Category Archives for Sermons

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Saugatuck Congregational Church, UCC
©Rev. Kent Siladi, Conference Minister, CT Connference of the UCC
Sunday, December 2, 2018

Called to Lead


Saugatuck Congregational Church, UCC
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
Sunday, November 11, 2018

Scripture: Micah 5:2-5a and Micah 6:6-8

The country was in disarray: leaders succumbed to corruption; judges unjustly condemned the poor; refugees poured into the city of Jerusalem from the north – fleeing Assyrian invaders who had already destroyed the Northern Kingdom of Israel. The southern kingdom of Judah had escaped similar destruction, but Judah’s citizens lived under the thumb of the empire. While the wealthy greased the palms of rulers to protect themselves, the economically poor were forced to pay more than their fair share in tributes to Assyria.

King David had been dead for almost three centuries – long enough for the people to have forgotten his faults and idealized his reign. “Remember when there was peace in the land? When the people were unified? Remember when we were safe and well fed…?”

Onto that scene stepped the prophet Micah, to do what every prophet did: remind the people that they had failed to remain faithful to the God of Abraham and Sarah, the God who had forged a covenant with their ancestors and promised to remain with them always. With the characteristic directness of the ancient prophets, Micah offered up a scathing indictment, reprimanding the Israelites for abandoning God, worshipping idols and acting unjustly.

“Look around,” he said (back in chapter 3). “You detest justice and make crooked all that is straight,” (Micah 3:9b).

But then, as the prophets so often did, Micah shifted gears and offered up a word of hope. God would send another leader, to liberate them from their enemies and restore their fortunes. What kind of leader? A shepherd: tough and tender. A blue collar laborer from the backwater borough of Bethlehem, a village insignificant in all ways but this: King David had been born there.

Yes, Micah said, “We are in labor now. Yes, it is painful. But after labor comes delivery. And God will deliver you, O Israel. And then you shall live secure, for [this leader] shall be great to the ends of the earth; and he shall be the one of peace – shalom.

What did the Israelites picture, when they heard Micah’s promise? What kind of leader did they conjure up in their mind’s eye? A war hero, a powerful general…Superman?

It’s tempting, isn’t it, to look for a leader who will smite our enemies and guarantee our safety, when we are feeling vulnerable. To look for God to do the same. There are plenty of psalms that ask God to trample adversaries, to wipe them from the face of the earth. It can feel like justice to demand the demise of those at whose hands we have suffered.

But when I think about the leaders I most admire, I realize that they are often people who resist our most destructive calls, upend our expectations. Instead, they push us into unfamiliar territory, urging us to rise above our baser instincts, to consider a different way of living, even when that makes us a little uncomfortable. Or a lot.

In the memorable words of the prophet Micah, they have learned how “to seek justice, love kindness and walk humbly…”

Have you seen the film Invictus? It tells the story of Nelson Mandela’s first term as president of post-Apartheid South Africa, and his move to unify black and white South Africa by building support for the national rugby team – the Springboks (historically supported by Afrikaners but not by Black South Africans). There is a moment in the film, when President Mandela addresses a room full of Black South African officials who have just voted to eliminate the Springboks. President Mandela acknowledges that they have just taken a unanimous vote. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he appeals to them to reconsider. (Imagine these words spoken by the incomparable Morgan Freeman…):

“I believe you have made a decision with insufficient information and foresight. … I believe we should restore the Springboks. Restore their name, their emblem and their colors immediately. Let me tell you why…. Our enemy is no longer the Afrikaner. They are our fellow South Africans, our partners in democracy and they treasure Springbok rugby. If we take that away, we lose them. We prove that we are what they feared we would be. We have to be better than that. We have to surprise them with compassion, with restraint, and generosity. I know. All the things they denied us. But this is no time to celebrate petty revenge. This is the time to build our nation using every single brick available to us, even if that brick comes wrapped in green and gold.”

