just as afraid not to know God. So he pushes forward into the darkness, into the mystery, into the pain and suffering of life, into the deep abyss… because something or someone has whispered to him that there is a treasure to be found there….something or someone has whispered to Job that there is a pearl shining in the midst of all that darkness.  So Job presses on.  Job pursues God with a daring faith.  And through our scriptures Job invites us to do the same.  Job invites us to travel with him into the deep dark abyss that is God.

Returning to the story of the man who tragically lost his son off the Alaskan fishing boat, it’s important that you know that eventually he was able to pick himself up off the floor of grief.  He was able to stand again, in part because we as his pastors and we as his community of faith learned that the best way to help him, the best way to care for him in the midst of his debilitating grief was to stand with him, to be present with him, to swim with him into the dark, in the hope and in the faith that a pearl would be found, a treasure of light worth celebrating.

So on this Homecoming Sunday, I share with you my hope that the kind of faith we foster here at Monmouth College is a Job kind of faith.  I hope that we do not settle for easy, pie-in-the-sky theology.  I hope that we too might pursue God with questions.  I hope that we dare to enter the darkness and dare to approach the deepest mysteries of God.  I hope that we, like Job, can be real, and raw, and honest here.  And I hope for this because when the trials of life come (and the trials will come), when we are flattened by grief, and floored by our pain, that we might, at some point, be able to stand again with Job and with all the faithful who are willing to be present with us in the darkness.

Now to our great and mysterious and unfathomable God, the God who gifts us with the faith to move forward in the darkness, be all honor and glory, thanksgiving and honor, now and forevermore.  Amen.

Ephesians 4: 1-16

Rev. Dr. Teri McDowell Ott

September 3rd, 2012 – MC Chapel Service

Kneeling prayer-like in a field, poet Mary Oliver contemplates a grasshopper who has flung itself out of the tall grass to eat sugar out of her hand.  The grasshopper gazes around with enormous, complicated eyes, snaps her wings open, and floats away leading Oliver to thoughts of the nature of life and what we do with this great gift.  Tell me, she asks, what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?[1]

Where will you go?  What will you see?  What will you do with this one life?  Will you stand in a field holding grasshoppers and let them speak through you and your poetry?  Will you explore the universe in a spaceship bringing knowledge of the stars back to earth? Will you find new, healthy ways to feed your hungry neighbor?  Will you be a presence of peace in a world that knows too much violence?  What will you do?  What will you do with your one wild and precious life?

Christians believe there is something each of us is to do with the one life with which we have been blessed.  What we are to do is unique to each of us and our unique gifts.  As we hear in Ephesians 4:11, “The gifts [Christ] gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers…” We might add that some have been given gifts to be poets or professors, ministers or musicians, architects or archeologists.  Each of us has been given gifts to do something with this one wild and precious life.  Each of us has a calling, a vocation to live out.  And each of us has a journey to take as we discern to what God is calling us.

“I, the Apostle Paul, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with humility….” According to Ephesians, our journey of discernment begins with humility.  We must, in a sense, forget ourselves in order to find the ‘true self’ God desires us to become.  Through humility we need to empty ourselves of all that is false- false desires, false ambitions, false efforts to become who we are not—in order to discover the life and the self with which God has gifted us.

Last Spring I led students in a retreat during which they were to reflect upon some of the obstacles to discernment that spiritual greats such as St. Benedict, Ignatius of Loyola, and Meister Eckhart have identified.  Some of these obstacles included self-interest, self-absorption, and self-righteousness.  These “self” motivations or “self” desires get in the way of a free and open relationship with God because they are formed by us and for us, exclusively.  Our self interests, ambitions, desires, and motives obstruct our relationship with God because they muffle God’s voice and confuse God’s will for our lives.  They make the discernment of our true calling difficult, if not impossible.

When I present these obstacles to discernment oftentimes someone has trouble with them.  Someone has trouble, understandably, because in this society we have been taught all our lives that we are the master of our own destinies, that we can do whatever we want in life if we work hard and dream big.  This is the American dream, after all.  This is the message we hear all the time.  So it is difficult to hear and accept the counter-message that we need to set ourselves and our dreams aside in order to discern what God dreams for our life and what God wills for our life.  It is difficult for me to reframe my life around God when I have been brought up and taught to frame my life around myself.  No matter how difficult, though, Ephesians speaks of humility because humility grounds us in a true sense of one’s self,[2] and in a true sense of who God has created and called us to be.

