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Farewell, Rev. Angie! From our parting service.

From the sermon delivered by Rev. Mary Bea Sullivan on the Sunday of Angie’s departure:

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.

And that wind/ruah/breath of God has blown in and through the people of God from the beginning of creation. Its Wisdom guided the People of Israel… Swept over Mary, carrying the Word made Flesh Swept over the early disciples of Christ as they gathered that Pentecost morning, accused of inebriation, but in fact, they were drunk with the Spirit.

That same wind of God swept over a young mother,  Angie Wright, who chose to go to seminary, not to become a pastor OR preacher, but to to study and figure out what exactly she believed! She thought she would always do social justice work, that her “call” was to do that work in the context of the church, and not to be a pastor. She was so convinced of this, she even tried to get out of taking a required preaching class.

But ruah, breath of God stirred in Angie’s heart a wind that could not be denied. Angie, as one unique manifestation of the image and likeness of God, could not deny the stirrings of the Spirit.

Continue reading Farewell, Rev. Angie! From our parting service. →

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Advent Reflection

Advent Reflection by Mary Bea-Sullivan

This time of year, I often wonder what it was like for the disciples to have been so physically close to Christ.  What joy to  have been in that All-Loving Presence-in the morning drinking tea together, walking down dusty roads, sitting at his feet while he taught.

And then I try to imagine how it was for Peter, James, Mary Magdalene and the others during those last days.  What was it like to fall so precipitously from the heights of Palm Sunday, to the depths of the crucifixion, down to the hellish darkness of what we Christians call Holy Saturday?  How deep their sorrow must have been standing outside of that tomb.

We all experience some version of this emptiness-when we cannot feel God’s presence.  When the consolation of God’s love is replaced with dark desolation.  This experience of despair can last only a few moments; other times days, months, even years are consumed by it.  Perhaps you are going through some version of this in your life now.

I remember empty and scary times of my own.  The most difficult were moving to Tokyo with young children and feeling lost and alone, grieving the death of a beloved friend, and during my divorce.  Each time I wanted to hurry through the uncomfortable feelings-looking for quick fixes to distract me from the pain.

Recently I was with a friend who had returned from India.  She had spent time with the most impoverished people there.  “I’ve traveled all over.”  She said.  “This trip was the hardest because I struggle with the fact that I don’t see any hope that things will get better for those people.”  Listening to her I thought, this is a Holy-Hellish Saturday time for her.

Thankfully, we are a hope-filled people.  Still, we have those times when we feel as if the stone has been rolled in front of the tomb.  These experiences are so difficult, it is natural to want to wish them away-for ourselves and for those whom we love.

Yet there is something in the darkness of letting go of all that we have hoped for, all that we have known before, that is essential to our journey.  I do not welcome Holy-Hellish Saturdays; and I am grateful for the truths they have revealed for me.

-Mary Bea Sullivan

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Lenten reflection

Lenten reflection from Mary Sullivan

Jeremiah 15:10-21, Phillipians 3: 15-21, John 12-20-26

“Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also.” John 12:26             

When Brendan and Kiki were young, we lived in Tokyo, attending services at the Tokyo Union Church (TUC), a non-denominational Christian church primarily serving the expatriot community.

At this same time, there lived a hidden population of homeless men who would roll out their mats each night and sleep on the cold cement floor of the Shibuya eki (train station).  Touched by this unacknowledged suffering, a group from TUC decided to feed this homeless community.  Each day a small band of volunteers would meet in the basement of the church to laugh, cook rice, and assemble onigiri (dried plums wrapped in rice and seaweed).  The nutritious packages would be placed in bento boxes to be collected by another volunteer in the afternoon.

The following morning, another pair of volunteers would deliver the onigiri by 5 am so the homeless men would be fed before they were pushed out of the station.  Many were the cold, winter mornings when these volunteers would leave their homes as early as 4:15, walk to the train station with their bags of nourishment for the ride to Shibuya.

Silently this team of wingless angels would place their life-sustaining parcels on the corner of each sleeping mat, gliding through the station in living prayer.  Some of the homeless men were old and infirmed; others were young and afraid; many smelled, most were sleeping when their breakfast was delivered.  Occasionally one would open his eyes–the very eyes of Christ, and murmer a grateful, “domo arrigato.”   To which the volunteer would respond, “Do itashimashite,”  traditionally translated as “you are welcome.”  But in this instance it may be more appropriate to imagine its meaning as, “This is what I am here to do–to serve you, nourish you, honor your dignity as a child of God.  Placing this package on your mat is a small gesture in the grand scheme of all that I have been given. Thank you for the opportunity to serve.”

It took a team of people willing to lose their life of comfort and leave their warm beds at 4 in the morning; to be able to overcome their fears of delivering food to smelly strangers in the bowels of a train station; to be interested in the well-being of not only their own families, but also those of the human family, for this moment of communion to be lived out each and every morning.

Christ has died.  Christ has risen.  Christ will come again.

-Mary Sullivan

 

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