guest posts – Southwest Conference Blog

What kind of day is Palm Sunday?

by Rev. Paul A. Whitlock

It’s the observance of a tragedy. It’s not a day of simple optimism. We know all about optimism; we’ve tried to be optimistic while the various countries of the world, including our own, position for war. We’ve tried to be optimistic while our government is falling apart and lacks the moral leadership to dig us out of this hole.
Palm Sunday is the observance of a tragedy, but not a day of despair.

Palm Sunday is one bright and glorious moment in human history when we proclaim the courage and the integrity of God in Christ. Palm Sunday isn’t a day when we throw up our hands because Jesus was killed. It’s not a day of pessimism when we condemn the people of the first century, the crowds which later became ugly. It’s not a day when we get morose over the money changers in the temple and declare that nothing ever turns out well.

Palm Sunday, rather, is a day when knowing…

People are fickle and get tired of parades and go home
Religious leaders like things neat and tidy and kill reformers
The humble truth teller is walked upon
People will sell their souls for a handful of silver
Even good friends will sleep while we suffer

Knowing all of this, Jesus still came riding into town.

Palm Sunday is a bright and glorious day when love turned into courage and integrity and became a small parade headed for the gallows. It’s the day that Jesus the Christ, knowing the facts of life – the truth about our person, and the truth of what we do when we get together – knowing all this Jesus loving does what he is called to do, and does it without bitter and ill feeling towards us. It’s so tragic that it had to come to this. It’s so tragic that God had to do that for us.

Palm Sunday is a tragedy, but a tragedy worth celebrating.

photo credit: Rev. Paul A. Whitlock, Church of the Palms UCC

Living A Different Story: A Message From Jerusalem

Kay Klinkenborg at Church of the Palms UCC sent us this article and knows Elie Pritz, the author of this piece, who lives and works in Jerusalem. She was raised there and is a Christian who, 10 years ago, founded a NGO to work on peace curriculum in teaching children K-12 non-violent options and peace building. Elie has lived her entire life in Jerusalem, has an American father and Swiss mother. Her pain about the issues in Palestine/Israel is palpable. She wrote this for her December newsletter.

It was about a month after the war started that I walked into Hand in Hand—a Hebrew-Arabic school in Jerusalem. We had originally planned to meet on October 9th, which clearly didn’t happen after the war broke out on October 7th. I was surprised when, a month later, they contacted me and asked if we could try again. Wasn’t their plate already ridiculously full, trying to keep a school like theirs running during a war? But we set a date and time, and two days later I was sitting inside the principal’s office, preparing to talk to her and one of the English teachers about our Peace Heroes program.

Bilingual schools (Hebrew and Arabic) are very rare in Israel. The vast majority of schools are sector based: secular Israeli Jewish schools, religious Jewish schools, Palestinian Israeli (Muslim and Christian) schools. Schools don’t integrate. The nine bilingual schools dispersed throughout the country are an anomaly—a place where Jewish and Palestinian Israelis can learn together in one another’s languages.

Peace Heroes' founder and program director, Elie Pritz. — Peace Heroes’ founder and program director, Elie Pritz.

I could only imagine how recent events would have greatly strained this mixed school community. So I asked the Jewish Israeli principal how this war has affected them.

“Look,” she said, “we’re in a war. And our students represent both sides of this war. It’s hard. But unlike some other organizations, we don’t have the privilege of going into ourselves right now, to reflect on the situation and decide how to move forward. Our students are coming to school every day. We have to figure this out every day.”

The English teacher, a Palestinian Israeli, said: “After October 7th I didn’t want to come in to work. But I chose to come anyway. Every day I wake up and I make that choice all over again—the choice to be here…It’s not easy, but it’s my choice. It’s the choice every single one of us in this school is making.”

We spent the next hour talking about Peace Heroes, brainstorming ways they could make it part of their school program. It was the first time in a month I felt inspired and even hopeful. Here is a school that is doing the hard (hard!) work of figuring out how to live life together. Here is a school that understands, at an existential level, how crucial it is to raise the next generation of leaders in this land to be pursuers of peace and mutual thriving. They loved the idea of using stories of Peace Heroes from all over the world—as well as from the region—to not only model to their students how to navigate really hard things while still upholding the dignity of all people, but also to open up difficult conversations around identity, justice, and security within the safe space of storytelling.

At the end of the meeting the principal told me that our hour together felt like oxygen to the soul. I understood what she meant. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again, even if only for a moment. To be in the room together with people who, like me, were making a supreme effort to swim against the tide that in this moment is dividing not only the people of this land but also of the world, brought me to tears. Tears of relief in feeling that there are others who are doing what is possibly one of the hardest and most isolating things to do in a war: fighting to stay united, to be in relationship, to be mutually empathetic to and supportive of one another’s identity as well as experience of the nightmare we are all living through.

