“Rich Toward God”
The Rev. Dr. Marta Fioriti
August 3, 2025
Plymouth Congregational UCC, Fort Collins, CO

Opening Poem: “The Peace of Wild Things” by Wendell Berry

Scripture: Luke 12:13-21 (CEB)

It is so good to be back with all of you. I’m going to pass around a little dish of tiny sand dollars.  Each of you is welcome to one.  

The Sunday before I left for my time away, we gathered in this outdoor space. I read a Wendell Berry poem and gifted each of you a red poppy. It was the weekend of the Fourth of July.

And here we are again—back outside, bookending this season with another outdoor service, another Wendell Berry poem, and, once more, a small offering from my heart to yours.

One of the questions I’ve been holding lately is this: How can I be more generous?

I’ll be honest—I’m not always the best gift-giver. Some people have a knack for it. (I might be the type that gets gifts that I actually want…).   

But I do try to give within my means, in ways that feel authentic and thoughtful. 

That same question—how can I be more generous —makes me think about how we, as a church, can be more generous, and consider all we can do with our shared resources. 

Even in church budgeting, I’d rather we not default to, “We can’t afford it.” Or, “No, we don’t have the money.” 

You know me: I’m a yes person. Or rather, let’s get creative.

So today, I brought you all a souvenir. A gesture of generosity—but more than that, a way to say: I thought of you. You all matter. You matter to the world, to Fort Collins, and to each other. Look around…. At all these beautiful humans who showed up to change the world in a time that seems impossible. It’s actually kind of remarkable. It’s also an act of generosity.  

The tiny sand dollar might be a currency of the coast—a coastal coin of sorts. A reminder that metaphor and wisdom can rise up from the ordinary when we’re paying attention. 
It’s fragile. 

It’s not meant to last forever. But it’s a token of the wild things I rested in. A symbol of generosity, I received and now pass on to you.  

This gift is a reminder that when despair hits, the world still waits to welcome you — to be generous with you. To ground you in the sacred web of life. 

The sand dollar is often found along the shore, hinting at abundance and interconnection. Some say it’s mermaid money, or currency from the mythical city of Atlantis. It carries both story and symbol.

Near the end of my time away, we went putt-putt golfing. (I wanted to go go-karting.) But in the spirit of vacation compromise, we chose the delightfully silly, slightly ridiculous game of mini golf.

The course was called “Shell We Golf." Each hole was named after a different sea urchin or shell. Early on, we arrived at the Sand Dollar Hole. A plaque at this green told about the legend of the sand dollar: 
The sand dollar's five slits represent Christ's wounds, its star the Star of Bethlehem, and its back resembles a poinsettia. Inside, five dove-shaped pieces symbolize peace. The sand dollar wears its bones on the outside—petal-like and star-shaped—reflecting themes of birth, peace, and life cycle in the Christian tradition.

The legend stayed with me. 

A creature so small, so fragile, becomes a bearer of story and wonder--a different kind of currency. It reminded me that real wealth isn’t always material. Sometimes it’s symbolic, spiritual—something that connects us to peace, to resilience, to each other.

That, I thought, is the perfect gift for Plymouth in this season—something to remind you that generosity and abundance come in all different forms. 

My journey out east was so generous to me. Before we reached the mid-Atlantic boardwalks, there was lobster.

A whole lobster.

Its beady little eyes stared at me from a pool of melted butter and lemon.

Let’s just say: it was an experience. One I may not be rushing to repeat.

That culinary adventure took place in a sweet coastal town in Massachusetts. We collected yellow jingle shells and moonstones. We built beach crèches out of driftwood, clam shells, and smooth stones — because that’s what ordained ministers do on vacation: create sacred installations for seagulls, free of charge. 

The coastal town and its creatures were generous with me, and so I became generous with them. 

I sank into the sand, felt the pulse of the earth beneath me, let the saltwater hold me. And in that moment, I came into the peace of wild things.

It was what I could offer the shore that day. 

What I could offer myself: to be buried in the beauty of sand and sweat and sea stones and waves. The coast gave us everything we needed—creativity, play, and peace—without buying a thing. God's abundance was everywhere. I felt God's generosity.

This is the wisdom I bring back with me.

This is the small treasure I hand to you now.

A sand dollar. A reminder of generosity. A prayer.

When despair grows in you, may you remember the peace of wild things.

And may the fragile, mythic, beautiful currency of the coast remind you that you belong—to the sea, to this community, and to the deep, abundant love of God.

