We have entered into the darkest time of the year.  The days are short and the nights are long.  Soon, the Christmas lights will start coming down off of houses and storefronts, making our evening landscape even darker.  I’ve been thinking a lot about the paradox of light and darkness since our Blue Christmas service on winter solstice, December 21st.  We talked about how the darkness can be a comfort and the need to embrace it, so that we can emerge seeing, feeling and being the light.
 
   A dear friend of the family died last week.  At her service, her sister gave a tribute. Amongst all of the many folks wearing black, she came to the pulpit wearing white, a vision of light.  She spoke about being able to feel that her sister was now filled with light.  She asked that we her friends and family, be inspired by all that which was light about her - her playfulness, her kindness, her love.  It was a beautiful tribute and her charge to all of us was reminiscent of the one that Jesus gave to his people.
 
    “Here’s another way to put it: You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world.  If I make you light-bearers, you don’t think I’m going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I’m putting you on a light stand. Now that I’ve put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you’ll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven."     -Matthew 5:14-16 (The Message)

   We have a closing ritual in our J2A class.  We stand in a circle and pass a candle to each person, saying “Go and be a light in the world”.  I learned this ritual from one of my mentors in the UCC.  I can’t imagine a more clear and valuable charge for our young people, for all of us really.

   So inspired am I to see, feel and be light in the world, I’ve decided this will be our theme this year in church school and J2A and it is my hope that we will inspire the adults to join us in this campaign.  What better time to kick this off than on Epiphany.  Epiphany marks a visit to the baby Jesus by the Magi.  We remember those three wisemen traveling in the dark of night, the inky sky above the desert lit by a shining star that led them to the Christ child, the light of the world.
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   It doesn’t take much to bring light to the world, even the smallest gestures of light can have a big impact.  Think of being in a large auditorium just before curtain call when the house lights go dark and it is pitch black. If one person lit in a match in that dark space, everyone in the auditorium would be a able to see its light.  One small match can bring light to that big cavernous space.  In much the same way, one small act of kindness can bring light to the dark shadows in our world.  And so this is our charge, “Go and be a light in the world.”  
 
 In the coming weeks, watch as our “Be a Light” campaign unfolds.

Anyone who has experienced tragedy, gotten that call in the night can relate to this. The morning after you wake and try with all your might to absorb this new reality, you go outside and the sunshine is blindingly bright. Life continues. A parent pushes their giggling child on the swing. A couple walks by hand in hand. Friends driving by in a car are laughing. How could this be when your world has just come to screeching halt? How can the sun possibly be shining so brightly on this day? How can the world just continue as though nothing has happened? And in that moment, you seek refuge in the darkness. You just want to curl up in the safety of your bed, under the covers, and seek comfort in the darkness. Like a baby in the womb, the darkness can give us comfort and strength.

The rub, though, is this. Society yanks us out of the darkness into the bright spots - not the light but the too bright, too shiny places. We are asked to put on a mask and join the party. Never is this truer than at Christmas. The lights, the music, the images, the signs in too large font screaming JOY at us it all seems to be yelling at us- WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU CHEER UP! DON’T YOU KNOW THIS IS THE MOST WONDERFUL, MERRY, CHEERY, JOYOUS TIME OF THE YEAR!”. When what we most want is to seek refuge in the darkness or at the very least a softer light. We hunger for quiet and peace, for rest. The darkness can give us comfort and strength.

In an article, I read by Lavern Cob, she says "Darkness holds so much potential to help us see beyond the immediate and the obvious.” It’s in darkness that we can begin to see a glimmer of light.
In the tradition of the ancient Celts, Nighttime, or the time of the moonlight, was seen as soft and gentle, associated with intuition, sensuality, the flow of emotion and natural rhythm. Both night and day were necessary for the harmony of creation. She goes on to say, Light and dark need each other. They play off of each other and balance one another. Light a candle and it casts a shadow. It is in the dark, that the candle shines most brightly.
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Our Nativity set is very old, originally owned by the town and displayed in front of the town hall. It was given to the churches some time ago - and eventually made its home on our lawn. It is tired and broken in many spots, in need of refurbishment. Poor Malchior had split in two and was brought back to life this year by Scott Hamilton. At one point Scott and I looked into replacing the figure or even the set and what we found time and time again were the plastic light up versions that shine brightly, too brightly if you ask me.