October 7th and its aftermath is changing our landscape in a way that will take us years to fully understand. In the days following the beginning of the war, people everywhere asked me to tell them how I was doing, to explain to them what was happening. It felt impossible. I was stunned into silence, completely unable to articulate the chaos, trauma, fear, and grief we were all suddenly plunged into. And yet, even while I sat in this stunned silence, I was completely taken aback by the onslaught of divisive and damaging words being spewed out by people around the world, aimed at one or other of the communities in this land. This tsunami of hate-filled words quickly spiraled me down into a despairing depression. I felt as voiceless as I’ve ever felt, and so alone in my desire to push forward another narrative, to tell a different story.

But slowly, I began to hear other voices speaking the words I could not speak—local peacemakers, both Israeli and Palestinian, whose stories I had written, whose organizations I had been following since the days I had started my journey with Peace Heroes more than a decade ago.* These people were articulating what I could not: the unbelievable pain of the moment we suddenly found ourselves in, AND the absolute necessity of upholding the dignity of all the people in this place. Their voices anchored me the way nothing else could. They gave me solid ground to stand on and brought me back to myself and to what I knew to be true: that violence is our common enemy, and that taking a stand against violence and its dehumanizing effects is the only way we will ever come out of this moment with our humanity still intact.

Words matter. They matter so much. Words can break our world or they can remake it. It took me a few weeks to connect the dots (blame the war—it messes with one’s ability to think logically), but it finally dawned on me that I do have life giving words. I’ve been writing them for a decade, telling the stories of people from all over the world—as well as from Israel and Palestine—who have faced devastating situations and have chosen to be a light in the darkness, a force for healing rather than division, hate, and fear. Voices that will never stop trying to remake our world.

Hand in Hand school is one of these voices. They understand the toxicity of the space we are living in, and the urgency of raising our voice to tell (and live) a different story. Peacemakers are often the first to be sidelined in a war, but I believe it is precisely these people who are doing the hardest work of all: the work of daily choosing to live out a different reality. A reality that says to people across the divide: “You matter, and I will live my life in a way that manifests this conviction and upholds your dignity as well as mine, no matter what.” This is the only reality that promises any kind of viable and shared future in this land.

As this year comes to a close it is my deepest hope that we will all follow in the footsteps of these peacemakers. May we live a different story–one that daily chooses to remake our broken world.

The Little Church That Could

by Rev. Tina Campbell

I told them I wasn’t a parish pastor. My first gig was on the streets of the Southside of Chicago and I did no parish field work in seminary. I prayed in long houses in British Columbia and was perfectly at home inside a maximum security prison unit. Addicts and inmates, dying people and rebellious teenagers didn’t daunt me, but I certainly wasn’t a parish pastor. This is not to say that I am without faith. The kind of ministry I have experienced is not for the faint of heart. So ok…I’ll strike a deal. I’ll come and preach and then go home. They agreed to that. Then I watched them.

They did everything at the church. They cleaned the bathrooms. They replaced toilets. They brought food. They prepared the bulletins. There was a dog who sat in the front pew and seemed to listen to my sermons. There was a piano player who could make all my favorite songs fill the sanctuary with joy. They never said, “We’ve done enough.” They always said, “How can I help?” They never said, “I’m too busy.” They always said, “I’ll do that right away.” They didn’t just talk about the unhoused in our downtown Phoenix community, they showed up in person to visit with them. They made hundreds of blankets for our asylum seeking neighbors in Mexico and convinced non-church community members to bring carloads of food to place at our altar before distribution to local food banks. The men clean up the kitchen. They know stuff about addiction, incarceration, poverty, LBGTQ issues and loss.. They’re even fun, and they laugh and tease one another. They recently raised thousands of dollars to provide heat relief during our desert climate crisis.

After awhile, I started looking at their dear faces from the pulpit, and I realized that I loved them, especially the dog. It seems I’m a parish pastor after all. God certainly has a wild sense of humor.

I will not be among the hand wringers who prophesize the demise of the Christian church. I believe our strength is not in numbers, but in bold faith put into action. If we focus on acting out the Good News of the all inclusive Gospel, we can’t go wrong. Black Mountain United Church of Christ has taught me that. I say this with good authority. After all, I’m a parish pastor.

The Reverend Dr. Kristina Campbell

Transitional Minister Black Mountain United Church of Christ

Scottsdale, Arizona

Called to Love, Not to Fear 

guest post by Clara Sims, intern MID at First Congregational UCC Albuquerque

In June, churches nationwide celebrated Pride month – affirming that all people in the LGBTQ+ community are our siblings in Christ, beloved, precious, and irreplaceable members of our faith communities. However, our love and celebration this year have been set against an alarming national backdrop of increasing discrimination, hate, and violence toward our LGBTQ+ communities and, especially, toward our trans and non-binary siblings.

This national trend hit home when several faith communities learned of a local church planning to host transphobic speakers after showing the film “What is a Woman?” This film seeks to investigate the gender-fluid movement, though it does so from a decided lens of dismissal, negative bias, and fear. When such a film debuts upon this national stage of violence and fear toward LGBTQ+ communities, from the banning of medical care for transgender youth in Texas to the targeting of Pride events by militant right-wing groups, it leads me and many faith-community leaders in the greater Albuquerque area to ask different questions.