In this letter to the Ephesians we are also reminded that vocational discernment involves not just an inward openness and an inward humility, but an outward openness as well, an outward openness toward others.  We are to bear with one another, the scripture says, to build one another up, to equip each other for ministry.   Discerning God’s call for our lives means being open to the needs of others.  Discerning God’s call means discovering our unique and personal way to love our neighbors.[3]

Frederick Buechner helpfully defines vocation as the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.  The kind of work God usually calls you to, Buechner writes, is the kind of work that (a) you most need to do and (b) the world most needs to have done.  Buechner’s definition is helpful because it turns us outward, to the needs of the world, and the needs of our neighbors, to discover our true calling.

One of the aspects of my ministry here at the college that I am most passionate about is finding or creating opportunities for students to meet and serve people who are in need.  All forms of service are valuable, but I am particularly interested in opportunities where students can meet and have conversations with those who are different from them, with those who are strangers and wholly “other” from their lives and their stories.

One of the opportunities in Monmouth for such engagement is our Meals on Wheels delivery service to homes in the downtown area. For about $1.00 a day the people of Monmouth who are “shut-in” can get a hot meal delivered to them by a friendly face.  So I recruit students to deliver these meals and remind them that, other than the television, theirs may be the only human face these people see all day.

I recruit students to deliver these meals and they go out into this community and meet:

An older couple who invite them in to sit and stay for a cup of coffee and conversation

A young disabled man who is angry and downright mean

An able-bodied, half-dressed man whose apartment reeks of smoke and urine

A woman lying on her couch with the shades drawn, her apartment is dark except for the light let in by the door they open

An older woman whose kitchen counter is full of greeting cards from family and friends wishing her a happy birthday

They deliver the meals and meet hope and hopelessness, poverty and plenty.  No one’s story is the same. The students’ life narratives encounter the life narratives of those who are wholly “other” to them, wholly different, and they are opened…opened to the needs of the community, opened to “others,” and opened to the One who is the greatest “Other,” to our God, to the One who calls us to that place where the work we most need to do meets the work the world most needs done.

It is in this place, in this place of calling, or vocation, that we discover our “true selves.” Through inward humility and outward openness we discern who God has created and called us to be.

Thomas Merton writes, “God leaves us free to be whatever we like.  We can be ourselves or not, as we please.  We may be true or false, the choice is ours.  We may wear now one mask and now another, and never, if we so desire, appear with our own true face.  [But] if I never become what I am meant to be, but always remain what I am not, I shall spend eternity contradicting myself.”[4]

Most students come to college with the understanding that they are here to get a degree to get a job.  But we really hope to offer more than this.  We hope that they will discover their true selves while they are with us.  We hope that they will discover their personal gifts and abilities that make each of them unique.  And we hope that they will be opened to the needs of the world around them.  We hope for this because we want them to graduate knowing the joy and the peace that can only come when you know who you are, who you were uniquely created to be, and what you are called to do with this one life.

The grasshopper in poet Mary Oliver’s hand gives glory to God by being a grasshopper.  The way its jaws move back and forth while it eats the sugar, the way it jumps from the tall blades of grass, the way it snaps its wings open and floats away is like no other grasshopper before or after it.  No two created beings are exactly alike.  Our individuality is no imperfection.  We all give God glory when we are completely and perfectly the beings God creates and calls us to be.[5]

So tell me, what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

“Pitfalls of Plenty—Paradigms of Poverty”

By Corbin Beastrom, ’14

In my time at Monmouth College I have been blessed with the opportunity to enhance my skills, expand my perspective, and embrace my role in the global community. In the classrooms my professors have assigned enlightening material, led theoretical discussions, and maintained an omnipresent expectation that I analyze and reflect. Outside of academia my peers and I have contemplated our futures, our goals for success, and the trajectory we will take to achieve such ends.