But before the Massachusetts coast, I went to General Synod- a conference of the United Church of Christ in Kansas City, Missouri. And I Walked. 20,000 steps a day– kind of walking. Through sweltering heat, past public murals and dancing fountains. I found BBQ joints and diners that haven’t changed since 1920. Because when in Rome— I mean Kansas City— you eat barbecue.

But more than that, Kansas City was about covenant.

About the body of Christ—churches, conferences, and communities—coming together at General Synod to try, in all our imperfect ways, to be one.

Covenant is just a way of saying we’ve made a promise—to show up for each other and stay connected in a meaningful, faithful way.

Covenant doesn’t always show up with fanfare. Sometimes it shows up in grace-filled conversations. In awkward prayers and hard laughter.  In shared commitments and the quiet courage of showing up.It was a gift in a different way.The generosity of the covenanting community. 

I rested in each place that I traveled to—in the presence of people who carry pieces of my heart. And when despair for the world crept in—as it often does—Children starving in Gaza, Tariffs to high to think about sharing.. Or borders walled off. — I returned to the peace of wild things.

To boardwalk fries and late-night conversations. To long walks and little altars made of shells and sand. To grace.

And as I wandered through barbecue smoke and salty air, across boardwalks and Synod halls—this parable of the Rich Man followed me.

Darn biblical scripture couldn’t get out of my head.

It nudged me while I collected jingle shells. It whispered while I watched people line up for photo booths. It pressed on my spirit during floor debates and diner coffee.

And now I’m back—with you–This brave, beautiful, mustard-seed community.—To share my thoughts about Jesus and the Rich Man and generosity. 

Here’s the deal.  I don’t particularly like talking about money. Or the politics of possession. Or stewarding resources with a *million* different *opinions.

And yet… here’s this sacred text, tapping us on the shoulder. Keeping us honest.
Asking us: what are we doing with what we’ve been given? What is really needed? What can be let go of? What might we share?

How can we be generous? 

This parable is ultimately about our covenant with one another—our relationship to faith, to God, and to each other. It’s also about money, and what happens when money comes between relationships.

Many of Jesus’ parables center on questions of who gets what and when. So it’s surprising that we, as Christians, often struggle to talk openly about money.

In a way, Jesus is warning us about more than just greed—he's warning us about what stands in opposition to love and faith. Money, when misused or misunderstood, can drain our creativity and hold our relationships hostage. It becomes a kind of devil: a force that isolates, rather than connects.

Jesus says, don’t worry about equity or even equality, really; what you need to worry about is if you are rich toward God.  

But what the heck does “rich toward God” mean? 

Debie Thomas writes, “We prefer talking about Christian virtues that are safely abstract—faith, hope, love. But budgets? Retirement plans? Shopping habits? Tithes and offerings? Financial Campaigns? Those are so specific. So concrete. So private. But Jesus doesn’t care one whit about our middle-class sensibilities."

He says: “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”

All the man in the parable wanted was fairness—his share of the inheritance. And yet Jesus warns of greed.

Not because money is bad.

However, if we are not honest about when and how to be generous, or what money means within the community, or even recognize that abundance is right in front of us, this could cloud our capacity to trust – it could distort our understanding of how our shared ministry can actually change the world. 

Jesus was also trying to shift a culture—he’s speaking about systems not necessarily about this individual’s personal financial situation. Jesus was way too big picture for that. He was talking about cultures of accumulation. About economies that privilege hoarding over sharing.

He was sharing some wisdom on the practice of generosity.  

He invites us to live differently. To believe that there is enough--if we share it. To look beyond sides and divisions, and see the whole.

It's pretty simple really…when we share, the world works, people are fed, people are housed, relationships flourish, compassion increases, fear decreases; when we don't, we hoard, we stop trusting, we live in fear. 

Perhaps this is what it might mean to be rich toward God?! 

Not just in the poetry of our prayers, but in the priorities of our lives. In living the Gospel—rather than just reading it.  

In a couple of weeks, we will launch our mid-year campaign: Give Some. Welcome Many. A very specific and concrete ask for money.  It runs August 18–22. (one week)

Some of you remember last year’s campaign: Raise the Roof. We gave 10% to Rainbow Villages, a sanctuary for our Trans siblings, and used 90% to repay our church for a new roof.

This year, Welcome Many invites us again to live our values out loud. It concretely asks… what are Plymouth’s priorities and how will Plymouth be generous? 

Ten percent of what we raise will go to ISAAC—our beloved partners in immigrant justice. The other 90% will help us keep our building strong—pay ourselves back for the roof, fix parking lots, and ensure this space remains a beacon of hospitality.

Because mission happens in real places. On solid ground. With repaired roofs and welcoming doors.