Not “what is a woman?” but “what are we afraid of?” Are we really afraid of allowing people to claim and celebrate the wholeness of their humanity? Are we really afraid of people who feel worthy enough to celebrate who they are – as God made them?

Our faith calls us to question the validity of such fear. It calls us to ask what is at stake when we choose fear over love? 

As decades of data demonstrate, people’s lives are at stake. Trans lives, non-binary lives, queer lives. Children’s lives, unborn lives – the very same the recent Supreme Court ruling to overturn Roe v. Wade claims to protect. According to the Trevor Project, an organization that provides crisis support for LGBTQ+ youth, nearly half of LGBTQ+ youth seriously considered suicide in the past year. Suicide is an epidemic among LGBTQ+ youth. When leaders, from politicians to clergy, use fear-filled rhetoric to stigmatize children and teenagers who are simply seeking to live their lives with integrity, the impact of emotional, mental, and spiritual suffering is deadly.

The Gospel offers much on the validity of fear that stigmatizes entire communities – it has no place in the kingdom of God, no place in the good news we are to proclaim to one another. We are called to love, not to fear. “There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear.” (John 4:18). 

The LGBTQ+ community are among the neighbors Jesus commanded his followers, over and over and in no uncertain terms, to love and treat with worth and dignity that the fallibility of our human judgments cannot set aside.

 As right-wing political-religious rhetoric doubles down on framing the beautiful diversity of gender and sexual identities and expressions among the LGBTQ+ community as counter to God’s will for creation, may we remember that our greatest commandment is to love one another, without criteria for who counts and who doesn’t. This will take courage and faith in the goodness of God’s community of creation; this will take risking ourselves to the blessing of a world in which everyone is needed, not as some want them to be, but as they truly are. 

Beyond the Bell Jar: Reclaiming the Life and Art of Sylvia Plath

by Kathryn Andrews, Desert Palm United Church of Christ Council and W.I.S.E. Committee

For many years, I knew Sylvia Plath only as an author who ended her life at age 30 after producing an excellent but depressing book called The Bell Jar. That understanding changed after I read Heather Clark’s Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath. This biography celebrates Plath as a disciplined and prolific artist who helped to reform modern poetry and posthumously earned the Pulitzer Prize for her Collected Poems. The book also contains a sobering history of Plath’s struggle with mental health issues.

Plath’s family was riddled with mental illness. Her immigrant father engaged in a slow-moving suicide by refusing treatment for diabetes for two years. He died in 1940 when Plath was eight. The book points out that young children who lose a parent run an increased risk of suicide later in life. Plath fit that pattern. Unknown to Plath, her paternal grandmother had died in an Oregon insane asylum years before. When Plath’s own depression surfaced at age 20, doctors repeatedly subjected her to a primitive form of electroshock therapy without anesthetic. According to Clark, Plath “was at the mercy of a patriarchal medical system that assumed that highly ambitious, strong-willed women were neurotic. As women, Plath and her mother had no power to defy the system.”

The absence of her father and family financial worries galvanized and haunted Plath. She was able to partially finance her education at Smith by selling her poems and stories to national magazines. Plath later won a Fulbright Fellowship to Cambridge. There she met and married Ted Hughes, who eventually became England’s Poet Laureate. Each contributed to the other’s professional growth; both were working toward an “unliterary” poetry “composed as much for the ear as for the eye.” Their relationship was progressive for its time, but also volatile. Plath seethed over the patriarchy and male humanist tradition that frequently denied her recognition while celebrating her husband’s accomplishments. In Daddy, Plath rages against her lost father, who also personifies “a bankrupt culture” and “patriarchal tormentors.” Linking her father and husband, Plath writes, “I made a model of you . . .and I said I do, I do” but by the end of the poem Plath declares: “I’m through.”

Following the birth of their second child and her husband’s departure, Plath entered a new level of depression while also taking her art to a new level. Plath’s own mental health crisis and her father’s immigrant struggles gave her insights into the life of the outcast, and her writings from this period explore the viewpoints of marginalized mothers, refugees, and Jews. She became one of the first poets to write about miscarriage and post-partum anxiety. More generally, her poems “open up new aesthetic possibilities that would change the direction of modern poetry.” The darkness also came through, as in Sheep in Fog: “My bones hold a stillness, the far/Fields melt my heart./They threaten/To let me through to a heaven/Starless and fatherless, a dark water.”

Plath would not live to see widespread critical acclaim or her works become best-sellers. As her depression deepened, Plath feared another round of botched electroshock therapy. She ended her life on the morning she was scheduled to enter a psychiatric hospital. But as Plath’s daughter later wrote, and Red Comet affirms, “The art was not to fall.”

Our Trip to the Border

by Jane McNamara, Chair, Immigration Task Force, First Church UCC Phoenix

Hidden along the edge of the concrete ramp were 20 or 25 coins. I carefully picked them out of the sand and put them in the back pocket of my jeans. Nearby were torn pieces of paper money from Cuba – and strewn everywhere were shoelaces, belts, clothing items of all kinds, backpacks and shoes. Lots of shoes.