“…We have to surprise them with compassion…”

It takes incredible courage to show kindness toward one’s adversary… courage, which begins with the willingness to recognize the humanity in others, even in those who have done us wrong. I know: that is so much easier to say, than it is to do. There’s a book I’ve had on my shelf for years – one of those books that sticks with you long after you’ve read it – called War is the Force that Gives us Meaning. In it, former International war correspondent Chris Hedges writes that the first thing we do in war is to dehumanize our enemies – precisely so we can justify our acts of violence against them.

We talked about this in Theology on Tap last Wednesday, how anyone can say, “I will love my neighbor.” The question becomes (in the words of that lawyer who addressed Jesus), “Who IS my neighbor?” Where do I draw the line? Throughout human history, people have drawn circles that leave out whole categories of people, in order to justify treating them as less than human: These people are Not in our circle; Not citizens; not white; not Christian; not blue or not red; not from around here…

In that scene in Invictus, and in the real events that inspired the film, President Mandela called South Africans to redraw those lines, to rewrite that script: “The Afrikaners are no longer our enemies…”

I’ve been thinking about that moment, and moments like it, on this 100th anniversary of the Armistice that ended World War I. What must it have been like to flip that switch at 11 am on November 11, 1918? To go from enemies to not-enemies? To lay down weapons and walk away from the fight – for the Allied forces? For the Germans?

The word “Armistice” comes from the Latin arma (“arms”) and sistere (“to stand still”). Imagine the stillness, the quiet that came from laying down weapons on both sides, after years of trench warfare. According to one history of WWI, “in general, reactions were muted. A British corporal reported: ‘…the Germans came from their trenches, bowed to us and then went away. That was it. …’ On the Allied side…There was some cheering and applause, but the dominant feeling was silence and emptiness after 52 exhausting months of war.”

We hoped it would be the war to end all wars. But the peace about which the prophet Micah spoke would remain elusive. … I am no WWI historian, so I don’t know what efforts were made to shift the narrative that day, to intentionally redraw the lines in the wake of that devastating conflict. I do know that the terms of the Treaty of Versailles held Germany liable for the cost of massive material damages and arguably inserted a wedge between them and Allied nations. And that the relationship between Germany and Allied countries remained fraught in the years leading up to WWII. Fascism might well have taken hold in Germany no matter what, but when I read the prophet Micah in light of the Armistice, on this Veterans Day, it pushes me to reflect deeply on what it means to exercise justice and mercy; kindness and humility. How do we summon the courage to look our adversaries in the eye, and say, “Today we begin to write a new story. Let’s imagine a different future, together.”

If you think that sounds Pollyanna, if you are squirming in your seat at the idea of putting trust in people or communities that have not earned it… I get it. It feels profoundly risky, uncomfortable, maybe even irrational. But in the words of social scientist and leadership expert Brene Brown, “there is not relationship without uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure.” To connect with each other, we have to remove our armor. That’s why it takes courage.

And it’s why we need leaders brave enough to answer Micah’s call, to seek justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God. Brave enough to urge us all to do the same.

Hundreds of years after Micah’s death, three scholars embarked on a journey to find the birthplace of a leader whose coming they had seen foretold in the stars. When they arrived in Jerusalem, they went straight to King Herod, to ask if he had heard any news. The king consulted with this priests, and they consulted the ancient texts. Here is what they read:

“And you Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah, for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.”

Eventually, they found and paid homage to a child named Jesus. In time, that child would become a powerful voice for justice: offering his own scathing indictment of rulers who succumb to corruption and judges who cheat the poor. He welcomed refugees and dined with outcasts. And they called him the Prince of Peace – not because he promised to smite our enemies. On the contrary: he pushed us to redraw the lines – over and over; urged us to consider a new way of living, to walk right into an uncomfortable future by practicing justice AND kindness AND a humble walk with God.