While gallivanting across the country—putt-putting, eating lobster, and collecting shells—I realized I may not love talking about money, but I love thinking about generosity and asking faith-shaped questions about generosity. 
In receiving generosity from friends and the community, from family and creation, I was reminded of how being generous is central to our faith.

So, I ask these faith-shaped questions: What does it mean for you to be rich toward God?

• Does it mean changing the world, one life, one community at a time?
• Does it mean paying attention to the whole, rather than just the part?
• Does it mean opening our doors with care and mutual respect?
• Does it mean recognizing that what we have is already God’s?

Perhaps it's simply asking the questions: How can I be more generous? When does it make sense, and what does it look like?

Perhaps it mean resting in the peace of the wild things… knowing that we are all deeply connected. That’s what the mini sand dollars reminded me of. It was what generosity looked like to me and what made sense in this time. 

Give some. Welcome Many. 

I invite you to pray with me:
Beloveds,
What we bring to ministry is not just about dollars and digits.
It’s about trust.
It’s about alignment.
It’s about living the kind of world we believe is possible.
A world where parking lots become pathways.
Where roofs become shelter.
Where immigrants are not turned away but embraced.
Where justice is not a buzzword but a shared practice.
Jesus didn’t tell this story to shame or scold.
He told it to remind us: life is found not in possessions, but in connection.
In compassion.
In the sacred art of showing up and sharing.
So we give—not out of guilt, but gratitude.
Not because we have to, but because we get to.
Let us give—with open hands,
with honest hearts,
and with the joyful absurdity of people
who still believe God is not finished with us yet.
Amen.

“On the Road”
Luke 10.25-37
The Rev. Hal Chorpenning, Plymouth Congregational UCC
Fort Collins, Colorado
10 July 2022
 
Sometimes the Revised Common Lectionary provides difficult texts for ministers and congregations to grapple with, and sometimes it delivers just the right scripture. Today’s reading is Luke’s telling of the Parable of the Good Samaritan. How many of you know this parable? Some of you could probably recite it from memory — or at least deliver the punch line. Let’s see if you can help me fill in the blanks as I read this familiar text.

A legal expert stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to gain _________[eternal life]?”
Jesus replied, “What is written in the Law? How do you interpret it?”
He responded, “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and love your _________ [neighbor as yourself.]”
Jesus said to him, “You have answered correctly. Do this and you will live.”
But the legal expert wanted to prove that he was right, so he said to Jesus, “And who is ___________ [my neighbor]?”
Jesus replied, “A man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. He encountered thieves, who stripped him naked, beat him up, and left him near death. Now it just so happened that a _______ [priest] was also going down the same road. When he saw the injured man, he crossed over to the other side of the road and ________ [went on his way.] Likewise, a Levite came by that spot, saw the injured man, and __________ [crossed over to the other side of the road] and went on his way. A Samaritan, who was on a journey, came to where the man was. But when he saw him, he was moved with ________ [compassion]. The Samaritan went to him and bandaged his wounds, tending them with oil and wine. Then he placed the wounded man on his own donkey, took him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day, he took two full days’ worth of wages and gave them to the innkeeper. He said, ‘Take care of him, and when I return, I will pay you back for any additional costs.’ What do you think? Which one of these three was a neighbor to the man who encountered thieves?”
Then the legal expert said, “The one who demonstrated __________ [mercy/compassion] toward him.”
Jesus told him, “Go and _______ [do likewise].”
For the word of God in scripture, for the word of God among us, for the word of God within us…Thanks be to God.

This is an important text, and I want to do it justice by not delivering a sermon that conveys the same message some of you have heard since childhood: Be good to strangers and be merciful to those who are injured.

The parable is not a guideline for how to be a good citizen of the empire by being quiescent and nice…it is a countercultural wisdom tale about subversive behavior in the kingdom of God or in Beloved Community, which we hear about both in our strategic plan and in this year’s Leadership Council theme, which is “extending and embracing Beloved Community.” That concept, developed by Josiah Royce and picked up by Dr. King is not about being nice, it’s about getting real and grounding our behavior not in self-interest, which is the American Way, but for the good of all God’s people — whether Jew or Samaritan. It also means speaking the truth in love, even when it’s uncomfortable.

This was a spicy parable for the people who heard Jesus tell it, because they likely thought that the only good Samaritan was a dead Samaritan. Imagine if this parable was set in the Donbas region of Ukraine. An Orthodox priest passes along a war-torn street and sees a man injured on the side of the road, but he is on his way to say the liturgy, so he crosses to the other side of the road. Then a Ukrainian paramilitary is rushing to get a message to his commanding officer, but when he sees the injured man, he also crosses over. But then a Russian soldier sees the wounded Ukrainian man and picks him up, dresses his wounds, and brings him to a small hotel and pays for his care and lodging.

