The Priesthood of All Believers

One of our essential church doctrines is that we are all ministers of the faith, bound by an obligation to witness to others. During this past Lenten season, we at Old South were privileged to hear as part of a regular Wednesday evening series, members of our congregation minister to us with their stories of pain, denial, acceptance, giving, and forgiveness. We bring you some short excerpts from the wonderful homilies of Pam Roberts, Maggie Mode, Fred Ficken, Jim Ognibene and Ann Peterson that were delivered as part of this series.

Luke 13:31-35: "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, killing the prophets and stoning those who are sent to you!"

Lenten Homily by Pam Roberts

Jesus is exasperated. Can you blame him? . . . Pharisees come and gladly deliver the message that Jesus ought to be on the next train out of town, so to speak. Just like that — close up shop, pay up the tabs, find another vocation. Jesus doesn't go with that, however. He replies, "Give me a break! I've come to do a job, and I will do that job."

Have you ever felt unappreciated? Overlooked? Been frustrated in your quest to fulfill your talents in life to the fullest? You might be doing your job, when your boss calls you in and says "Sorry, but the budget's tight, we've got to make cuts . . . your project is redundant, your position is redundant, and you need to find another job." . . . Or, perhaps you have been in a serious relationship with someone . . . when your partner tells you that the love is gone, the friendship is gone, the magic is gone, and that he or she wants out. How do we bear the frustration of poor luck, poor timing, poor health or poor choices? Or the devastation of grief and loss?

The answer lies in ourselves and in our faith in God. God doesn't ask us to bear our burdens alone. God is right there with us, guiding us, holding our hand, and sometimes carrying us. Jesus did not let threats stop his mission or his calling. He knew that he had special talents to utilize, and he had faith in his talents, just as he had the utmost trust in God. We all have our own talents. Sometimes it is easy to minimize our strengths, for when others doubt us, it can be hard to rise above that doubt and say "Here I am! I can do this! And I can do this well!" But you know, God doesn't ever doubt us. We need to remember to talk to God about our doubts and fears, for our Lord will surely show us the path that in the end may not be the easiest but is the right one for us. We need to take that first step and trust God, and come in the name of the Lord.

My children adore the South African folk tale called Abiyoyo — I'll recap it for those of you who haven't listened to kid's folk music in awhile. It starts out with a boy and his father who don't quite "fit in" in the village where they live. The boy plays a ukulele very loudly, and his dad loves to perform magical tricks and play jokes on people. But they get on folks' nerves once too often, and the villagers make them live on the outskirts of town. Now, people have always told the legend of a giant called Abiyoyo, who wreaks devastation and eats cattle. One day, they see a shadow fall across the sky, and folks start yelling "Run for your lives! It's Abiyoyo!" Well, the boy and his father rush out into the field. They decide to try to stop him. The boy starts playing a song for Abiyoyo, which entrances the monster — Abiyoyo gets all excited and starts singing and dancing, and the boy keeps on playing until the giant is all worn out and falls down on the ground. As soon as that happens, the father pops over and goes ZOOP! The giant disappears forever. The people of the town cry "Come on back, and play your silly songs and do your silly tricks, for we are thankful for you!"

The boy and his father had endured rejection and humiliation, yet they held true to themselves. Together they faced a challenge and danger, and won with their talents in the end. Let us remember to be thankful — for ourselves and our special talents, and for the talents of those around us. May we all use our gifts, may we trust in God, and may we come in the name of the Lord! +

Luke 22: "But he denied it, saying,

"Woman, I do not know him."

Lenten Homily by Maggie Mode

I have many memories from when my mom was sick, but one that still stands out clearly after all this time was during her final hospital visit, when one day she looked at me, stretched out her hand, and sighed, "Oh honey, I'm ready to die." . . . I had no idea how to respond. My needs certainly did not support her admission. I was not ready for her to die! . . .I honestly do not remember what I said that day in the hospital. I surely was not thinking, "Okay, her life was complete, why wouldn't she be ready?" I didn't say anything like, "You've fought the good fight, Mom. This is your plan, Your blue-print. God bless." . . .I don't think I asked her what she needed.