Beloved in Christ: I believe this is what it means to be the Church, to be the Body of Christ: to learn to lead like that. I do not claim it is easy. Actually, I think it’s the hardest work we’ll ever do. On this day, as we pause to remember those who have died still longing for peace, let us contemplate the silence that comes after our arms are laid down, the silence that lingers after we remove our armor. Let us invite the Spirit of Christ into that silence, and pray with all our hearts for the courage we need.

I have no doubt that the one who promised to walk with our ancestors, will remain with us every step of the way.

Amen.

On Earth as in Heaven

Saugatuck Congregational Church, UCC
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
Sunday, November 4, 2018

Scriptures: 1 Kings 3:5-13 and Matthew 6:9-10

You could call this sermon, “Part II.”  Last week, we read these same verses in the book of 1 Kings, about a dream encounter between the young King Solomon and God. (You can check out last week’s sermon video on our website…)   In this scene, God promises Solomon a wise and understanding mind (or a wise and discerning heart – the Hebrew can be translated either way). So last Sunday, I offered some tools for discernment, and shared this definition of wisdom, in the words of the Rev.  John Edgerton – Old South Church Boston. “Wisdom is the capacity to re-order both self and world to more closely resemble God’s hope.”

“…the capacity to re-order both self and world to more closely resemble God’s hope…”  In other words: To make earth more like heaven…

I feel like I barely scratched the surface last week, so today I want to continue where I left off, with this idea of using “God’s hope” as a barometer in our decision-making.  In particular, I want to share with you some of what I’ve been thinking about how discerning God’s hope can inform our choices in the public square. In other words, how does our faith impact our politics?

Election Day is Tuesday (maybe you’ve noticed the deluge of candidate campaign fliers in your mailbox).  So this seems a good time to ask, “What does heaven on earth look like, practically speaking? What IS God’s will, God’s hope for us? And how does it relate to the choices we make as engaged citizens of this town, this country, this world?”

I know that invoking the word ‘politics’ in this space may raise the specter of partisan conflict. Some of you have told me that you come to worship to escape the divisiveness that currently mars so many of our interactions and so much of our public discourse. Constant controversy has a way of sapping our strength and deflating our spirits.  So we gather in this sanctuary to be restored, to find a bit of the peace that too often eludes us in our day-to-day lives. We all need that. I know I do.

But we also come to worship to listen for a word from God, to seek wisdom and insight for those same everyday lives. We come before the Holy One and ask, “What shall I do when I leave this place?  About that argument with my in-laws, or the employee I’m supposed to lay off, or the debt I’m facing, or a difficult neighbor, or that candidate I’ve been asked to support? Tell me, God: This week, how can I be more wise, more patient or courageous, honest or gracious, or faithful?”

In short, we come to church with stuff on our minds and hearts – problems to be solved; worries that weigh us down; decisions we need to make – and what do we do?  We pray the the Lord’s Prayer – every Sunday, including these words: “Your will be done, on earth as in heaven.”

Those are the words that Jesus taught us to pray, the ones he introduced during his famous Sermon on the Mount, according to the Gospel of Matthew.  “Pray in this way,” Jesus said.  In that same sermon, Jesus offered tips for managing anger, loving enemies, keeping promises and donating our money.  In other words: he talked about the kinds of practical issues that we face every day.

That’s what interests me, what I want to explore with you: How faith might influence the ways we actually live our lives: How we spend our money, pass our time, vote, work, and interact with each other…  I do not presume that there’s a single way to be a Christian, a single right answer to all our Big Questions. (if there was, there would be no need for discernment, would there?)

If you picked up the New York Times on Friday, you may have noticed a cover article featuring half a dozen evangelical Christians reflecting on the relationship between their faith and their politics (this, after I’d already starting working on this sermon).  The young people interviewed included women and men of various racial-ethnic backgrounds, based in different parts of the country, who variously self-identified as Democrats, Republicans or Independents.  All of them are taking positions informed by their Christian faith. So clearly, drawing on Christian teachings does not guarantee that we will all agree. I don’t expect that. Not when it comes to all of Christendom, and not when it comes to you and me, right here at Saugatuck Church. And that’s ok.