There is an explanation for what we saw at the border last week. Our guides, Fernie and Nathalie with the non-profit AZCA Humanitarian Coalition, said that Border Patrol agents require all migrants to leave their possessions behind. Agents say they don’t have the personnel to do the needed security checks. So, when they process migrants seeking asylum after they’ve crossed the border into the United States, migrants are given a clear plastic bag for their papers and perhaps a phone – and that is what they bring with them to the Welcome Center in Phoenix.

And the shoes? Since many cross water, they leave their muddy, wet shoes and wear someone else’s that have dried in the sun. An explanation, perhaps, for why so many guests at the Welcome Center are wearing shoes that fit them so poorly.

It was clear from our visit that Fernie and Nathalie would like to find ways to reuse more belongings but there isn’t the volunteer network that would be needed to undertake such a project. Instead, the AZCA Humanitarian Coalition organizes border aid trips, leaving water and fruit for asylum-seekers and, importantly, “restoring” the land. Five of us helped them one morning last week, following them along the dirt road by the border from Yuma to San Luis, making six stops and encountering migrants in many places along the way. And yes there are gaps in the wall near Yuma – and the wall will never be “finished.” Farmers demand access to water and the federal wall ends where the Cocopah Reservation begins.

We did not see Border Patrol process any asylum-seekers while we were there, but the evidence that they do indeed require everyone to throw away their personal possessions is everywhere. We filled bags and bags of “trash” and left them in the dumpsters parked along the border. In a few places, migrants picked up bags and helped us.

And afterwards, some of us brought items we found on the border to the Welcome Center. I washed hundreds of shoelaces in hopes our visitors to the Ropa (clothing) Room might be able to use them. My sister brought in the white confirmation dress she found and pinned it on a wall in the Ropa Room, thinking the mother who left it behind might visit us and see it, just waiting for her to reclaim it.

And I kept the coins I had found in my pocket.

Late last Saturday afternoon, four women who had chosen some clothing items from the Ropa Room were sitting on benches in the hallway, and one of the women was crying. I gave her a small stuffed dog and asked if she missed her family. One of the other women said she had been talking to her mother in Peru. Peru? I had never met anyone at the Welcome Center from Peru, but the coins in my pocket were Peruvian. I gave them to her and she placed them in her hand and stroked them ever so gently.

It was surely another one of the “God things” we witness so often at the Welcome Center.

We are truly blessed to be able to help welcome our newest immigrants to this country, and assist them as they pass through Phoenix on their way to sponsors throughout the country. And everyone who has donated clothing or shoes or tote bags or who has contributed to our meal fund is part of our First Church team. We are making a difference in people’s lives. Thank you.

Installation Sermon for Rev. Susan Valiquette

by Rev. Sue Joiner, Senior Minister, First Congregational United Church of Christ, Albuquerque, New Mexico

Installation Sermon for Susan Valiquette

November 7, 2021

John 12:1-8 and John 11:44

12 Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ²There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. ³Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. ⁴But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ⁵“Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” ⁶(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) ⁷Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. ⁸You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

We live our lives based on the stories we have been told and even more, the stories we tell ourselves over and over. I heard a story in college that continues to profoundly shape my theology. Wes Seeliger tells this story from his own childhood. It may or may not be a coincidence that the one who changes everything in this story is named Susan. Wes said,

“Grandmother’s living room was large and dark.  She kept the shades down so her furniture wouldn’t fade.  One day in 1943, when I was five years old, I sat in the middle of her living room floor playing with my toy cars.  I had at least a hundred; fire trucks, buses, tractors, everything – even a hearse.

‘For me, playing with cars was serious business and there was definitely a “right” way to do it.  The idea was to form a large circle of cars on the living room floor.  And the cars had to be evenly spaced.  Precision was of the essence. I placed my toy box in the middle of the floor.  Then, I took each car out of the box and began forming my circle.  I was very careful.  No two fire trucks could be together.  No two cars the same color could be together.  It was a tedious process, but I was a determined kid.

When the circle was complete, I sat in the middle and admired my cars and my handiwork.  And since my grandmother never used the living room, my circle remained intact for days.  I returned time and time again to look at my cars and to make minor aesthetic adjustments.

One morning I was sitting in the middle of my circle.  Peace and contentment bathed my five-year-old soul as I surveyed my almost perfect toy kingdom with everything in its proper order.

Then came Susan.  Susan was my 3-year-old cousin, and she was a live wire.  Susan took one look at my precious circle of toys and charged.  My precious, tranquil circle was destroyed in an instant.  She kicked and threw my cars all over the room.  She was laughing and squealing – I was crying and screaming.  Grandmother dashed in to see who was being murdered. Grandmother told me later than I cried for two hours, and she had to rock me to sleep that night.  How can you sleep when your world has been destroyed?

The next morning, I went into the living room to survey the damage.  I was about to begin the painful process of rebuilding when Grandmother told me that Susan was coming over, so I gave up in despair.  So, when my rambunctious little cousin arrived there was nothing to destroy.