What I remember was how I felt. I was a daughter about to lose her mother. Scared. Fearful and unable to imagine life without her. Time for more Denial. Time to do some serious bargaining with God as I proceeded to will her to live. In my heart was one word: no! I couldn't accept her statement.

Years have passed since that time, but I often think about it during Lent. Lent is my favorite season of the liturgical year because I am intrigued by the mystery of the path Jesus was on. Lent provides us with boundless symbolism. I think of it as a time we can go "out there" in the desert so to speak, as Jesus did, for forty days and forty nights of solitude, reflection, and resolve. It's a time we can set aside to face ourselves on the basis of our beliefs, to come to terms with our faith as Christians and believers. Some of the events of Christ's life probably parallel ours somehow, and during the approaching Holy week, we are reminded with perhaps greater intensity and clarity just what his life was all about.

I wonder what his heart told him in those precious final days of his life, whether he felt he had completed his plan and where on his path he felt he was.

As I think about that period starting every year on Ash Wednesday, I am comforted by the image of walking during this special time — of moving forward, however short or far. Where am I this year and where do I want to be? But this wasn't just any old walk for Jesus. This walk was a big one. Because no matter who was by his side, Jesus was alone. "Nobody else could walk it for him. He had to walk it by himself," the song goes. Mom was alone. Ultimately, we too are alone in our life walks. I think it is that very individual brand of aloneness that we all confront here. It does not have to do with being lonely or unloved. That was not Christ's situation, nor was it my mom's, nor is it mine. But there are certain portions of the walk that cannot be shared. None of us can really be in one another's shoes, especially at the end.

We don't have to be dying to begin to think about this. Imagine if you had been one of the disciples that night on the Mount of the Olives. What would you have said to Jesus should he have needed you to understand that he was prepared to die? I'm guessing you might have led with the fear and abandonment I felt with my mom.

What does Jesus need from us? Which makes me wonder, conversely, what do we need from Jesus? . . . What Christ may need from us is the willingness to go "out there" with him, not always knowing where that will be. To give up the knowing. Yes, we are alone. But we are not abandoned. To examine and explore the depths of believing, have compassion and joy be revealed in surprising ways, feel utterly human in our vulnerability and gain more trust from it, these are the signals of that special company we might find, both together and alone.

Now let's go back again to the walk. It's as if we simply meet each other halfway and start walking side by side. What more could we and Jesus need from one another? +

Luke 17: 20-24, 33:

But those who lose their life will keep it.

Those who lose their life will keep it.

Lenten Homily by Fred Ficken

This is the hero's journey - a journey of becoming lost to find ourselves - that we each travel. Just look at Homer's great epic, The Odyssey . Here is Odysseus travelling afar to fight a great war, becoming lost in a series of challenges, distractions, and temptations in an effort to find his way home. Does that sound familiar? Isn't that what we all strive for? To find our way home to safety -- to a new found self - with God? This is the ageless metaphor of the journey. Of Jesus' journey into the wilderness. In fact, can we even count the Biblical stories of journey, stories with physical beginning and end? Think of the symbol of the circle as it represents beginning, journey, and return. Look up here to these circular symbols common to our Christian life. Back to human antiquity, we have the circle of the moon, the hawk's circular flight: meanings and symbols for our journey to our ultimate goal of finding the spirit of God.

How many of us have taken a step of faith -- even just a baby step? Taken a risk that scared us but which we took anyway because we felt called by our hearts to do this thing, or step into this place? It may be something small like dropping a thank-you note to a new friend, or something major like a career change, a commitment to love, or a decision that puts us "out there". The results are indescribable. After this leap or step of faith, we may feel satisfaction, or comfort, or well being, or simply moved in a profound way. Even if the risk taken doesn't work out the way we hoped, new opportunities open before us, and for certain, something divine happens within us, and in this way -- albeit ever small -- we have lost ourselves and found ourselves in a better state of God. We have taken a step along the journey.