I DO believe that some policies and practices get us a little closer to an earth that looks like heaven, while others make heaven more distant.  I believe God wants us to do the work of discerning which is which, to actively live into that prayer, “your will be done on earth as in heaven,” to proactively ask ourselves and each other, “How do our practices – how we structure our budgets, or treat our neighbors, or define our public priorities – align with God’s hope for the world?”

I believe that conversation belongs squarely within the church. That asking what policies and practices get us closer to God’s hope is exactly what we should be discussing in Christian community. Indeed, I can think of no better, no richer, no more faithful conversation for us to have.  It’s right there in the Lord’s Prayer.

As Michael Hendricks has pointed out (Michael, a Saugatuck member who preached a few weeks back), that prayer begins with the words, “Our Father, in heaven” – “Our,” not “My…” It was always intended to be a communal prayer, concerned not just with my personal needs and wants, but with the well-being of all God’s people.

It’s also right there in the  word ‘politics,’ which comes from the root polis, or city.  To be ‘political’ means to seek the good of the city, the good of our whole community.  And that’s our Christian call.

This is not always easy conversation, precisely because we are making claims – not only about what matters to us, but about what matters to God – and that’s always risky business.  Such reflection demands respect, a great deal of tenderness, care-filled listening and an ample dose of humility. We are all feeling our way forward.  But in the words of one member this week, “If a church group can’t do it, then who can?”

I also believe it’s my task, as your pastor, to take my best shot at naming how I think God is calling us to make earth more like heaven, based on my reading of the Gospels and the movement of God’s Spirit among us. If I’m not doing that, if I’m not trying, every week, to make the connections between these ancient texts and our contemporary reality, if I’m not urging all of us to do the same, then I’m not doing my job.

Because really:  What’s the point of the gospel, if we’re not trying to live it?

When I preach about welcoming refugees, or dismantling racism, or caring for the earth or pursuing economic justice, I do so because I believe the gospel calls us to address these matters.  Because Jesus said, “I have come to preach good news to the poor and to set the captives free.” Because he warned us not to fall victim to greed, and instructed us to love our neighbors and welcome the stranger.  Because he hung out with women and lepers and other outcasts. Because God created everything, all this wild diversity and declared it all good.

That’s what guides my discerning, on my best days: the conviction that God longs for a world in which all creation can flourish, where the most vulnerable are lifted up, all people are treated with dignity and (in the words of our communion prayer)  sharing by all will mean scarcity for none. When I vote, I ask, “How does this candidate or policy contribute to that vision of human thriving? Who benefits? Who suffers, by the choices I make?”

I am a work in progress; most days I fail to live up to that vision of earth-more-like-heaven; too often, I end up making choices driven by convenience, self-interest, impatience, or fear… That’s why there’s grace.

And I keep trying:  to imagine God’s heaven on earth, and then to pursue it. I am grateful for partners in this holy work. – For all of you.  May God guide our faithful discerning AND our faith-filled actions; may God lend us wisdom, this day and every day.

Amen.

Your Gifts Multiplied

Saugatuck Congregational Church, UCC
©Art Schoeller
Sunday, October 21, 2018
Keynote for our 2019 Stewardship Campaign

What God Has Done

Saugatuck Congregational Church, UCC
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
Sunday, October 14, 2018

Scripture

Joshua 24:1-18 – New Revised Standard Version

Sermon

I spend a lot of time defending the Hebrew Bible, or what we Christians refer to as the Old Testament, in response to claims that it’s an the outdated story about an Angry God.  That testament?  It’s all about Divine revenge and jealousy. The New Testament?  It’s all about love and grace.