That is what a Jewish audience would have thought about a “Good” Samaritan. A very unlikely hero.

Over the last 20 years of my ministry at Plymouth, I have seen a handful of unlikely heroes in our midst. People who, among so many other acts of compassion, start a kindergarten in Ethiopia. A busy young mother of two and an attorney who makes time to chair our Strategic Planning Team and to be Plymouth’s incoming moderator. An older couple who could have rested on their laurels enjoying their retirement years, but instead chose to invest their time and money in starting girls’ schools in Angola. An old soul who embraces life in spite of a crummy cancer diagnosis and persists in celebrating life and sharing joy with others. Deacons who care so much about your experience of worship and your health and safety that they cleaned all of the restrooms after every in-person worship in the pit of the pandemic. Teams who pursue immigration justice and stand against gun violence. I could go on…there are many examples I don’t have time to cite.

We are a congregation that is filled with unlikely heroes. I have learned so much from some of you about what being Beloved Community looks like: not caring for self-interest, but doing what is right, even when it is costly.

Some translations of this parable use the English word “mercy” as the primary motivation of the Samaritan. But it isn’t “mercy” is it? Mercy is what an authority figure can bestow upon a victim or a wrongdoer. It isn’t mercy that drives the Samaritan or any of the unlikely heroes at Plymouth…it’s compassion. It is acting after sensing the pain, the need, the possible opportunity of others.

My mentor, Marcus Borg, wrote, “Jesus disclosed that God is compassionate. Jesus spoke of God that way: ‘Be compassionate, as God is compassionate.’ Compassion is the primary quality of the central figures in two of his most famous parables: the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan. And Jesus himself, as a manifestation of the sacred, is often spoken of as embodying compassion.”[1]

Marcus went further than that in saying that Jesus replaced the core value of ritual purity in the Judaism of his day with the core value of compassion. The problem is that over the last 2,000 the church universal has a pretty miserable record of showing compassion, especially to people with whom they disagree. Whether it is a Crusade or an Inquisition or quiescence during the Holocaust, many Christians are unable or unwilling to operate out of a sense of self-risking courage to be compassionate.

Courage is an underrated Christian value, and it is a precondition of compassion. Without courage, we won’t keep looking at the wounded man on the side of the road, who could be dead or contagious or violent. Our courage enables our compassion by giving us the drive to risk and to move ahead.

But if compassion is at the heart of God, if it is embodied by Jesus as the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, what keeps us from making it our universal rule of faith? I think sometimes we lack courage. This is true for me and perhaps for you, too: We sometimes get so comfortable with our low-risk lives that we don’t want to rock the boat, or we are overwhelmed by our own fear of illness or death, or we spend our energy on petty complaints that are of no real consequence. Like every church, we’ve experienced some conflicts over the years of pandemic that matter have distracted some of us from being either faithful or compassionate. When we lack courage, when we let fear get the best of us, we resort to pass-through communication, triangulation, and gossip.

Twenty years from now our petty squabbles will be forgotten…but the acts of courage and compassion wrought by members of this church will persist in the lives of people within the church and far, far beyond it. Yours are the examples that warm my heart and the hearts of others. They are the living testaments to courage that inspire me and inspire others to be courageous.

Churches around the country are in a time of transition and rebuilding, and it will take patience, wisdom, and grace to be church in the coming years. That is why the concept of Beloved Community is so critical for Plymouth to remain vital and healthy.

Since I’ll be away for a month of vacation and three months of sabbatical, I thought I’d leave you with three invitations from this parable:

1. Show up. Be courageous. Don’t cross to the other side of the street to avoid something important but painful.
2. Make a friend out of someone whom you perceive to be an enemy or at least someone who is unlike you in some way. Sometimes we need to check our presuppositions about Samaritans.
3. Operate out of two strengths that Jesus challenges us to live: courage and compassion.

My prayer for you in these months is that you will lean into your faith and really work at becoming Beloved Community grounded in the counter-cultural life of Jesus and in the encompassing love of God. Amen.
 
© 2022 Hal Chorpenning, all rights reserved. Please contact [email protected] for permission to reprint, which will typically be granted for non-profit uses.
 

[1] Marcus Borg, Speaking Christian

Sabbath as Perspective
2 of 2 in a series on Sabbath, related to Luke 12:13 – 21
 
CENTRAL POINT:
Sabbath time is different in its awareness and valuing of time, the blessing of now, the focus on non-commercial relationship, and an appreciation of kairos.
 