I recently left the “ivory tower” that is Monmouth College and ventured to Chicago, IL and Louisville, KY to see firsthand how people are striving to succeed in “the real world.” The tone for the Chicago trip was set by the fact that I was required to wear a shirt and tie (as if apparel would disguise the reality that as a college student I am spending rather than making thousands of dollars a year). This was reinforced as my fellow travelers and I shook the hands of some equally well dressed but far wealthier individuals. We listened to the life’s wisdom of corporate executives and toured a law firm in the Sears Tower where the people in the corner offices salaries were the only things larger than their view of Lake Michigan.

Though I admit that I thoroughly enjoyed eating Oysters Rockefeller for lunch I could not help but feel a bit hungry for something else. If adjudicated with power and wealth as the criteria the people I met were enormously successful but such parameters fail to consider happiness or fulfillment.

Speaking of hunger…my trip to Kentucky left me starved! Under the direction of Rev. Teri Ott, I and three soon to become best friends traveled to Louisville to experience poverty. Immersed in an economically dire inner city neighborhood we experienced what it is like to live without food security, a bed to sleep in, or a steady job. As volunteers we worked in an urban garden, food pantry, community center, and a subsidized senior living facility. Though our struggle was temporary the people we were working with—and learning from—were unfortunately in the midst of a more permanent situation.

Their hardship was difficult to comprehend and somewhat troublesome when juxtaposed with the lifestyle of those I had met in Chicago; notwithstanding, both demographics were experiencing suffering. As a result of long hours at the office some wealthy people rarely see their children, while inconsistent employment can leave a struggling bread-winner at home with their kids all day. Too much good food can cause people of means to have high cholesterol, just as easy access to low quality food can result in high rates of diabetes in impoverished communities. This disparage is increasingly bothersome as statistics and empirical data reveal that the excesses of the top come at a cost to those at the bottom[1]. Though the lifestyles of the individuals I met in Chicago and Louisville were different, they shared a sense of dissatisfaction due to the pitfalls inherent to excessive wealth and financial insufficiency.

As a college student I am a part of the next generation and the decision to continue the existence of this inequitable system is ours. We are all driven to succeed—and rightfully so—but we must realize that our success cannot come at a detrimental cost to others. It will behoove us to remember the messages behind our class readings which guide us towards virtue and understanding, we should keep the theoretical in mind as we seek to create a more just and benevolent society, and we must never cease to analyze and reflect upon the world in which we live. Though generations past have failed, we have the power and knowledge to redefine the world around paradigms of shared prosperity.

[1]According to Forbes Magazine in 2011 the CEO of Yum! Brands made 29.67 million dollars while his company paid 99 cents a bushel to tomato farmers living below the poverty line.

I asked each of the students to share their reflections on the trip by writing an article for my Chaplain’s blog.  This first reflection is by Jake McLean, a first year student, whose comedic genius kept us rolling in laughter all week and whose patience lasted until he was given a computer baby to raise….and that baby (his “corazón”) demanded to be fed all…night…long.  Thanks for sharing yourself and your thoughts with us, Jake.

 “I Prefer the Term Urban”

A blog post by Jake McLean

This poverty immersion week was eye-opening and stressed me out to a point of extreme anger. I went almost 4 days with no shower, very little to eat, and completely had the time of my life.

I grew up surrounded by poverty, but because of the best parents a kid could ask for I had no idea that I had grown up around that. I was always nervous going through “sketchy” neighborhoods and seeing people who appeared dangerous. I lived in a neighborhood just like that and saw people just like that and realized that I was completely ignorant. These people are trying to make a living and support their families, and I’m judging the hell out of them. This past week changed all of that. 

I have a whole new respect for my parents who dealt with some of the struggles that I simulated over the last week, and for all the people with families that have to do the same. 

Meeting with a man from the Garden I worked at gave me some insight on what the neighborhood was like, what it would take to change things around there, and how just to be happy with what you have. After meeting with him, it is safe to say that I have changed my outlook on a lot of things. Furthermore, I want to help communities like that. I want to be able to create something better for many people, like the man I met was doing with the community garden. 

• I appreciate showers on a whole new level
• I appreciate my parents and families who go through this.
• I take for granted the food I eat
• I don’t need as much as I thought I did
• I just throw money out the window that could go towards something more reasonable.

Ultimately, the work I did through this program has changed my outlook on a lot of things. It was such a liberating experience helping out, and finding out how to better other communities.