Not only does this characterization of the earliest books in the Bible carry with it anti-Semitic overtones –  after all, the Hebrew Bible IS the sacred text for our Jewish cousins – it dramatically distorts the picture. After all, the old testament contains the 23rd Psalm, with its promise that an attentive God accompanies us – even through the darkest valley (“The LORD is my shepherd…”) – and Isaiah, with its vivid portrayals of a divine kin-dom where swords will be hammered into plow shares and lions will lie down with lambs; not to mention the entire Exodus narrative, in which God frees the people from slavery and feeds them in the wilderness for 40 years before leading them into the Promised Land.

The Exodus story has been a powerful source of hope for Black folks in the United States, with its promise that God will liberate the oppressed:  “Ours is a God who makes a way out of no way,” sang the Civil Rights leaders… “who brings down the walls of Jericho and tumbles the mighty from their thrones..”

But what is for some a life-giving narrative about liberation is for others an all-too-familiar tale of devastation. Chapter by chapter, the book of Joshua describes the destruction of the Israelites’ enemies: ie, those who already lived in the land that had been promised to god’s chosen people.  The Israelites’ invasion of the land of Canaan mirrors the devastation rained down on Native Peoples who lived on this continent long before Europeans arrived on these shores.

Our Congregational forebears often referred to the so-called New World as the Promised Land and European invaders as god’s elect, called by god to build a City on a Hill. They invoked these texts, Joshua’s vision of the Promised Land – and god’s apparent insistence that its inhabitants be destroyed to make space for the Israelites – to justify the massacre of native peoples and cultures.

We pick up the narrative at the tale end of Joshua, after all the battles have been fought, when Joshua has reached a ripe old age. Chapter 24 is his swan song, his taking stock of all that has unfolded under his leadership. In one last effort to convince the Israelites to remain faithful to God, he recalls all that God has done for them – freed them, sustained them, stood by them, made for them a way in the wilderness; defended and delivered them into a new home. Then, in a climax so memorable it has been cross-stitched, quilted and hung in countless Christian homes for generations, Joshua said, “Choose this day whom you will serve, but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

It’s a compelling speech, rooted in the conviction that God HAS been faithful, that god does deserve the Israelites’ devotion – and ours.

And when I first read the text, I wanted to use it as an invitation for us to look at our own individual and collective lives, to map out the moments when God has intervened, picked us up, given us courage or comfort or recalculated our course (like a divine GPS).  I wanted to pose Joshua’s question to all of us: Whom will WE serve?”

It’s a worthy question, and we’ll get to it, but first, we need to grapple with that pesky context, and that image of god who allegedly ordered Joshua and the Israelites to destroy all the Amorites, Canaanites, Hittites, Girgashites, Hivites and Jebusites… in order to occupy “a land on which they had not labored, and towns that they had not built…”  I know it troubles you as much as it troubles me. So what do we do with Joshua?

We might begin by confessing that sometimes we confuse god’s intentions with our own desires.  We are worshipping on land once occupied by the Pequot, Matabesec and Paugussett tribes, just a few days after the Monday still listed on federal calendars as Columbus Day…. We are heirs to early Connecticut settlers who believed it was their god-given right to claim this land, so it bears asking:

How do we know when the winds that billow our sails and propel us forward come from the Spirit of God, and not our own bluster?  When we are responding to God’s call rather than chasing our own interests? It is difficult, after all, to see through any eyes but our own.  We tend to view the world as our ancestors did, from our own front stoop, according to the needs of our particular tribe. This history of the Israelites was written by the Israelites – one ancient culture among many. One could argue that their portrayal of god couldn’t help but be a bit nearsighted, shaped by their own fears and desires. They were a small nation, often under siege, so they needed a god that would be on their side.

But the lesson I’ve learned from Native American theologians is this: that we ought to be suspicious of all claims that god belongs to us and us alone, or that we have cornered the market on divine favor. God is always bigger than our geographic and social boundaries.  If God is up to something in our lives, as I believe She is, then surely God is also up to something in the lives of our adversaries – including those who may be harmed in our drive to succeed.  So we ought always to guard against the assumption that our success is indisputable evidence that God has endorsed us, or that our idea of good is necessarily God’s.