I’ve heard the expression “the illusion of Facebook” this idea of presenting this shining snapshot that represents us, but in reality only highlights the bright shiny places. The darker places are kept hidden. This is what we do with the Nativity story. We isolate it, yank it from its darkness, plug it in and make shine brightly. But in reality the Nativity story is filled with darkness both literally and figuratively. Mary and Joseph had to be experiencing extreme stress - both uncertain of their future, Joseph’s shock of the news that Mary was with child - not his child. Then the stress of traveling to Bethlehem - very different than the vision we paint in our imagination. the cost of travel let alone the taxes - pregnant Mary traveling on a donkey. the Bethlehem was a city and crowded with other people there to register -No room at the inn - a dirty stable the only shelter. But then it was in darkness that this baby, symbol of light was born. It is said he was born in the night. Angels appeared to the shepherds in the night sky. And if it weren’t for the darkness of night - the North Star couldn’t have shone so brightly, bringing the wise men to Jesus.

As we approach this darkest of nights, I encourage you to embrace the darkness. Seek it’s refuge, allow it to give you strength and restore you, like the quiet darkness of a good night’s sleep. Allow it to comfort you. In our reading today, Isaiah 40, it is interesting to note that the English word comfort comes from a Latin word meaning “to strengthen”. For our faith ancestors, living in a foreign land, comfort meant being released – set free. It meant change and mobility.
It is in the darkness that we can come into the presence of God – where God can comfort, strengthen so that we can begin to feel the power of mobility to walk towards the light.

“There is something profoundly satisfying about sharing a meal.  Eating together, breaking bread together, is one of the oldest and most fundamentally unifying of human experiences.”
                                                                                             -Barbara Coloroso

There is no denying that sharing a meal together is one of life’s great pleasures.  Sadly in our fast paced world, eating on the fly has become the norm. It takes intention and dedication to carve out that time and make it a priority. 

In a recent article in the Boston Globe, Nauset Regional’s boys soccer team was hailed for their incredible victories.  Our very own, Ben Mulholland, is one of its captains.  The team is ranked #1 in the state and entire Northeast region. This wasn’t a surprise to me.  Having 3 soccer players in my own home, I’d heard of Nauset’s power team on more than one occasion!  What was remarkable to me was learning of a “unique tradition that helps the Nauset Warriors orient their focus”.  Before every single game, home or away, the players sit down for a team dinner.  Their coach, John McCully, says he instituted it on day one of becoming their coach.  He says,  “It’s the best thing we do.  It’s a time to come together after a practice, after a hard day at school, and unwind.  It’s great for our chemistry.”  I can’t help but think that this incredible bonding, that goes way beyond what happens on the field, isn’t partially responsible for this team’s success.  I commend Coach McCully, the players and parents for what I am sure takes a great deal of dedication and committment to pull off, but what they have clearly made a valued tradition.

A team is a type of community, as is our family, and certainly our church.  Community needs connection in order to thrive.  A community that feels intimately connected to one another is a community of strength and fortitude.  How do we connect at church?  How do we strengthen our bonds to one another.  Our time together is most often reduced to an hour on Sunday mornings.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s an hour of great meaning and significance, but it doesn’t allow us to truly get to know one another.  New Testament scholar, N.T. Wright writes this, “When Jesus himself wanted to explain to his disciples what his forthcoming death was all about, he didn’t give them a theory, he gave them a meal.”  Theologian Barry Jones, goes on to write, “I’m convinced that one of the most important spiritual disciplines for us to recover in the kind of world in which we live is the discipline of table fellowship.  In the fast-paced, tech-saturated, attention-deficit-disordered culture in which we find ourselves, Christians need to recover the art of a slow meal around a table with people we care about.”  Some of the most significant connections I’ve made within our church family, have been by sitting and enjoying fellowship around a meal.  Gathering around the table while enjoying each other’s company is what we call in the UCC as “extravagant hospitality”.  Extravagant, not because it is a fancy meal with fancy table settings, extravagant in that it is an expression of our extending God’s love to one another.

I can’t think of a better way to celebrate Thanksgiving Sunday, than to gather around the table and share a meal.  Let us give each other the greatest gift and greatest expression of God’s love, presence.  In being present with one another, in the breaking of the bread, in the sharing of stories, in the discoveries, in the laughter, we will fortify the foundation of our Holy team.