I met Susan at the door to try and avoid additional damage. Susan suggested that we take the cars outside.  What an idea!  I hadn’t thought of that.  But what if they get dirty?  What if one gets lost or broken?  It wasn’t my idea of playing cars, but I gave in.  I decided to risk taking my cars outside.  No use trying to build a circle with Susan around. We played outside all day.  We put real dirt in the dump truck.  We made ramps, forts, and tunnels.  I even let Susan talk me into crashing the cars together.  I had no idea playing cars could be so much fun.’

A lot of water has gone under the bridge since that day in 1943.  I have listened to hundreds of sermons and Sunday school lessons.  I have read stacks of theology books.  And a seminary degree hangs on my wall.

But I think Susan taught me all I really need to know about theology – SIN (unfaith) is sitting in the middle of our homemade universe; FAITH – is the courage and freedom to leave the dark, musty, familiar, living room and take what we love most into the great outdoors.”

Susan, you know the literal truth of this story already. You find energy outside, and you make sure you get out as much as you can. It keeps you grounded, and I experience that when I hear you pray because I feel your connection to God. Is there something you love that you are called to carry into the great outdoors?

Let’s be honest. The world is not always open to Susans. Susans come along and question how things have been done. Susans may suggest an extravagant alternative and that can be a threat. At the same time, it can be so beautiful. It is 2021 and the world still isn’t sure what to do with women in leadership. What a gift that First Church has been open and welcoming and loving with you. It is important for all of us to embrace your unique ministry here.

No one knew what to do with Mary. She sat with Jesus instead of working in the kitchen. Here she takes very expensive perfume and pours it on Jesus’ feet. Note she doesn’t just use a drop or two, she empties the jar and then wipes his feet with her hair. Could she be any more embarrassing? Where is her sense of dignity? But Jesus saw her. He saw the ways she ministered from the depth of her being. She wasn’t trying to be someone else. She wasn’t trying to fit in to a mold that didn’t fit. In fact, she is used to criticism. She doesn’t let that stop her from ministering in the way that is authentically her.

My concern about the stories we tell ourselves is that those stories may be the ones that keep us from being who we are at any given time. Susan, God called you to ministry. Today you are installed at First Church, and you all say a wholehearted yes to each other. My hope is that this covenant you make with one another will allow you to be who are as you serve this congregation. By doing so, you may all be surprised by the joy you find when you take what you love most into the great outdoors.

I didn’t read the story from John that comes before Mary’s ministry to Jesus, but it is important. Mary and Martha’s brother has died. He has been in the tomb for four days and he smells. Jesus calls Lazarus out of the tomb and then he turns to the people gathered and gives them a simple instruction: “unbind him and let him go.” My friends, that is what we are here to do. My understanding is that you know this, First Church. You have a history of it. My prayer for you as a church is that these will be your guiding words in the days to come. Jesus did not turn to the ordained minister. He did not turn to the lay leader. He turned to the entire gathered community and called them to be the ones who would unbind Lazarus. It is what we do for each other. It is what we do for those who dare to walk through our doors or log on to see if they could possibly be welcome here because they have been told there is no place for them in God’s church. It is what we do for those who have sacrificed everything to step into this country, hoping to find freedom. It is what we do for those in recovery, for those who are housing insecure, for those who are struggling with mental health challenges.

If we are going to unbind them and let them go, it will take all of us. This is not a job for a few volunteers or committee chairs. It will require the whole community to listen to one another and care for one another. It will mean decisions that are difficult. It will mean loss and sacrifice. It will take us into places that are scary and unknown and sometimes places where it seems there is only death. It is into those very places that Jesus calls us to make room for life.

We are trying to be the church in difficult times. The pandemic has taken over five million lives. There have been more than 37,000 deaths to gun violence in the United States this year alone. Suicide is among the leading causes of death in our country. Our planet is dying before our own eyes. As we have made decisions over the last twenty months, we are not just talking about what we should do, we are asking “who could die if we do this?” Death is not hypothetical.

We worship a God who teaches us again and again that death is not the last word. People are dying around us. God is not shielding us from death, but rather calling us to be the ones who will “practice resurrection” to use Wendell Berry’s words.

God is at work in the world right now. God is breathing life into those places where this is no hope, where there is nothing but death. God is showing us a new way. As Kate Bowler says, “God can make things new with or without us. But God chooses to use us.” Be warned, we are going to be asked to get involved. God will remove the stones from places we believed were only death. Then we are called to step in and begin the process of unbinding.

Wes Seeliger didn’t experience deep joy until he risked losing his precious cars. Susan taught him that life is to be lived out in the world and that means things will get dirty and broken along the way. But she showed him to live fully.

Before he became a full-time poet, David Whyte tells about being stressed and feeling like he was in a dead-end. He met with Brother David Stendl-Rast and said, “Speak to me of exhaustion.”  [David Stendl-Rast] put his glass down for a moment and realized that David Whyte was absolutely exhausted.  David Stendl-Rast said, “You know, David, the antidote to exhaustion is not necessarily rest.”  And David Whyte repeated, “The antidote to exhaustion is not necessarily rest.  What is the antidote to exhaustion?”  He said, “The antidote to exhaustion is wholeheartedness.  This is the point where you have to take a full step into your métier (meh·tee·ay), into your future vocation, and wholeheartedly risk yourself in that world.” (https://gratefulness.org/dw-session-1-transcript/).