Anytime that the five of us were together, we reflected on the work we were doing, the conditions in which we were living, and trying to figure out what we could do. I got to know the three of the five people that I didn’t already know well. I can honestly now call them my family for all the stuff we went through. You guys helped me stay sane during what felt like years, even though it was only a few days.

Not only did I get to get to know others, I got to talk out my story. I was able to find out who I am and who I want to be. That was a huge benefit to this trip for me and I just don’t think I could have gotten the same experience anywhere else. 

Isaiah 9:2-7, Luke 2: 1-20

Rev. Dr. Teri McDowell Ott

Monmouth College Christmas Convocation 2011

On December 3, 1933, the year Hitler rose to power in Germany, Dietrich Bonhoeffer preached a sermon using the image of a mine that had caved in, trapping those working inside, in order to describe the season of Advent.  He said Advent was like that dark cave in which the miners were trapped.  There is silence all around them and the miners have little hope of being saved.  But then suddenly they hear the sound of tapping, and then the breaking of rock off in the distance.  And even more unexpectedly a voice cries out to them in all that darkness that says, “Don’t give up!  Help is on the way!”  As the air grows thin around them they wonder if their Savior really will come.  They wonder if they will ever know anything else but the darkness that presses down on them like a thick, wet blanket.  And all they can do is listen intently to the tap, tap, tapping of their Savior trying to break through to them.  Such is the season of Advent.

But on Christmas, the light breaks through.  “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.”

On Christmas, we celebrate the light that has broken through our darkness; the light that penetrates the dark caves of our souls; the light that brings us hope and peace because with this light comes the reassurance that our Savior has arrived; our Savior who is the Light of the World.

“Do not be afraid,” the angels announce, “for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.”  It is important to note that The Light has not just come for a few.  The Light has not just come for those of generations past.  The Light has come for all the people. The Light of the World knows no boundaries, it knows no exclusivity, it knows no prejudice.  The Light of the World is for all the people.  And to “all the people” the Light promises big things.  The light promises to break through our darkness, it promises to transform our lives and our world, it promises to bring us peace.

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace, goodwill among people.”

Too often, we Christians devalue the scripture’s understanding of “peace” by spiritualizing it or by saying that it only has to do with a feeling of inner comfort or inner calm. We reduce the biblical understanding of peace to something like a stress ball or a worry doll that we keep on our desks; when the stress of final exams overwhelms us we can aggressively mush and mash our ball of peace to make ourselves feel a little better and get on with our work.  But this understanding of peace doesn’t delve deep enough, it doesn’t come close to what the Light of the World truly promises.  This understanding of peace doesn’t come close because it doesn’t touch the darkest darkness of all the people and of our lives together here on God’s good earth.

Peace, true biblical peace, is the end of violence and of all that leads us to it.  Peace is harmony and goodwill and shalom.  Peace is love and respect.  Peace is a commitment to the well-being of the other.  Peace is the moment when, as the prophet Isaiah puts it, “all the boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood will be burned as fuel for the fire.”  This, this peace, is what the Light of the World promises us.  The Light promises us big things.

Some say too big.  Reinhold Niebuhr, a public theologian, rose to national prominence during World War II as he debated the merits of the Christian understanding of peace in the midst of a violent and horrific world war.  Niebuhr concluded that the law of love and the biblical understanding of peace was “finally and ultimately normative” but that it was an “impossible possibility” in a sinful world.[1]  Many agreed with Niebuhr.  His words resonated with people whose faith led them to hope for the possibility of peace, but who believed, realistically speaking, that peace was simply impossible.  Today, as our troops still fight in Afghanistan and Iraq, as Israel and Palestine continue in conflict, as warring tribes in Africa still wreak havoc on the land and on the people, as evidence of our violence and our evil against each other still make the daily news, we too might agree that peace is the impossible possibility.

Yet….maybe we can still find some reason to hope.  A few years ago I heard an author interviewed on a book he wrote about the story of the World War I Christmas Truce.  No one has ever been certain as to how the Christmas Truce of World War I began on December 24^th of 1914.  The day had begun just as every other miserable day.  The British, French, Belgian, and German troops were only 60 yards from each other in their trenches.  They could see each other and hear each other.