I have a confession.  Although I am comfortable speaking in public, I am actually very shy.  Cocktail parties make me break out in a cold sweat.   Let’s face it, coffee hour is really like an alcohol-free cocktail party!  Mingling and small talk are not in my wheelhouse.  However, it’s an area where my husband, John, is gifted.  It was with his encouragement and gentle prodding that when we first started coming to the church, we would go down to coffee hour.  Fortunately for me, I had this cute baby, Jan, on my hip who made for an instant ice-breaker.  Over the 15 years that I’ve been part of this church, I’ve heard of many, many others who share in my “coffee hour/cocktail party phobia”.  Without a gregarious spouse dragging them down to socialize, it took many of these folks weeks and months, if even at all, to gain the courage to “break into the scene”. 

It’s not that we are not a warm and welcoming church.  In fact, most folks cite this as one of the many gifts of our congregation - warm and welcoming.  It’s not that we don’t know how to put out a good spread.  Our coffee hours are legendary with our young people.  As overheard last Sunday, “cake with sprinkles and quiche”!  What happens is that we naturally gravitate to the people that we know.  We see someone and remember a little tidbit that we forgot to tell them or we never did ask them about their trip or we need to remind them about an upcoming meeting, etc.  In all of this, sometimes we forget about the newcomers standing off to the side.

As a child, who was many times over the new kid at school, recess was a primer for these adult social events.  I distinctly recall awkwardly and fearfully walking around the school yard, praying that someone would come up to me and ask me to play.  I certainly didn’t have the guts to approach one of the many masses of kids already engaged with one another. So, I was so interested when Trey, who is painfully shy, came home from school last month and told me about the “buddy bench”.  Chatham Elementary School had recently unveiled the buddy bench at an assembley.  Students watched an informative video on the purpose of the buddy bench, and the bench is now placed on the playground. The concept of the buddy bench is credited to Christian Bucks, a boy from York, Pennsylvania, “who didn’t like to see kids lonely at recess when everyone is just playing with their friends.”  He told his principal of his idea and the buddy bench was born.  He’s since done a TedTalk, been featured in the news and over 2,000 benches have now been installed in playgrounds around the US, and outside the country.  The idea is that the bench gives a child a safe place to retreat .  The other children are then encouraged to approach that child and ask him/her to play.  They hope is that they’ll have the confidence to go play with their new friends the next day.

I’m not suggesting that we install a buddy bench at coffee hour, but I am suggesting that we take the time out to invite someone down to coffee hour  Break away from our friends and meet someone new  Include someone who looks like they could use the buddy bench!

Last spring, my mother and I visited a UCC church in Sarasota.  Before we’d even left our pew, a lovely lady invited us to coffee hour.  On the way there, she inquired about from where we were visiting.  Once at coffee hour, she brought over two people who had connections to the Cape.  My mother asked about an adult offering that they had announced in worship.  One of those folks went and grabbed the facilitator of that study and introduced her to us.  So by the time we left, my mother had met 5 members of the First Congregaional Church of Sarasota and had the courage to attend the adult study that Wednesday evening.

So to quote Hebrews 13:2, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without even knowing it.”  And Peter, “Be hospitable to one another without complaint.”  Let’s all encourage one another to offer extravagant hospitality to all who walk through our doors.
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​  I am so blessed to be a part of a wonderful group of other UCC Christian Educators.  These groups can be found all around New England.  They are called "communities of practice" and they were the brain child of two of my UCC mentors, Sue Dickerman and Elsa Marshall.  There were already clergy "communities of practice" established, but Sue and Elsa thought it was important, that we have this support system as well. 
 
We come together monthly (ideally), typically at the Mattapoissett Congregational Church, our facilitator's home church.  We pray, laugh, snack, brainstorm, support, cry, sing, chat and pray some more.  Sometimes we discuss a theological topic, like this week we talked about what the expression "freedom in Christ" means.  Sometimes we talk about curriculum or confirmation or communion.  Sometimes we talk about a personal struggle or triumph.  They are my soul sisters and I love them and this ministry to pieces! 
 
On Sunday, we revisited our covenant.  It is taken from "Touchstones for Creating a Safe Space "by Parker Palmer.  One of the items, I was particularly moved by has to do with opposing viewpoints.  I thought it was a great food for thought as all of us are so bombarded by the divisive, nastiness of the current political climate.  Parker Palmer has actually done a lot of work in the arena of political divisiveness and actually offers an online course, called Bridging the Divide, available at www.churchnext.tv.com
 
Here goes...
 
"If the going gets tough, turn to wonder.  If you find yourself feeling uncomfortable with the perspective offered by another, try not to allow judgment to set in.  Instead, become intrigued.  Ask for more information, and be open to the experiences of others.  Differences can be an opportunity for us to learn from one another."
 