In 2017, we took Kadhim Albumohammed into Sanctuary at First Congregational, Albuquerque. We did this with the support of the Southwest Conference, Bill Lyons, Ken Heintzelman, and Brendan Mahoney who flew to Albuquerque to talk with us about the legal implications of this decision. Kadhim was from Iraq. He worked for the U.S. military to teach them language and culture with the promise that they would take care of him. Instead, he received a letter to report for deportation. To be deported was guaranteed torture and death. He had betrayed his country and he would pay for it if he was sent home. In November that year, the Native American youth from the Rehoboth School in Gallup came to sing for worship. Afterward, they asked to hear Kadhim’s story. He spoke with them and then they asked him to stand in the middle of the sanctuary. They formed a circle around him and sang the words, “We are not alone.” When I hear these words, I am reminded that in the most difficult situations, God is with us.

Susan, First Church friends, today you commit to ministry together and my prayer for all of you is to do so wholeheartedly, to ground yourself in a God who calls us to life and to know this work must be done together. God is with you. May you discover the fullness of God’s love as you practice resurrection in the days to come.

Relational Ways of Being the Church for Post-Pandemic Times

by Rev. Kari Collins

Many of our local churches are weary. Many are struggling. We have long treated our local churches like transactions. How many members do we have? How many are in attendance each Sunday. Are all of the vacancies filled on our committees and ministries? How many children and youth do we have? How much is our budget? And we’ve limited our ministry by saying, “We’ve never done it that way,” or its corollary, “We’ve always done it this way.” But transactions are numbers, and the truth is, those numbers have been in decline for many of our churches for decades.

And then the pandemic hit. Our in-person church stopped. Our society stopped. Our entire world stopped. And while many of our churches were able to pivot to online methods of worship and ministry, pandemic fatigue is real for so many of us!

In a recent article titled, “They’re Not Coming Back,” Reverend Rob Dyer contends that even as we slowly reopen our churches, people are not coming back to the church, at least not at the same level of engagement as before…. nor will they. We have all been traumatized by this pandemic.

So what do we do? How do we, our churches, reintroduce ourselves as a place that can tend to the wounds that this pandemic has opened in all of us?

I believe we have a choice. We can continue to be transactional churches and see our numbers decline, now even more precipitously post-pandemic than before.

Or, we can see this post-pandemic time as an opportunity to operate differently as church, an opportunity to transform lives in new ways.

And it is in this opportunity that I find hope. This will require innovative change. And, to be honest, we don’t know what these changes might look like. And this is where God comes in.

Each and every one of us has gifts for ministry. If we work to develop and deepen our relationships with one another, we can seek to understand the life experiences and beliefs that shape who we are and how we are each Called to share our gifts and talents in the world. And we need to deepen our relationships with intention. Now I’m not talking about joining more committees or ministries, where we have meetings to attend and tasks to be done. Rather, I’m inviting us to be in intentional one-to-one relational conversations with each other, during which we listen for and draw out the Spirit abiding in one another. It was during an intentional one-to-one relational conversation that I began to discern my Call to parish ministry, as my conversation partner shared his stories about the justice work that he had done in the local church setting.

And we have the opportunity to have one-to-one relational conversations with those who can’t or don’t or won’t come to a church building on Sunday mornings, and to listen for where Spirit abides in them. What they are longing for? And how can we, as church, partner with them to follow Jesus in new ways, ways that aren’t limited to bringing people into a church building on Sunday mornings?

When we shift our churches from being transactional to being relational, Spirit can be at work. And when we let Spirit work, we can develop partners in ministry to help us to truly live the prophetic and revolutionary teachings of Jesus, to find new ways to be the hands and feet of Jesus in our community and in our world. The pandemic has given us the opportunity to grab onto change.

Reverend Dyer concludes his article by saying, “The need for a major pivot is before us, and we know that God will provide for the times and places where we are found. Therefore, let us walk into this valley with eyes wide open, ready to step forward with intention, believing in the presence of the Good Shepherd, the proximity of green pastures, the provided meal amongst adversity, the anointing of our heads, the overflowing of our cups, and our place in the House of the Lord forever.”

Let us follow the prophetic and revolutionary teachings of Jesus together, in deep relationship with one another, listening for where Spirit is alive in each and every one of us, and seeing in what new ways God is Calling us to Be the Church.

Rev. Kari Collins (she/her/hers)

Vice Moderator, Casas Adobes UCC, Tucson, AZ
Minister of Stewardship and Philanthropy, Sixth Avenue UCC, Denver, CO
Consultant to churches in the Rocky Mountain Conference UCC on ways to shift from a culture of scarcity in our churches to an expectation of abundance, inviting people to invest in ministry that transforms lives.

Missing Sermons and Lessons: Part I of II “Why Shy and Silent About Domestic Violence?”