Someone from the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.”
 
Jesus said to him, “Man, who appointed me as judge or referee between you and your brother?”
 
Then Jesus said to them, “Watch out! Guard yourself against all kinds of greed. After all, one’s life isn’t determined by one’s possessions, even when someone is very wealthy.” 
 
Then Jesus told them a parable: “A certain rich man’s land produced a bountiful crop. He said to himself, What will I do? I have no place to store my harvest! Then he thought, Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll tear down my barns and build bigger ones. That’s where I’ll store all my grain and goods. I’ll say to myself, You have stored up plenty of goods, enough for several years. Take it easy! Eat, drink, and enjoy yourself.  But God said to him, ‘Fool, tonight you will die. Now who will get the things you have prepared for yourself?’ This is the way it will be for those who hoard things for themselves and aren’t rich toward God.”
 
For the Word in Scripture,
For the Word among us,
For the word within us,
Thanks be to God.
 
Fill in the blank: Time is _____. (money)
 
Not if you were W.K. Kellogg in 1930. It was then that he decided his cereal factory would move from three 8 hour shifts to four 6 hour shifts. Amidst the Great Depression, immediately there were 30% more jobs available at Kellogg. Kellogg paid his six-hour shift workers for 7 hour shift the first year, and for an 8 hour shift the second. Productivity rose significantly not just from new technology, but from new work incentives and these new hours. When the US Dept of Labor surveyed the workers after a couple of years of these shorter shifts, the workers overwhelmingly preferred the time more than the money they might have made. Nothing could replace the time with family, for taking care of the home, and for leisure and civic activities. Relationships and the freedom of time were more important than money. After the Depression was over, Kellogg workers consistently voted to stay with the six hour shifts for the freedom it provided them. (Not until 1984 did the workforce vote to return to an 8 hour shift.)
 
Time is NOT money.
 
In this morning’s story from the Gospel of Luke, Jesus is confronted by a man wanting money from an inheritance. As he so often does, Jesus does not respond with a simple answer or even agree to be in the role he is asked to be in. He chooses instead to tell a parable about a rich man who was having a banner economic year. This man says to himself, ‘I will tear down my barns and get bigger barns to hold it all! I’ll never have to worry or be anxious. I’ll have enough stuff, enough money.’ I think he was saying ‘I’ll be secure.’ 
 
But what money and goods can’t buy him is time. His time for death comes and all the money in the world will not give him more time. Jesus follows up this parable in Luke’s Gospel by telling people not to worry about their material security, and that worrying does nothing to make it happen by using the story of the birds and the lilies of the field where neither birds nor lilies worry, yet they seem to do just beautifully. Somehow God and God’s Creation supports them.
 
A few weeks back I talked of Sabbath and how it is a sacred exhale, like God exhaling on the seventh day.  Indeed, we must exhale in order to fully inhale, both are important to the rhythms and cycles that make for vitality.
 
Likewise, our vitality comes from the perspective that Sabbath time can bring. After that sacred exhale, a different quality of time can be realized where we can appreciate what is truly worthy, what true riches are.  An illustration about time can be helpful here. The Gospels and letters we have in what we often call the New Testament were written in Greek.  While the English translation can come out the same as simply ‘time’, Greek language can talk of both chronos, measured chronological time on a watch or calendar, and of kairos, or God’s time or sacred time.  Kairos doesn’t go in a straight line or at an even pace. Kairos is a time like the seasons, moving in cycles, dependent upon the relation of things to the whole, waiting until the time is fulfilled, until its own conditions have come to be, until it is the ripe and right time.  You can sense kairos time by the way something feels, by the length of shadows, or by color and shade, or by how soft or firm a fruit is in one’s hand.  Kairos certainly doesn’t respond to our measured schedules or personal plans and wishes. Kairos time certainly cannot be bought.
 
Jesus says to not hoard things, or to worry or be anxious. Allowing ourselves to be in kairos time of Sabbath means we have faith amidst the present unfolding of things. We rest in God. We let go of production time and getting more done or making it happen. We get out of social media and the news cycle and repetitive cycles of anxiety. Instead, we rest underneath the fruit tree and trust that things will ripen in time. We let go of obsessing about tomorrow’s outcome and let ourselves be held by God in the now, releasing the anxiety and worry of tomorrow. In this sabbath “Kairos” perspective, we remember and live not as chronos and commodity, but as a child of God and as an earth and human community. We remember our relationship to life and each other, grateful and humble. The keeping of Sabbath time, whatever day or time one does that, can bring one into the quality of the Divine perspective, sacred rhythm, and relation to the whole, to what is really important and deeply true from the perspective of Spirit.
 