We, as people of faith, have to remember to take the higher road and "love our neighbor" even if that means hating their point of view.  It is our call, and particularly important in being good role models to the children who look to us as their guide.  

By Amy McCue...

​This is long. It's Jesse's story but really one about me and Caroline and neuroblastoma and love.
I met Caroline when Isabelle was two and Emily was a newborn. I really don’t remember meeting her. Sleep deprivation causes fogginess and forgetfulness.
Caroline had a two year old daughter, Leah, and was pregnant and just about due with her second daughter, Kathryn. She says I mumbled something like, “Get ready…,” which sounds like something I’d say. I think my girls were in the double stroller and Emily was screaming. What newborn screams in a rolling stroller? Emily. Emily does.

Caroline and I became friends. Our girls were the same ages and she was easy to talk to. I marveled at how calm she was all the time. Like nothing fazed her. I got flustered and anxious just thinking about taking my two little girls to the grocery store but she seemed as though she was made for this motherhood thing. I was not. We would see each other at the park. Sometimes at the health food store. And often we’d pass each other running or walking. We both agreed that it was the only thing keeping us sane.

The Nashes moved to Connecticut for a bit. We didn’t stay in touch. And when they moved back to Chatham they had a newborn boy in tow named Jesse.
While they were away, Emily got cancer. And I think someone mentioned the Nashes and a baby, but most of those cancer days I could hear people talking but I didn’t listen. The crazy voices in my head were WAY too loud to hear anything. But one day I saw Caroline pushing this little guy. And he was adorable.

Then Emily finished treatment and I started to poke my head out of the protective barrier of my house and lower the shield that I had held up for a long time. I started to talk to people and hear what they were saying. And Caroline and I reconnected. They live near us so we divide and conquer rides for the girls who are very very busy. We talk on the soccer sidelines about when it’s ok to let our girls on social media and where we like to shop online. Mom stuff.

So along the two of us went. Caroline had another baby. Emily started to feel better. We drove our kids a lot. We marvelled at how long a middle school Christmas concert can last. And then two years ago Caroline found a lump on Jesse’s neck as she was getting him up from a nap. And a week later he was diagnosed with Stage II neuroblastoma. And all the people in the little town that we live in started to pop their heads up and rally. I, on the other hand, wanted to bury my head. And did. I pulled up my shield. I had full blown anxiety attacks that I hadn’t suffered with since Emily’s treatment and began to question everything about Emily and her treatment and my mothering.

My first thought was that Caroline was a better mother than me for “catching” Jesse’s cancer sooner. She was paying attention. I was not. Then I got a little jealous. Stage II? No kid is diagnosed with Stage II NB. Then I got annoyed. Will everyone please stop asking me about the NASHES because it’s causing me to relive a horror that I was starting to make peace with. No not peace. That’s a lie. Just process better. Or block out or bury. Not sure. The whole thing is still a work in process. And then I had down right crazy mother-of-a-cancer-patient thoughts, He’ll get a little chemo and be fine.

Because when you’re a mother of a kid who has or had cancer it’s constant mind games. Constant. You feel a certain way. You acknowledge it. You feel bad for having that thought. You remind yourself you’re only human. And then you think Good god you’re an adult. Pull yourself together. It’s not about you.
So while my thoughts were having a field day, Caroline reached out. And I kept her at a distance. I needed to protect myself from possible conversations that I couldn’t handle. I would answer questions with texts. I was supportive but I didn’t want to have too much of a conversation because I was jealous and angry, two awful emotions. I was angry that Emily had to endure so much. I was angry that she had all of these issues from treatment and that Jesse would be fine after a few rounds of chemo. I was upset that everyone didn’t understand the messed up world of pediatric cancer and said stupid things. And then I’d feel reallllly guilty that I had those thoughts. Because people were trying to be supportive and understand what was going on and and who better to ask? Ugh! The voices in my head argued and my heart was sank. Mind games. I wanted to be a better person. To rise and be the best supporter of all. Be Caroline’s champion. But I wasn’t. I was weak. I was angry. I was sad. And I was resentful. Resentment is ugly and lonely.

Jesse finished his treatment. And everyone was happy. I was too. But truth? I was dying a little inside because I wanted my Emily to have had “just” a few rounds of chemo and be ok. If I were better at this mothering thing maybe I would have caught NB sooner before it ravaged her body.
And life resumed.

And then life stopped. Jesse’s neuroblastoma came back. And because it was “only” Stage II to begin with, Jesse’s Jimmy Fund team debated what to do. Jesse went through two more rounds of chemo to see if that would get rid of the NB. But it didn’t, so a decision was made to diagnose it as Stage IV high risk NB, and the protocol of care would be similar to Emily’s, but instead of two transplants he would have one (Emily was part of a trial and was randomized for two). Radiation and antibody therapy would be the same.