Now I've got to tell you this story that happened to me, right here in this room years ago. The story involves a step I took, involuntarily, but which made it all the more profound. As I recall, it was 1989 -- a time when, as a single parent, I was going about my career, raising Jessica and Angela -- all very much in control of my life. In charge. The boss of my fate . . . I went to them and said, "Girls, its time for you to get some Bible study. These are stories you need to know." They disagreed, of course, but after some shopping around, they landed here at Old South Church. But since I was in control of my life, there was no need for me to attend, so I drove them here each Sunday at 9:45 a.m. , dropped them off, and came back to pick them up at noon. Maybe it was because they didn't seem to mind coming that I began to come, too. Not to the main service mind you, but just to attend their little convocation here in the chapel before they went up to class. And let me tell you this convocation is one of the little hidden gems here at Old South. All the kids gather in a big semicircle for about fifteen minutes to talk about their week, to check in, sing songs, hear stories, and pray. Other parents and teachers are here as well, and so here I sat one day during the convocation, and at the end, Joan Arnold said, "Let us pray."

During earlier weeks, I would just bow my head and stay in control -- just bow my head because that was the procedure. But this time something different happened. I lowered my head, and with that gesture, something left my body. Some-thing like a shiver, or a cool breeze lifted out of me and rose up as a physical departure from my body and was gone. I looked up as if to see it rise up out of me and disap-pear. I knew then that there was something special about this place -- that there was more here than meets the eye.

I began to come to service. I pursued Christian study and reflection, and now know that I am not the one in control. That simple gesture of lowering my head in prayer was, in fact, a tremendous act of courage because it meant I was admitting to a higher power -- that a power greater than my day to day surface level consciousness existed deep within me. And in this way, I have lost myself to find myself, here, in this building, in this place, in a better state of God. Paradoxically, accepting the power of God within me has empowered me immeasurably. And by giving myself over - losing myself -- I have begun the journey of finding myself - and that has made all the difference. +

Acts 2:41-47 :

". . . they began selling their property and

possessions and were sharing

them with all . . "

Lenten Homily by Jim Ognibene

A business tycoon from New York took a vacation in a small fishing village off the coast of Maine. While on the trip she came across a fisherman sitting on the pier near his boat. She said to him, "Why aren't you out fishing?" He said, "Well, I already brought in my catch for the day. She said, "Why don't you go out and catch some more?" He said, "Why would I want to do that?" She said, "So you can buy a second boat, to bring in even more fish."

He was taken back and said "And why would I want to do that?" "So you could hire more help and buy a whole fleet of fishing boats," she exclaimed. He said, "Why would I want to do that?" She said, "So that you will be happy and have all that you want." He responded, "But I am happy now."

In Christ I have all I need. Today, at this very moment, I can be content in God. Yet, quite often I find myself tempted to fill my life with things and activities. The American culture tries to convince me I need to be busy; that I need more; bigger; greater; that I need to continually work to meet a never-satisfied quota of expectations. Busy-ness can distract me from discovering treasures within. I need to remind myself that I need to trust God with my life; for my life.

When I am feeling overwhelmed by our busy, consumption-oriented culture, there are several scriptures I turn to, to help me refocus on the gospel message. I am reminded of the Scripture in the book of Matthew where Jesus says, "Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them . . .In the book of Leviticus, we read about the year of jubilee. On the fiftieth year there was to be no sowing nor reaping. During this year, all land was returned to its original owner and slaves to their families. God promised that the crops of the year before the sabbatical year would be sufficient to sustain the people during this time. Once again, trust was necessary. . . In this morning's Scripture, we see the early disciples responding to the gospel by selling their property and possessions and sharing them with all, according to the need. . . .The Scripture goes on to say . . . "And day by day, continuing in one mind in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, they were taking their meals together with gladness and sincerity of heart. They felt a sense of awe and many signs and wonders were taking place." This Scripture gives me a vivid image: a testimony to the radical life-changing power of the gospel.