I once spent a week at the Rosebud reservation in South Dakota, guest of the Lakota people. Our professor made every effort to coach us regarding Lakota culture.  But still we bumbled our way through the week: speaking when we should have been listening; imposing our own values on our hosts. We had our own interests in mind; we could not see how we might be offending.  It was a hard lesson to learn.

So how do we know when God is doing the leading?  Perhaps, if we look close enough, we might see the Spirit of God moving in the uncomfortable places – not to save us from our enemies, but to save us from our own tunnel vision. Not to give us what we want, but to offer what we need.

For example:  Saugatuck is rightly proud of its role as one of the founders of the Gillespie Center, a homeless shelter in downtown Westport.  But before we founded the shelter, back in the early 1980’s, Saugatuck’s pastors (Rev. Ted Hoskins and Rev. Martin Copenhaver) developed the habit of inviting homeless men to sleep here at the church, in classrooms. It was an uncomfortable arrangement; many members were distressed, perhaps even a bit frightened, to share space with men who smelled bad, suffered from addiction or struggled with mental health issues. It was out of that place of profound discomfort that members decided to build the shelter.  I suspect God was moving among us during that season, using that discomfort to prod us into faithful action. Look what God has done!

Then there’s 1993, when this congregation began a series of conversations whether to declare ourselves “Open and Affirming”, that is: welcoming of people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender. For four years, if I read the minutes correctly, this church held events, studied bible texts, wrestled with differences. It could not have been easy; there were beloved members who opposed the proposal. But in 2007, the church voted to approved an open and affirming statement. Not only did it clarify this congregation’s conviction that we are all made in god’s image; those who participated in the process describe it as a deeply transformative experience.  Look what God has done!

Turn to 2011:  When God’s Spirit moved among us in the wake of the fire that severely damaged our church home.  Even as some of us stood among those ashes, God turned grief and displacement into a chance to deepen our interfaith and community ties. For three years, Saugatuck Church relied on our neighbors at Temple Israel, Christ and Holy Trinity, Greens Farms and the Methodist Church to share space and ministry. As your new pastor, I got to hear first hand some of what this church means to the town of Westport. And we re-discovered what all those partners mean to us. Those connections still shape our sense of identity as a congregation. Look what God has done!

Of course, I see God’s spirit at work among the scores of young people who make up our youth group. But I’m equally convinced that God is it work when only 2 or 3 are gathered. At one time, Saugatuck Church had a church school with classrooms for every grade level. Along the way, the demand changed.  A smaller group of children compelled us to evaluate our approach to Christian Education. The result is a more dynamic, creative, multi-age, hands-on approach to Church School that excites and nourishes our young people. Look what God has done!

In the final analysis, God is bigger than any one book, any one perspective…God is the One who defends the oppressed and transforms the oppressors, who tends to lions and lambs, who sticks by a nearsighted people, believing that they – and we – can become more faithful, sometimes even despite ourselves.

What does it mean to serve that God?  The God who both accompanies and disrupts?  The God who shatters our expectations? Who shows up – not only when we need defending, but when we need re-forming, need to be encouraged to take risks, stretch our boundaries and expand our vision?

Perhaps it means cultivating a sense of curiosity, asking, every day:  What is God up to NOW, in this place, among us, around us, and through the people we encounter along the way?  What are we missing? When we are feeling a little holy discomfort, what would God have us see or do?

We can trust that God IS at work, transforming us, and this whole church.  We can’t always know how. So we make a choice: to cling to the tribal gods we have conceived, or to embrace the God who never fails us, and never fails to surprise us; who meets us where we are, but does not leave us here…

Beloved in Christ, full of hope, full of anticipation, let us answer Joshua’s challenge, responding with one voice, “As for me and my household, we will serve the LORD!”

May it be so. Thanks be to God.

Amen.