So you’d think that this is where I jump in and start to be the best coach in the corner of the ring. But I didn’t. I waited. And watched. And cried. And panicked. And Shane said to me, “Aim, there’s really nothing you can do.” But there’s ALWAYS something you can do. I swore when Emily was in treatment that I wouldn’t go back to being the person who really wanted to do something, but didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing.

So, on the side of a soccer field, without thinking about it, I just did what very few people could do for Caroline. I listened. I agreed. And I gently added a few pointers. And you know what? It felt really good. Because I think she needed someone to talk to who understood. She could talk and talk to other moms, other people, about what was going on, but who else could tell her how to survive endless hospital stays? Me. I could. I had this “thing” that no one else could give her. So I did.

You see, the Universe is really genius. It gives you what you need...not what you think you need. I did NOT think I needed to relive what happened to Emily. I didn’t think I could offer support to someone who was another version of myself in a dark time. I did not think that I could be brave enough for me AND for Caroline at the SAME time. BUT I couldn’t do nothing. That wasn’t ok. I had to be brave not knowing that at any point she could say something that could trigger junk that I didn’t want to revisit.

Ummmm. Amy? It’s the Universe. You need to do this. And so I did.
How many moms get to exchange a single text about who can pick up from soccer and that the VNA can be annoying? Or that scheduling scans is an art form and, oh, by the way, I hope the soccer trip to Nantucket is cancelled. We talked about siblings and sadness. Therapists and exhaustion. Acupuncture or antidepressants. And reminders that she was amazing. And yes, yes, she could do this. I couldn’t fix anything but I could make her oatmeal raisin cookies and drop them on her steps and tell her kids that the cookies were their mother’s and she might or might not share;-) (She always shares...I don’t think I would.)

By no means was I her right-hand-woman. I just knew what to say. I listened. I justified the horrible thoughts. The anger. And I felt good when Caroline would say something awful because then I was an ok person for thinking or saying something awful too. Because, truth be told, Caroline is a lot nicer than me. Mind games Caroline. Being the mother of a kid who has or had cancer is one...big...mind game.

And then Jesse finished treatment. Yay! And he had some newer drugs so his hair and hearing were going to be better than Emily’s. And that was ok because that was Jesse’s experience. And I had Emily refusing to do her homework without drama or eat anything that wasn’t white as a reminder of how LUCKY I AM!
Jesse did his scans right around Christmas because you always do scans after treatment just to make sure they got everything. And Caroline felt sick the night before. We all do. And we hold our breath and try to act like everything is ok as we roll into nuclear medicine. And I texted her the day before. “I’m thinking of you.” Cause that’s all you need from someone. Just to know they’re thinking of you. But then Caroline got awful news. It was back. And it was a relapse. A real “we don’t have a protocol for this” relapse. And my heart sank. And Caroline is the bravest woman I know because this is what she and Jesse did next. They marched forward. Jesse’s body worn torn from fighting. Caroline weak with not much more to give. Yet they marched. Cancer’s not fair.

At first they gave Jesse a little chemo cocktail that had worked on some NB kids who had relapsed. On Jesse it didn’t do anything. So then he went through a therapy that Caroline couldn’t be in the room for most of the time during the 5 days he had it. He’s literally radioactive. And this showed that the cancer didn’t grow anymore or disappear anymore. And Caroline was pleased with this. Stable. (On a side note, I couldn’t believe she was pleased that nothing had happened. It’s indicative of just how fast Jesse’s cancer was spreading at the time and that the sign of it not spreading was good news.) So they did the therapy again. You can only do it twice because it depletes basically all of your bone marrow. And the second time the NB was reduced by 40%, which is great! But that was it for that therapy and they needed to try something else. It’s in Jesse’s jaw and he feels pain there. The mass became so large at one point that Caroline could see it. So now he’s on a trial and goes to the Jimmy Fund every Thursday for a cocktail of god only knows what. No one can tell Caroline how it plays out from here. They don’t know. They tell her that his chances of survival are 5%. That they know.

They’ve been at this for 30 months. Two years and two months as of August 28th. Not just a day or two here and there. Every. Single. Day. Neuroblastoma doesn’t care about birthdays and holidays. There are no days off. Ever. Because if it’s not a day in the hospital, it’s a day giving meds and shots. Waiting for the VNA. Waiting for a phone call for lab results. Flushing tubes. Driving to Boston--sometimes to wait for hours in the Jimmy Fund. Sometimes for a quick check in that lasts less than a half an hour. Both scenarios stink and you get annoyed at either.