The conditions these soldiers were living in were miserable.  Cold rain had flooded the trenches mixed with the bodies of their fallen comrades.  Rats, lice, filth and mud had made the floor of the trench so swampy that it forced the soldiers to move constantly and sleep standing up, leaning against dripping walls.  It was this stomach–churning atmosphere that both sides shared that Christmas.  It was this atmosphere of war and suffering that made the soldiers seek a time of respite, a time of peace on Christmas Eve.

The Germans had been sent Christmas trees from their supporters at home.  They bravely lined their trench with these trees and lit the candles clamped to their branches.  The British witnessing this Christmas declaration responded by sending gifts of pudding, chocolates, and cigarettes to the Germans.  Christmas carols began to float through the air that had suddenly become cold and clear and the soldiers learned that they knew the same songs.  We’re not sure who crawled out of their trench first, but eventually both sides met in the middle, in the space between them called “No Man’s Land.” Here they encountered so many bodies that they decided they could not be friends until their fallen comrades had been buried.  So the cease-fire continued as the bodies were buried and the dead were mourned.  Then the enemies returned to “No Man’s Land” and decided to play soccer.

For two whole days they played soccer in that place of death between their trenches.  For two whole days they fraternized with the enemy, at the risk of being court-marshaled.  And in this place and time, the soldiers realized that on each side of the rifle, they were the same.  As the power of peace grew among them, they exchanged addresses and letters and expressed deep admiration for one another.  So when angry officers finally ordered the men to start shooting again, many could not do so.  The enemy now had a face, and a family, and a story.  They could no longer demonize the enemy, so they aimed their guns harmlessly high overhead, shooting into the air.  Eventually the troops on the front lines had to be replaced.  They had to be replaced by men who hadn’t witnessed the miracle of that cold Christmas Eve in 1914.[2]

This is one of the most amazing Christmas stories I have ever heard.  It’s exactly the kind of story I want to hear at Christmas because it gives me hope and I want to feel hope, especially at Christmas.  But as I considered this story and as I considered what I wanted to preach today I wondered if I was just being nostalgic in this hope?  Was I ignoring reality?  Was I reducing the promise of peace to a once-a-year sentiment just to make me feel good at Christmas?  Because it was true that after the miraculous Christmas truce of December 24^th, 1914, World War I raged on for four more years and three more Christmas’.

So, is there reason to hope?  Is peace possible for you, and for me, and for all the people?

Well, I think I was finally convinced that my hope was more than mere sentiment or nostalgia by my husband, Dan, in a paper he recently wrote about peace.  In Dan’s paper he listed a number of successful nonviolent movements in the last half of the 20^th century and the beginning of the 21^st through which peace was not only possible, but made a reality.

Dan’s list included:

• Mkhuseli Jack’s nonviolent movement in South Africa that finalized the end of Apartheid.
• Peaceful protests and strikes led by Chilean workers that were successful in ousting the ruthless tyrant, Agusto Pinochet.
• The work of Otpor!, a nonviolent youth movement in Serbia that was credited in the successful overthrow of Slobodan Milosevic.
• The Women of Liberia Mass Action for Peace movement, which brought an end to civil war.
• The Orange Revolution in Ukraine, a nonviolent movement that challenged government corruption and electoral fraud.
• And, of course, the recent Arab Spring, within which nonviolent groups like the April 6 Youth Movement had a leading role in the dramatic and transformative events that took place in Tahrir Square, Cairo.[3]

Certainly, Dan’s list is not exhaustive.  And of course, when we speak of successful nonviolent movements for peace we also must recall the classic examples of Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr.  But might it be, in light of this evidence, that peace is possible, genuine peace, if we believe it to be so and if we live and work toward that end?

Bonhoeffer’s image of the miners trapped in the cave is a good one.  The darkness of our world often feels like that cave, like a hopeless dark trap from which we believe there is no escape.  But listen…listen….can you hear it?  Can you hear the tap, tap, tapping of the Light trying to break through?  It’s getting louder now; loud enough now for us to know a little hope; loud enough now for us to hear the voice of our salvation; loud enough now for us to believe.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.  For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. 

Now to the God who promises this Peace, be all honor and glory, thanksgiving and power, now and forevermore.  Amen.