This practice helps us resist the cultural flow toward only busy-ness and distraction, toward narrow and limiting frames of reference where we no longer see the forest, but only the trees.
 
During World War II, the British wanted to know how they were doing in producing enough stuff to fight the war. They decided to measure the sum of all goods and services produced. They called this the ?????. That’s right, the Gross Domestic Product. The U.N. and the rest of the developed world adopted this standard. Whenever we hear on the news that the economy grew by 2% or shrunk, it is this measurement to which they are referring. And we all seem to cheer when it goes up as if this is good for us all. But the GDP doesn’t discriminate between social activities. Indeed, you could make more bombs, or build and staff more prisons, or clean up after disasters, and the GDP would go up. There could be more income equality though the GDP goes up. More is better as far the GDP is concerned and it is only more if it can be measured in money and more stuff in bigger barns. The GDP is not necessarily just, or healthy or, as our story says, "rich toward God."
 
And what about the things that money can’t buy? 
What about the effort of any volunteer or family member who takes the time and energy to care for the home or family member, to help a neighbor, or to serve the community? The GDP won’t recognize this, let alone value it. 
 
Wayne Muller’s book, Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest, references those who bemoan the lost values of our society. Muller notes, “All these ‘lost’ values are human qualities that require time. Honesty, courage, kindness, civility, wisdom, compassion – these can only be nourished in the soil of time and attention, and need experience and practice to come to harvest.”
 
Keeping Sabbath time means taking the time to honor and nurture these kinds of values. Money is of value and the chronological time that is related to money has its place, but it is keeping Sabbath time that can maintain our perspective, can keep us from forgetting the other kinds of value and time and rhythm that are not as valued by the capitalistic, individualistic, materialistic culture at large.  This is Sabbath as perspective, helping remember the whole and what is truly of value in God’s Creation.
 
As our story suggests, one of the great interrupters of chronos and business as usual is mortality, death. It is on my heart and mind this morning because just last night we helped our 16-year-old cat to take her last breath. With family gathered around and with many tears, we did the right thing to end her suffering and it put us in a different sense of being and time.
 
And, just as those humans nearing death will say, that transition moment with death near put things in perspective.
Bronnie Ware is an Australian nurse who spent several years working in palliative care, caring for patients in the last 12 weeks of their lives. She put her observations into a book called The Top Five Regrets of the Dying. Ware writes of phenomenal clarity that people gain at the end of their lives.
Here are the top five regrets of the dying, as witnessed by Ware:
1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
2. I wish I hadn't worked so hard. Missing their children's youth and their partner's companionship.
3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
5. I wish that I had let myself be happier. (They did not realize until the end that happiness is a choice. Old patterns and habits got in the way.)
 
I invite us all in this Lenten journey to look at our lives and see if there are practices that regularly connect us to what is deeply true so we don’t have these regrets, so we don’t forget what is most important. Jesus called it being rich toward God. This is Sabbath as perspective, practices of sacred exhale and shifting out of our everyday habits of doing. Maybe it is….

• Time off work and doing
• Time away from mass and social media and cell phones
• Rituals, prayers, weekly or daily worship (a home altar)
• Sabbath moments in each day.

 
I invite us all to enter more deeply a Sabbath time and space, like sitting on a mountaintop vista, where we can see the big picture and wonder, let go of our burdens and trust in the unfolding of this moment (no matter where our lives are), where we can focus on relationship with Creation and with each other, where we can value all those things that money can’t buy and be grateful for the blessing of life.
 
We can practice being in a Sabbath time that has a taste of God’s time, that has a Sabbath perspective of what is truly rich toward God and is truly life giving. 

AMEN.

Text: Luke 9:28-36
The Message
28-31 About eight days after saying this, [Jesus] climbed the mountain to pray, taking Peter, John, and James along. While he was in prayer, the appearance of his face changed and his clothes became blinding white. At once two men were there talking with him. They turned out to be Moses and Elijah—and what a glorious appearance they made! They talked over his exodus, the one Jesus was about to complete in Jerusalem.
32-33 Meanwhile, Peter and those with him were slumped over in sleep. When they came to, rubbing their eyes, they saw Jesus in his glory and the two men standing with him. When Moses and Elijah had left, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, this is a great moment! Let’s build three memorials: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He blurted this out without thinking.
34-35 While he was babbling on like this, a light-radiant cloud enveloped them. As they found themselves buried in the cloud, they became deeply aware of God. Then there was a voice out of the cloud: “This is my Son, the Chosen! Listen to him.”
36 When the sound of the voice died away, they saw Jesus there alone. They were speechless. And they continued speechless, said not one thing to anyone during those days of what they had seen.
 