So yesterday I stopped by to bring Caroline something and we talked in the warm sun. We talked about how you appreciate a beautiful summer day after spending lots of them in the hospital. We talked about kids. And cancer. And mind games. Lots and lots of minds games. And I listened to Caroline say things that were honest. Things she can’t say to other people. And we gave each other a warm loving hug at the end of our conversation. And I feel so blessed that she trusts me. And that I am friends with someone who, you guys, is amazing. Really amazing. And brave. And selfless. And my shero (S-HERO).
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So, although Emily is doing well, not every kid with NB does well. It’s easy for us to forget the dark days because Emily is doing well. She is lucky. NB is a game of odds. We walk for Jesse. And for Caroline. And for a better treatment for kids with NB. Because we can. And because the Universe gives us little reminders that we are much bigger and more powerful than we think. Send your strength to Jesse. Send your strength to Caroline. And give a big warm hug to someone you love.

“The best way to get rid of the pain is to feel the pain. And when you feel the pain and go beyond it, you’ll see there’s a very intense love that is wanting to awaken itself.” Deepak Chopra.
www.jimmyfundwalk.org/2016/teamemmabelle
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​Last February, while we were in Florida, our pipes burst, leaving our house uninhabitable.  For the next 6 months we were displaced, and still over a year later, our house isn’t back to “normal”.  This long process has been extremely stressful on everyone in the family.  Fortunately, though, we had homeowners insurance and the damage was covered.  We also have family living on the Cape.  And, we were able to live with my mother.  Folks have said to me, “I don’t know how you are dealing with this.” Well, as stressful as this experience has been, a day doesn’t go by when I don’t think about the “what ifs” of not having insurance or friends and family who graciously offered their homes to us.  In short, we’d be homeless.  It can happen.  Just like that.  We, as a society, like to think that in large part there is something more subversive at work leaving folks living on the streets, namely drugs and alcohol.  And yes, sometimes that is the case.  But really there are a litany of unfortunate events, like ours, that could potentially derail any of us into homelessness.
 
On Good Friday, March 25th, 19 youth (6th-10th graders) camped out in a “Cardboard City" on the front lawn of our church.  The Cardboard City is an event that has been taking place in numerous locations all over the world.  Participants are invited to spend the night in a cardboard box in an effort to experience homelessness.  We also work to raise money to help combat this complex problem.  This was our second annual Cardboard City.  The effort was initiated by our confirmands, 9th graders, Perry Comeau, Jan Lapinski, Jamie Rushnak, Lucy Ryan and Anna Terrenzi.  They were so impacted by last year's event, that they invited their friends from the Cape and beyond to participate once again.  95% of last year’s participants returned again this year to brave the elements in an effort to get a deeper understanding of what it is like to be someone who no longer has a home.  We had students representing a number of schools: Monomoy Regional High and Middle Schools, Nauset High and Middle Schools, St. Francis Xavier Prep, Duxbury Middle School, Chatham Elementary School, Sturgis Charter School and Cape Cod Lighthouse Charter School.
 
Our evening included time with homeless advocates, Jeff Howell and Alan Burt of Homeless Not Hopeless in Hyannis and Beth Wade of Champ Homes.  We had a great roundtable discussion which included the children breaking up in pairs to explore the cycle of homelessness.  Jeff, Alan and Beth helped us get a better understanding of homelessness on Cape Cod and its direct correlation to the housing problem that exists here.  We talked a lot about the role our faith plays in looking at this situation.  Central to all three advocates, is the verse from Matthew 25:36-40, "I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’
 
This year, our scope was broadened as we heard about a different homeless population, refugees.  Jennifer Smith and Laura Gill, Outer Cape residents, came and spoke with the group about their recent experience working with Syrian refugees on the Greek island of Lesbos (a tourist and fishing community not dissimilar to the Cape).  For two weeks, the two gave medical care to children and adults coming off flimsy rafts after crossing the Aegean from Turkey.  They showed lots of pictures and gave us a clear sense of the urgency and enormity of this situation.  We also watched the documentary, God Grew Tired of Us.  A 2006 film that tells the story of some of the Lost Boys of Sudan, some 25,000 young men, refugees forced to flee the wars in Sudan since the 1980s.  The film explores their horrific journey as well as their experiences moving to the United States.  The next morning, the participants said that it gave them a “reality check” of how much they take for granted.
 