Even if you don’t know the story you can see where it is headed.  Jesus invites Peter to step out of the boat. Peter gets out, takes a few shaky steps on the water, then panics because the wind, and the storm, and the waves are still raging around him.  Peter sinks.  Jesus has to save him.  Then they both get in the boat and the storm, miraculously, ceases to rage.  This is the point where I imagine Peter, wet and water-logged, traumatized by his near drowning, and humiliated for being told he had so “little faith,” is thinking to himself, “Okay, Jesus.  Couldn’t you have made this a little easier?  Couldn’t you have made the storm cease before I stepped out of the boat?”

Have you ever found yourself asking this question?  Why is faith so difficult?  Why does Jesus call his followers out of the safety and security of the boat into the middle of a storm?  Why does faith require so much courage, and effort, and strength of will?  Couldn’t you make this a little easier, Jesus?

But faith isn’t easy.  By its very nature, faith isn’t easy.  Faith is not something that we can rationalize, or explain, or even obtain with any measure of success.  If we were to attempt to explain it we might talk about reaching for the unreachable, finite hands grasping for that which is infinite.  Faith is the bridge that is built between stark dichotomies; it is hope in the face of despair; it is love in the face of hatred; it is peace in the face of violence; it is beauty in the face of ugliness; it is justice in the face of injustice; it is courage in the face of fear.  Faith is a dynamic, spirited force that moves us from the place where we are to the place where we ought to be.

Which is why it is so difficult.  Faith is supposed to move us.  Faith is supposed to change us.  Faith is supposed to better us and open us, deepen us and mature us. And that journey isn’t easy.  In fact, it’s the most difficult, most intimidating, most risk-filled journey we will ever take because it means consistently stepping out of the safety of the boat into the wind and the waves and the storm.

Theologian Paul Tillich describes faith as “dynamic.”  If faith becomes static, if it fails to move us, open us, deepen us, better us, then it is no longer faith.  Instead it is an idol; it is simply another idol that we put up on the mantle to worship but with which we don’t actually do anything.

Couldn’t you make this a little easier, Jesus?  Thanks be to God the answer is “No.”

“Come Up To Me”

Exodus 24:12-18

Rev. Dr. Teri McDowell Ott

February 28^th, 2011—MC Chapel Service

Have you noticed how people are always climbing mountains in search of God?

In today’s text Moses is in need of instruction, he is in need of the law on stone tablets, and, I imagine, he is in need of reassurance that God is still with him as he leads his people on an excruciatingly long exodus through the desert.

Elijah, in a moment of great despair and desperation, climbs a mountain in 1 Kings and experiences God in the sound of sheer silence.[1]

Jesus takes his disciples and climbs a mountain in this Sunday’s Transfiguration text where the glory of the Lord shines around them and God’s voice is heard from a cloud saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with him I am well pleased.”[2]

According to Judaic tradition, the Temple or synagogue was always built at the highest point in the city so when the people went to worship they had to go up, they had to climb the mountain, singing their songs of ascent as they went.

Climbing the mountain in search of God is a tradition that continues today and draws together many religious traditions.  It’s a theme that is evident in literature (remember Tolstoy’s story from last week where the emperor climbed the mountain in search of the enlightened old hermit.)  It’s a theme evident around the world…I was struck on a trip to Austria how every mountaintop was adorned with a large cross.

Climbing the mountain in search of God is something people have done for centuries and still do today.  And all of this is rooted in an ancient Near Eastern belief that the mountain is the pillar of the earth, holding the earth and heavens in place.[3] So in order to experience God you climbed the mountain.

After graduating from seminary, a friend of mine and I took three weeks to go backpacking through Austria, Switzerland, and Italy.  Austria is one of my favorite places in the world and I was bound and determined to climb some of those beautiful mountains while we were there.  I believe we were in Innsbruck, Austria when we tackled our first mountain.  The trail was well cut and we set out with confidence.  But, after a couple of hours of hiking, my feet hurt, my back was aching, and we weren’t even close to reaching the summit.  We made it, eventually, and it was beautiful at the top of that mountain.  I still treasure the pictures I took from there.  But that night for dinner all I could eat was Ibuprofen as I lay in bed moaning because my body was so sore and hurt so bad.