As Christians, we have a different calling. How can we find ways to counteract our culture? Prayer and personal devotion is one way. Mindfulness, meditation and yoga are other ways I break away from the busy-ness of life.

While working as the Director of the Volunteer Program at the Boston Food Bank, I had the opportunity to meet people from all walks of life. There was one volunteer in particular who made a significant impression on my life. Richard was probably in his 60s, an executive retired from a Boston-based international chemical company. During his career, he spent his work time managing people and problems and his free time managing his money, stocks, bonds and houses. He told me how his transfer to the office in Paris changed his life. Just before moving, he and his wife sold everything they owned and rented an apartment in Paris. With fervor in his voice, he shared the freedom he experienced after he removed what he called "the shackles" holding him down. He said if he could do it all over again, he would take a very different path. . . . Richard helped me determine priorities in my own life.

Lent is a time to renew our devotion to Christ. Let us prepare to break bread together as the Lenten season begins. Christ's love is sufficient. Sharing the body and blood of Christ can be a reminder that we have all we need. My goal is to trust the living God for my sustenance; for my life. I hope to avoid striving after wealth and status. I already have all I need. Like the fisherman I can rest, knowing I am content with what I have today. +

Luke 15: 11-32

"There was a man who had two sons . . . "

Lenten Homily by Ann Peterson

The Parable of the Prodigal Son. Yikes. The Prodigal Son. How many times have we heard this reference in our lives? . . . perhaps, we need to rename this parable instead to something else like "The Parable of the Snotty and Selfish Brother." Oh my! Even worse! Or how about, The Other Brother Syndrome. How many times have we been in that place. "What? Why him! Why not me? He's a no good, good for nothing . . . I am the one who has been here day in and day out putting up with who knows what and what thanks do I get?" Those words seem to ring in my ears. That position feels all too familiar when we experience a missed promotion, a misplaced thank you, or beautiful pageantry which leaves us out.

I have been both those brothers. I have crashed and burned in bright flaming colors. And, I have worked hard, done my time, persevered, hung in there day after day and rallied to the cause. I can relate to both of those brothers. But what still amazes me is the father. And, this is what the story is truly about. The parable should be referred to as "The Parable of a

Parent's Love." The opening lines of the story, "Then Jesus said, There once was a man who had two sons." — the opening lines hold all the wisdom . . .This amazing father could put it all aside because his beloved son was returned to him. What was lost was found. Hallelujah. And in the midst of the celebration, he also has time for the forgotten son. He says "Son, you are always with me. All that I have is yours." He says to the ever faithful son "Yes, and thank you so much, you know I love you also."

Jesus teaches us that the father is happy for the return of his lost son because he loves his sons — together — so much. The father is now complete because the one missing son is found. Just as our Father in Heaven is as happy for one new believer as he is for all the renewed faith of all believers. Just the same as when a new member is baptized here at Old South. . . .One more soul, blessed by God, wrapped in forgiveness, bound for eternal life.

Jesus teaches us that his work is in bringing back the lost. . . .The point is not to judge the former misdeeds of your brothers, but rejoice in his newfound homecoming. Jesus turns to consort with tax collectors and sinners because even they can find acceptance in God, the Father.

Jesus remembers and welcomes us all. Like this loving parent in the story who is incomplete without the complete and total numbering of all of his children, so too our creator in Heaven counts us, all of us, deserving and undeserving among the family. There are many rooms in that future heavenly home. Room enough for all. +

[Note: you will find the full texts of each of these

wonderful homilies found in a special Lenten booklet

available at the Narthex desk.]