At one point, the group set out panhandling Main Street.  Their experiences varied from folks who greeted them with warmth and generosity, like a man who had spent 10 years living on the streets of Boston who gave them $25, to less generous folks who “only had hundreds” and thought “it must be nice being poor having other people working for you.”  It gave them a realistic glimpse of the day in the life of a homeless person, as did our experience spending the night in the cold.  The following morning participants swapped “war stories” of their restless night.
 
In the morning, we walked down to Claflin Landing to take in the sunrise.  We came home to a warm breakfast prepared by some of our congregation.  We then went upstairs and had a closing ceremony, ending with a passing of a peace candle, where we urged one another to “go out and be a light in the world."
 
These teens are articulate, civic minded, compassionate young people who truly embody the great commandment of “loving your neighbor”.  They are a light in our world and working with them is a great privilege.  We raised $1037 through our morning program - Good Friday VBS, participation fees and sponsorships for the Cardboard City and by panhandling on Chatham’s Main Street. The youth will be presenting a check to Homeless Not Hopeless and Champ Homes in the coming weeks.  
 
I’d like to thank all who participated and donated to this great event.  I would encourage all generations to become acquainted with these bright shining stars of our community.  They are a gift.
 

While at Harvard Divinity School I took a course on spirituality taught by Henri Nouwen, Dutch priest, psychiatrist and spiritual leader to many through his writing, teaching, and life of deep faith.   In the lecture hall filled to capacity, there was total silence as those in attendance focused on this teacher, as though sitting at the feet of Jesus.
  
My first thought when asked to summarize the course at the time was that it couldn’t be described in terms of content--it was how one was transformed as a person through this experience that was significant.    And indeed this was Nouwen’s preface to the course, that it was to be one which would focus on“forming the heart—not informing the mind.”    He noted that his challenge was to teach spirituality in a spiritual way, rather than through an academic approach.  And he succeeded.    As the course progressed, I realized that its value was in affirming one’s spiritual insights and in recognizing that, according to Nouwen, “what is most personal is universal.”   For as he suggests, “the purpose of teaching is to reveal to you what you already know—not what you don’t know.”

But to explore the course content a bit—the text was the mystical Gospel of John, as inspiration rather than exegesis; and while the course carried the somewhat bland title of “Introduction to Spirituality”, it encompassed everything from sexuality to world peace.  Using the prologue as an introduction to the course, “In the beginning was the Word”, Nouwen infused all aspects of the Word—listening,  speaking, reading, writing—with their spiritual meaning.    For example, he said writing is not having an idea first and then putting it down on paper, but rather a process through which ideas emerge and you become aware of what you are thinking: “You write that you will come to know yourself and God.”   In this sense all of us are natural writers.

The main body of the course was based on three themes Nouwen sees running through the Gospel of John: 
intimacy, with God and in interpersonal relationships.    Fear, not hate, is the opposite of love and its obstacle he said.   When we accept God’s unconditional love, we can find joy in the limited expression of this love in our intimate relationships, without feeling that we have to be God for each other.  “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.”  (I John 4:18)

Fecundity--fruitfulness, as opposed to productivity.    Our fruits come to us when we’re not looking for them, when we don’t make them our first concern but live fully in the moment.    Our task is simply to trust and to accept our fruits in gratitude and celebration.    “Whoever remains in me, with me in him or her, bears fruit in plenty.”  (John 15:5)

Ecstacy—complete joy which transcends both sadness and gladness, a place from which to look objectively at moods wherein “anxiety becomes destructive and happiness seductive.”   We all have a right to live ecstatic lives, to move out of the static places to a place of freedom, where security is not our prime concern.    This has implications for world peace as well.    “I have told you this so that my own joy may be in you, and your joy may be complete.”  (John 15:11)

The final lecture dealt with leaving.    Jesus said, “. . . it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Counselor (Spirit) will not come to you . . .  “ (John 16:7)—I want to leave you so that you can find what is uniquely yours.    A “good leaving”, said Nouwen (I’m with you now, but it’s good for you that I leave), enriches relationships in life—we get in the way; absences and remembering can bring about a greater sense of intimacy—and ultimately in death.    Grieving is a way of bringing about a new sense of presence, a new spirit which grows when someone dies, if we have dared to love fully.    This theme of presence in absence was a recurring one throughout the course. 
​   
In his absence, Henri’s spirit continues to guide our spiritual growth.                                                     