For the Word of G-d in Scripture, for the Word of G-d Among Us, For the Word of G-d within us, Thanks be to G-d!
 
A Middle Way[i]
          
Holy One, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be a blessing in your sight.  Oh G-d wherever we find ourselves in this mountaintop story, may we be fed in this time together, to return and work for justice, peace and love. Amen.

Good morning. It’s a pleasure to get to be with you today and to sink into this Transfiguration Sunday with you. And be gathered in person again.  As Pastor Hal said earlier, my name is Laura Nelson. I am one of the ministers that this church has sponsored through the ordination process. This means, that you have loved and supported me as I grew from someone curious about ministry nearly 14 years ago to just finishing my first call at the Fort Collins Area Interfaith Council. As always Thank You. I served at Interfaith Council for the past 6 years. If you haven’t come across it before, the Fort Collins Area Interfaith Council is a network of 40-ish faith communities and nonprofits in and around Fort Collins. Our Mission is: facilitating interfaith understanding, cooperation and action towards the greater good in our community. We meet once a month – and when we meet in person we rotate through gathering at different faith communities and nonprofits.  Interfaith Council is 43 years old, and has been at the start of many of the crucial nonprofits in town, especially ones about affordable housing, combating homelessness and food insecurity. 

Plymouth has always had a strong relationship with the Interfaith Council. We are one of the 10 faith communities that stepped up in 1979 to work together at the very beginning. We have been one of the largest donors. And, because Plymouth has been my church home as I took this first call, that strong relationship deepened even further. So I want to take this time to share with you what we have accomplished together in the last 6 years.

We created a Celebrations of Light Documentary highlighting the many many religious festivals celebrated in the Fort Collins Area from November to January and displayed it at the Museum of Discovery. We sponsored Interfaith Friendsgiving, a town/gown interfaith dinner that brought over 200 people together each year for dialogue and celebration with a kosher meal cooked by students. We gave away over $50,000 pooled by the faith communities to local nonprofits and new interfaith projects. We organized rallies and vigils in response to the attack on the mosque and other instances of faith-based hate in town and around the country. We hosted annual Blood Drives, honoring with our bodies that there is no Jewish or atheist or Christian or Muslim or None blood, just human blood that can save lives. 

We celebrated our 40th anniversary, making a documentary about our history, offering awards to organizations we had founded, and having a community dinner with leaders past and present. During lockdown we partnered with the World Wisdoms Project to publish videos from local folks sharing how their faith traditions were helping them through the early days of the pandemic.  And after George Floyd’s murder, we entered into the messy work of talking about racial justice as a majority white organization by sponsoring 4 Town Halls on Racism in Northern Colorado.  And we worked on how to apologize as an organization, when even our best intended efforts caused harm.[ii]  Finally, we offered care to the mountain communities during and after the Cameron Peak Fire, work that has blossomed into a Community Chaplaincy program that you will hear more about.

But those are the big flashy highlights. I think our most important work happened on the person to person level. The surprise and delight members had at getting to know each other on a deep level during our gatherings. So often, people would share with me how excited they were to get to know and then work with people who held such different beliefs than them. Or how people who were working on a project in their faith community could find resources and camaraderie with others, all who hadn’t realized the others were out there. A great example of this is the Climate and Environmental Team, who gather to collaborate on climate justice issues. But they are also a space where folks working on environmental issues in their own congregations can get support from each other, especially when they meet resistance or aren’t taken seriously. 

Leading the Interfaith Council, I got to see again and again that all of those things that make us different from each other – be it faith, or age, gender, or race – make us more creative and resilient as a community.  We are Better Together precisely because of our differences, not in spite of them. I will say this again: We are Better Together precisely because of our differences. And at the Fort Collins Interfaith Council, we got to embody that together each month.

It has been an incredible organization to lead, and to participate in.  And Plymouth – whether you know it or not – has been a major part in making it all happen. Two of the rallies used our parking lots, with permission and organizing happening swiftly and seamlessly. Our Fellowship Hall was often a backup, if there was an emergency at any other host location. As a church we have offered money and volunteer support to nearly every new project that has come out of the Interfaith Council.  And, when it came time to make the case for me to be ordained to do this work, this church entered into a new type of covenant with the Interfaith Council to make it happen. 