Climbing mountains is hard work!  And it’s important for us to recognize this as we consider this theme of climbing mountains in search of God.

I am a pretty big believer in the idea that experiencing God doesn’t just happen.  It takes some work on our part.  Sure, we might have the rare experience of God that just happens spontaneously, but most of the time we need to be pretty intentional in preparing our hearts, in opening our minds, in being attentive to the movement of the Spirit, in order to truly experience God.  Climbing the mountain is a good and helpful metaphor, then, because it reminds us of what is necessary, what we need to do in order to experience God.  Traditionally, as the people of God climbed the mountain, or as they ascended to the Temple, they were singing spiritual songs, they were praying prayers, they were opening themselves up to receive what God wanted them to receive, they were working hard to experience God, they were working hard at worship.

When I met with our Student Chaplains for our first meeting together we talked about the hard work of worship.  I said to them that for worship to be done well it would take a lot of hard work.  It would take preparation, and prayer, and thoughtfulness, and creativity.  It would take us being open to the Spirit’s guidance, and we have to intentionally open ourselves to receive that guidance.  Worship is hard work.  And it’s not just the worship leaders who have to work hard at worship.  For worship to truly be well done, for us to truly experience God in this time and place, we all need to be prepared for some hard spiritual work.

The Danish theologian Soren Kierkegaard helpfully compared worship once to a play in a theater.  With this image in mind, Kierkegaard mourned the fact that too often worshippers come to the sanctuary imagining the minister or the worship leaders as the star actors on the stage, with the musicians or the choir as the supporting actors, and then the people in the seats as the audience.  So this is how people typically view their roles when they come to worship.  But, Kierkegaard said, this is all wrong.  Comparing worship again to a play in theater, Kierkegaard said it is the people in the seats that are on center stage, with the minister and the leaders acting as the directors, and then the audience, of course, is God.  As we worship then, we offer ourselves to God as our audience; we sing to God, we pray to God, we attend to God and to our relationship with God.  We….every single one of us….work hard as we worship God.  And if we do, if we all work hard, then worship will be well done, God will be pleased, and we (more than likely) will experience God in this place.

I have noticed that there aren’t many mountains here in Illinois.  It’s hard enough to find a good hill for sledding around here, let alone a mountain.  But that doesn’t mean that we can’t experience God.  That doesn’t mean that we can’t go up to the Temple, singing our songs, praying our prayers, and preparing our hearts to be moved by the Spirit of God in this place.  And of course, God is eager to meet us here and to move us here, as God bids us to “Come!  Come up to me!”

Now to this God who bids us to come and worship, be all honor and glory, thanksgiving and power, now and forevermore.  Amen.

[2] Matthew 17: 1-9

[3] Judy Fentress-Williams, in “Exegetical Perspective” from Feasting on the Word, (Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, KY, 2010), pg. 439.

“Do Not Worry”

Matthew 6: 24-34

Rev. Dr. Teri McDowell Ott

February 21^st, 2011 – MC Chapel Service

I am the type of person who can be easily distracted.  I may be physically present somewhere (bodily present) but sometimes my mind and my attention are elsewhere.  And this, of course, has its consequences.

For instance, I may be at home with my children but in my mind I am still here at work worrying and thinking about our next chapel service, or about a prayer I am trying to write, or about a conversation that I had…only to wake up and realize that my 3-year-old son has just given himself a “haircut” with the kitchen scissors.

Or, I may be sitting somewhere playing with my Iphone, obsessively checking my email, only to wake up and realize that I was missing the most beautiful sunset.

Or, I might be at a party or a reception thinking that I really needed to talk to the person across the room, only to wake up and realize that the person I was with was actually saying something really interesting and that I was missing an opportunity to connect with her.

So I sort of constantly have these moments where I “wake-up” and realize what I am missing when I allow myself to get distracted, or when I allow worry to carry me away from the present moment.

One such “wake-up” moment in particular stands out in my mind because my daughter really got my attention.  I was at home, but I wasn’t really at home, because my mind was still here at work….when all of a sudden Ella (our 1 ½ year-old daughter) crawls into my lap, takes my face in her chubby little hands, puts her nose to my nose, and with big, wide, attentive eyes, starts saying, “Hey!  Hey!  Hey!  Hey!”  Well, needless to say, she definitely got my attention.