(This series is about adult with adult relationships)

by Kay Klinkenborg, Church of the Palms

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, a topic we seldom write about in our religious or spiritual articles. I was about 40 years old, married to an ordained minister and the first time in my life I heard a sermon from the pulpit on domestic violence in the home and relationships. It was delivered by my husband. It took another 10 years before I heard a second sermon from the pulpit on domestic violence DV.

The second sermon was preached by Dr. Roger Compton, pastor of Central Baptist Church in Springfield, IL. He preached a clear and definitive message on DV and the church’s Christian appropriate response to the victims, in our homes and culture. The next day, Monday, he was greeted at his office by 3+ deacons. “You have stepped over a line this time pastor. You have gone to meddling. We can’t have this taking place in our church.” I suspect that one or more of those deacons was guilty of emotional/and or physical abuse in their own marriages. Patriarchy controlling one more time what is permissible to preach about from the Bible.

There are numerous topics in the field of DV in which our congregations need education. In Part I, I will focus on what is DV? What are the statistics in the US and Arizona and some specific ethnic and racial data. That brings forth some key questions, what could we be doing in our churches to help end DV?

What does domestic violence look like? Legally, domestic violence is the willful intimidation, physical assault, battery, sexual assault, and/or other abusive behavior as part of a systematic pattern of power and control perpetrated by one intimate partner against another. It includes physical violence, sexual violence, threats, economic, and emotional/psychological abuse. The frequency and severity of domestic violence varies dramatically. ₁It is also called ‘intimate partner violence’ and is not exclusionary to legally defined marriage.

Domestic Violence (DV) cuts equally across all classes, incomes, social economic stratus in our culture. There is a supportive ‘old boy’s network’ that it is to be kept quiet and what happens in the home is of no concern of others. DV cuts across lesbian and gay relationships as well. We don’t preach the do and don’t of how to be in relationship with each other in healthy ways. We use the word ‘fighting’ when the truth is, couples need to learn how to have a healthy argument. The very word ‘fight’ assumes there is permission to get out of control…having power over someone else. Arguments are about hearing each other out. You might need space to think about what has been said. The ingredients of emotional abuse and threats of physical harm are not present in healthy disagreements.

An adult person has no permission nor right to physically harm another person. Legally we call that ‘assault’. So what has perpetrated that permission in the privacy of our homes. There are books, article, testimonies written about how institutionalized patriarchy gives males, or the dominant person in the relationship, permission to do as they please to get their way. Talk about not understanding the Golden Rule!

When working with couples where DV has just begun to be a pattern, I raise this question to the perpetrator: “Would you do that do you boss, your best friend, or in public?” That got some attention as to why would you use behavior in your home that is unlawful, physically hurts the other person, takes away their rights as humans? Truth is, few DV perpetrators come to therapy. A very small percentage do, if they find early in their relationship they have surprisingly crossed a line they thought they never would in hurting someone they claim to love.

In the United States, more than 10 million adults experience domestic violence annually.¹

Nationally: 1 in 4 women and 1 in 10 men experience sexual violence, physical violence and/or stalking by an intimate partner during their lifetime with ‘IPV-related impact’ such as being concerned for their safety, PTSD symptoms, injury, or needing victim services.² Approximately 1 in 5 female victims and 1 in 20 male victims need medical care.³

These numbers are startling! But Arizona’s statistics will make you gasp.

Arizona: 42.6% of Arizona women and 33.4% of Arizona men experience intimate partner physical violence, intimate partner sexual violence and/or intimate partner stalking.₄In any given room in Arizona with 50 people, there will be approximately 21 females who have had or are currently experiencing DV. 16.7 males would be victims of DV.

I share just two people of color DV statistics…for the list could go on and on. American Indian and Alaska Native women experience assault and domestic violence at much higher rates than women of any other ethnicity. Over 84% of Native women experience violence during their lifetimes. ⁵

45.1% of Black women and 40.1% of Black men have experienced intimate partner physical violence, intimate partner sexual violence and/or intimate partner stalking in their lifetimes. ⁶

We are a country with a shameful record of all types of violence. Our churches have been silent too long about DV specifically! If we are to be teaching Jesus’ message of love, justice and extravagant welcome…we need to educate congregations to this pandemic in intimate relationships. It also indicts us that we are not teaching concepts of healthy communications, managing intense emotions and fair arguing to our people. When are the open forums/classes that teach about DV? When is there a speaker’s panel on DV? We have no excuses: literature abounds on speaking theologically about DV.

James E. Wallis Jr. is an American theologian, writer, teacher and political activist. He is best known as the founder and editor of Sojourners magazine and founder of a Washington, DC church by the same name. In 2020, he challenged the ministers who subscribe to his magazine to send a sermon they had preached on DV; he was looking for 100 sermons to print. He received far more than anticipated. But he selected these: 100 Sermons on Violence | Sojourners.

I challenge each of us to click on this site and read at least one sermon about DV. The Bible is loaded with applicable stories to teach about DV.

An early book (1984) was written by Dr. Phyllis Trible, widely renowned feminist Biblical scholar and Hebrew scripture professor: Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives (among numerous other publications). One of many books available to those teaching Bible stories or preaching.