For so many of us who attend here, being deeply a part of interfaith work can feel like second nature, just a part of how we should be as church. But let me tell you, our presence and commitment to work that honors people of different faith traditions or no faith traditions is so powerful. It builds trust among people who are suspicious of Christians, people who have been harmed by the Christian Church. And even if it isn’t Plymouth or the United Church of Christ that did the harm, it is still our responsibility to work for that healing.

So let me bring this alongside our text for this Transfiguration Sunday. Jesus heads up a mountain with Peter, John and James to pray. And during that time of prayer, Jesus’ face changes, his clothes appear dazzling white and Moses and Elijah suddenly join him. Seeing this astounding thing, Peter wants to create a monument to the moment on the mountaintop. But instead a voice booms from the clouds saying “This is my Son, Listen to him!”[iii] And, instead of a monument, Jesus continues on, with healing and teaching.

This text that is all about transformation.[iv] A transformation that reveals a deeper truth about Jesus. It shows how transformation can connect us to the long traditions. And, it is often uncomfortable. 

If I were to look at the 43 years of Interfaith Council’s history, and especially to look at the last 6 years when I served, I would say that the most important work that we did was to demonstrate that our City is Better Together. It is a deep truth that I got to see revealed again and again when people of a different faith went from strangers to friends. That friendship made us stronger and more committed to each other when challenging times arose. And it has for every disaster and challenging time that the Interfaith Council has faced in its 43 years, connecting us to a long tradition of people coming together across major differences to meet the needs of the age.

But transformation is not usually comfortable; transformation can often feel relentless. In our text, Peter suggests they build a monument. He wants to stop, to mark this as the moment when Jesus’ work was accomplished. But that’s not how transformation – or really life – works. There is always more growth to be had, more healing, more justice, more learning to be done. I am excited to witness and cheer on the transformation that will happen at Interfaith Council in the coming years.  And for my own transformation, it is time for me to explore rest and to learn a new balance before I start whatever is next for me as a minister; let me tell you it feels like a terrifying wilderness. (Big Pause)

Oh Plymouth friends, we’ve certainly been taken by transformation these past few years. And like the disciples in our text this morning, we are tired, overwhelmed, confused. All while change marches on. So as we move into this Lenten season, a traditional time for pause and reflection, how do we honor what we have been through, knowing there is more to come? Can we find a middle way between stopping to build a grand monument and moving on as if nothing has happened? How do we support each other in our very human needs for rest and processing? I hope we take these questions with us into Lent and into our lives this week.

This is a practice that has actually helped me find a middle way, and I hope you’ll join me in it. I’ve learned it while being a part of a group reading through My Grandmother’s Hands by Resmaa Menakem. It is a body-centered approach to healing racialized trauma and working for racial justice. And it feels especially appropriate to check in with our bodies, when we are together in this space after once again having time apart. 

So, if you are here in the Plymouth building with me or at home watching the livestream, get comfortable, close your eyes if it will help, and turn your focus inward. What’s it like in your body? Are there places that feel constricted? Places that feel especially open? Does anything feel hot or cold? Is that different from before you entered the building or began this service? As as you notice those things, I invite you to just offer some loving attention to those places that are calling your attention. To be together again, or witnessing some of us be together again is a big thing and paying attention to how our bodies are responding will help us manage that experience.
 
Amen.

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[i] One of my goals for this sermon is to write simply, keep it short, and to keep my transitions really clear. There are times when I love being artful and cramming everything in.But one of the tenets of trauma-informed anything is to keep speeches short and simple. When brains are processing trauma, we don’t have as much capacity to process other things. And if there is anything that draws us all together right now as a people, it is that we are metabolizing a new global trauma and coming to a more public grips with many of the global traumas already present: inequality, institutional racism and authoritarianism. I’m going to try to use footnotes for the things that I am cutting in order to keep the spoken part more simplified and streamlined. Having now shared this sermon, I am even less convinced that I did this well. 

[ii] I don’t think I would have said it when I first started as a leader, but I am convinced now that being able to offer a real apology - that acknowledges harm and makes plans for how to reduce harm in the future and make restitution- is a crucial skill for any organization.

[iii] I just had a vision as G-d the angry mom trying to back up her son.  Like I have had to do on the playground at times, or want to but know it won’t necessarily be effective. I’ve never thought of the pull of “have to let them fight their own battles” as being a divine challenge before.

[iv] The Greek word in use here is the root word of metamorphosis or transformation. It’s in the Latin Vulgate that the word becomes the Latin word for “transfigure,” to make the claim that the core of who Jesus was stayed the same. That’s an interesting translation piece meditate on in a sermon, but there was not enough space here.