At last Friday’s “Meaning of Life” discussion in the Weeks House, Corbin Beastrom, a freshman, caught our attention by quoting a story by Leo Tolstoy.  In this story an emperor goes in search of the answer to what he felt were life’s most important questions:  What is the best time to do each thing?  Who are the most important people to work with?  What is the most important thing to do at all times?  The emperor’s search ultimately takes him to an old hermit who lives high on a mountain and who was known to be an enlightened man.  The hermit didn’t answer the emperor’s questions immediately, though, instead he asked for his help in digging a garden outside of his hut because the earth was hard and he was an old hermit.  Then, while the emperor was helping the old hermit with his garden, a man suddenly runs up to them with a life-threatening wound.  So the emperor attends to the man and his wound and saves his life.  After all of this, it is very late and the emperor decides to go home thinking that the hermit does not have the answers to his questions.  But then the hermit surprises him by saying, “But your questions have already been answered.  The most important time is now, he said.  The most important person is the person you are with.  And the most important pursuit is making the person standing at your side happy…for that is the pursuit of life.”[1]

I think Jesus would agree with this.  In today’s text Jesus says to us, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own…But strive first for the Kingdom of God and his righteousness.”  In today’s text Jesus reminds us that we are alive today!  Tomorrow doesn’t even exist yet….but today….today is a gift….today is full of potential…today is full of beauty, and grace, and God.  So don’t take today for granted.  Don’t let worry carry you away from today.

I can hear Jesus now, “Don’t let worry carry you away from loving your children and being attentive to your children today.  Don’t let worry distract you from that beautiful sunset, or that bright red cardinal singing in the tree, or the feel of the earth under your feet, or the way the clouds dance across the sky.  Don’t let worry carry you away from the person sitting next to you, from the potential to touch a life with your attention, from the potential to make a new friend.  Don’t let worry seclude you so much in your own little world that you fail to recognize the plight of others…that you fail to recognize those who are poor…or those who are pushed aside…or those who are feeling unwelcome and unnoticed.”

Yes, I can hear Jesus now, and I can feel him, taking my face, your face, our faces in his hands, putting his nose to our nose, and saying, “Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!”  You are alive today!  Today is a gift!  Do not worry!  Instead, strive for the Kingdom of God.

So…let us take a moment…this moment…to follow Jesus’ advice….to be present in this space….to notice the beauty that is here waiting for us….to notice the person sitting beside us…to hear the music that is calling to us….to notice the God who is here for us….in this moment….in this hour of worship…in this day….that we have been given as a gift to treasure and as an opportunity to realize…..

Now to the God who calls us to be fully present in this moment be all honor and glory, thanksgiving and power, now and forevermore.  Amen.

Now belief is not certainty.  Belief comes hand-in-hand with doubt, questions, and fears. And we certainly experienced doubt, questions, and fears as we said goodbye to people whom we loved, as we left behind all that was familiar and comfortable, and as we loaded up our two cars, our two kids, and our dog and began the long, snowy three day drive that would get us here.  But what kept us going, what kept pushing us forward through all the doubts, questions, and fears, was the belief that this move would be good.

During my first week here I took a moment to go and sit by myself in Dahl Chapel.  I chose a seat in the middle of the chapel so I could look up and take in all of the architectural beauty of that space.  Dahl Chapel is beautiful and inspiring.  As I sat there alone I found myself contemplating our move, contemplating all the new things I was learning here, contemplating all the new people I was meeting, contemplating who I wanted to be and how I wanted to serve you as your new college chaplain.  While I was contemplating all of this I looked up and noticed for the first time something that should have been obvious to me from the very moment I stepped in the chapel; a large white arch over the chancel with bold maroon letters that read, “Sit Lux.”  Let there be light.

In chapter one of the book of Genesis, God created the heavens and the earth and then God said, “Let there be light.”  And God saw that the light was good.

We came here because we believe it will be good.  We came following the light that emanates from this campus, from this campus community, from the people who work here and the students who study here.  We came following the light that emanates from the opportunities that lie here…opportunities to serve and opportunities to learn and grow among you.  We came here following the light.  We came here following the good light that is already warming us…even in the dead of an Illinois winter.