There is not a lack of resources to address DV. It is the courage to name it, teach the healthy theology and began to shift the ‘shy silence code’ about DV in our churches.

Domestic violence needs to be spoken about. Addressed. And ended.

Part II of “Missing Sermons and Lessons” will be a 1) primer on what and what no to do when someone discloses DV to you; 2) an explanation of elder abuse, why seniors are at risk and safeguards to watch to prevent that prevalent form of DV.

¹ National Coalition Against Domestic Violence (NCADV, www,NADCV.org

² Smith, S.G., Zhang, X., Basile, K.C., Merrick, M.T., Wang, J., Kresnow, M. & Chen, J. (2018). The national intimate partner and sexual violence survey: 2015 data brief – updated release. Atlanta: National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Retrieved from https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/pdf/2015data-brief508.pdf.

³ Smith, S.G., Chen, J., Basile, K.C., Gilbert, L.K., Merrick, M.T., Patel, N., Walling, M., & Jain, A. (2017). The national intimate partner and sexual violence survey (NISVS): 2010-2012 state report. Atlanta: National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Retrieved from https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/pdf/NISVS-StateReportBook.pdf.

⁴ Arizona Coalition to End Sexual and Domestic Violence (2020). State of Arizona domestic violence related fatalities 2019. Retrieved from https://www.acesdv.org/fatality-reports/.

⁵ Smith, S.G., Chen, J., Basile, K.C., Gilbert, L.K., Merrick, M.T., Patel, N., Walling, M., & Jain, A. (2017). The national intimate partner and sexual violence survey (NISVS): 2010-2012 state report. Atlanta: National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Retrieved from https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/pdf/NISVSStateReportBook.pdf

⁶ United States Department of Justice. (2000). Full Report of the Prevalence, Incidence, and Consequences of Violence Against Women. Retrieved from: https://www.ncjrs.gov/pdffiles1/nij/183781.pdf

©Kay F. Klinkenborg, October, 2021
Spiritual Director
Retired RN, LMFT, Clinical Member AAMFT
Specialties: DV; PTSD; Incest Survivors/Sexual Assault;
& Counseling Women. Consultants to IA, IL, KS, MO, NV, NM’s
Coalitions Against Domestic Violence

To Tell the Truth

It’s More Than Just a Game Show

by Rev. Dave Klingensmith, Church of the Palms UCC

I have always enjoyed the game show “To Tell the Truth.” I’ve seen it through several different versions, even was at a taping in NYC once. It has always been fun for me to try to decide, along with the panelists, who is really the one contestant sworn to tell the truth.

Most of us learned from a young age that it was important to tell the truth. Those who raised us drilled it into us. “Don’t lie, tell the truth.” We may have learned it in Sunday School. The Ninth Commandment specifically forbids lying in terms of bearing false witness or what is called perjury today. And though we may have been told that a “little white lie” is sometimes OK, almost all cultures and religions discourage lying of any sort.

But while we are often quick to tell someone else to “tell the truth,” we often don’t like to hear the truth, or face the truth, about ourselves or someone else. Some time ago I discovered in doing some genealogy research that my paternal great-grandfather had committed suicide in the early 1900’s when some investments went bad. It was shocking and surprising. Often families don’t want to face the truth when this happens. People often don’t want to face the truth that a family member is LGBT, or that someone has a mental illness. These days using Ancestry.com or other websites, sometimes people may discover that they have siblings they never knew they had, or even that they may not be the race or nationality they thought they were. Doing other historical research might lead us to discover that our families owned slaves or took land from indigenous people.

It can be hard to face up to this. We may want to brush it under the rug, to tell ourselves “That was a long time ago.” But by doing so we deny ourselves a significant, if challenging, part of our history. To acknowledge it may result in significant growth and even healing for us, and for the descendants of those who were wronged.

Likewise, the information we learned in school about our nation’s history may not always have been totally truthful. I learned about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor but didn’t learn until much later how we put Japanese-American U.S. citizens in internment camps. We learned about the Civil War and slavery, but textbooks downplayed the cruelty inflicted on slaves, and how our entire society capitalized on the backs of people who were bought and sold. We have often glossed over how even Christian missionaries treated Native Americans as “savages.”

Telling the truth about our nation’s history, especially in regard to racial issues, is important. The term “Critical Race Theory” is an explosive one right now. I would argue for a different term – Critical Race History – or even just Telling the Truth About Our History. When we do not acknowledge painful or troubling events or try to say they have no relevance today, we are denying the humanity of someone’s great-great grandparent who was a slave. We may have to tell the truth, that someone we may have admired was really a brutal plantation owner or a ship owner who transported slaves from Africa.

When school districts, or states, maybe even religious groups, try to deny painful parts of our history, we all lose. We lose the opportunity to acknowledge the truth, to admit our complicity in that history, and to see how we can do something today to atone for the past.

We can tell the truth about our history so that injustices don’t happen again. If we don’t tell the truth and acknowledge injustices, we can expect to repeat them.