​We offer a class each year to our first grade children in preparation for first communion.  It's called "Worship Workshop".  One of the sections of the class is specifically on worship.  I learn something each year - and the parents always comment “I didn’t know that?”  It was in this class that I first heard Joe describe the worship service as mirroring the life of Christ.  The big joyful music in the beginning - like the joy of his birth.  His teaching mirrored in the sermon.  The offering is symbolic of his teachings on giving and his service.  The communion - like the breaking of the bread and sharing of the cup at that last supper... - the death, resurrection and sending.  I marveled at how I’d attended church my whole life and never knew this.  It seems like valuable information and I’ve never looked at worship the same way since.  In church, we often go through the motions - never really understanding the "why" behind the things we do - it’s just what we do - this thing called church.
 
Maybe it’s because for this one hour we get to be transported somewhere else.  Martin Copenhaver relates it to walking through the wardrobe in Narnia.  When we come into the sanctuary we enter this different world.  There’s music playing, different light, colors, strange words, stories - even people that we may not encounter the rest of the week.  "Its a world where we see ourselves, others and life a little differently.  A world where we are caught up in a special wonderful story".  So powerful that it can truly transport us - time suspended for that one hour.  A friend recently told me that she wanted to get back to church.  She longed for an escape from all the noise in her life.  A place and time to experience purity, joy and love.
 
I recall Jay Stahl, bringing frankincense back from a trip to Dubai.  It was used in the pageant that year.  Jay was one of the wisemen who brought it forward to the holy family.  I remember John Mulholland and Cady Douglass, choking , practically gagging from it - but then seeing the face of one of our members in the congregation.  I remember her breathing it in, clearly transported to another time and space.  She grew up in the Russian Orthodox church, where incense was used as part of the ritual of mass.  That scent transported her back to her childhood, where she first experienced God.
 
When I think about my own childhood experience of worship it is always with my grandparents at my side.  I remember my favorite parts of the service were the doxology, The Lord’s Prayer and the Apostles Creed.  Not only was I proud to know them by heart, but in an hour that was mostly over my head, I could finally participate!  This is why the internergenerational services are so valuable.  For too long Christian Education has been kept in a silo, generations of children never having truly experienced worship.  Church school & J2A  is important - that is when we can really learn stories like the Battle of Jericho and write prayers like used today.  But if you raise children, never having experienced worship - no connection to it, don’t be surprised when they have no desire to attend church as adults.
 
Another vivid memory of mine is being sandwiched between my grandparents, listening to them sing the hymns.  My grandpa had a big, beautiful voice.  My Nana?  Well she couldn’t hold a tune.  But there was something comforting hearing their combined voices in song.  We are so fortunate in this church to have such an incredible music program with gifted musicians.  It’s why many of you come and it’s what transports many of you through the "Narnia wardrobe" to another time and space.  But the singing of hymns and those voices intertwined in unison has a magic of its own.  In the novel, Saint Maybe by Anne Tyler, she paints the picture perfectly “His voice was a creak so he fell silent and listened to the others, to Cicely’s clear soprano, Mrs. Jordan’s plain true alto, Dr. Prescott’s rich bass.  The darkness deepens, they sang, Lord with me abide!  the voices ceased to be separate.   They plaited themselves into a multi stranded chord, and now it seemed the congregation was a single person - someone of great kindness and compassion, someone gentle and wise and forgiving".
 
So we come to get nurtured and put our heads on straight..Anne Lamotte says, “I live for Sundays.  It’s like going to the spiritual last station to full up on fuel and clean the dirty windshield and mirrors.  I usually show up nuts, self obsessed, vaguely agitated and I am at once reminded not of who I am but Whose I am.  Then everything falls into place, and I smile again at how crazy I and most of us are, but how at church, in fellowship in the arms and eyes of Jesus, I remember the truth of my spiritual identity."
 
But it is  not enough to be fed and comforted we also need to sometimes be challenged  and have our perspective shifted. We can’t stay in Narnia.  Remember there is one last part of the service - the sending - where we walk back through that wardrobe door into the world.  So if we are going to go back through the wardrobe a little changed and propelled to bring the light of Christ of others, we can’t just feel hugged.  We also need to feel nudged.  Like a parent lovingly nudging their child outside of their comfort zone to try something new, to learn, to grow.  Martin Copenhaver ends his letter on worship to his daughter by saying.  Worship with its four parts gives us another world, another story.  The great story of God’s persistent and surprising grace.  And then we go back into the ordinary world, but we are not quite the same.  We have been changed, transformed, by that different word and different story."