Readings

FIRST LESSON

The first lesson is the commentary by Harriet Tubman from Black Women in Nineteenth Century American Life: Their Words, Their Thoughts, Their Feelings, edited by Bert Lowenberg and Ruth Bogin

(Harriet Tubman is well known for her work as a part of the underground railroad, guiding blacks to freedom in the North. She herself escaped to freedom, leaving behind her husband and family. This is her reflection on the experience.)

I looked at my hands, to see if I was the same person now I was free. There was such a glory over everything, the sun came like gold through the trees, and over the fields, and I felt like I was in heaven.

I had crossed the line of which I had so long been dreaming. I was free; but there was no one to welcome me to the land of freedom. I was a stranger in a strange land, and my home after all was down in the old cabin quarter, with the old folks, and my brothers and sisters. But to this solemn resolution I came; I was free, and they should be free also; I would bring them all there. Oh, how I prayed then, lying all alone on the cold, damp grounds; "Oh, dear Lord," I said, "I ain't got no friend but you. Come to my help, Lord, for I'm in trouble."

SECOND LESSON

The first lesson is from the Gospel of Mark, Chapter 9, verse 3 through 9

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And Jesus was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Child, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Child of God had risen from the dead.

This Week's Sermon

Date: February 22, 2009

Title: Who Am I Now?

Message Delivered By: Rev. Joe Mc Murray

A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package. "What food might this contain?" the mouse wondered. He was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap they had ordered from the Sears catalog.

Retreating in panic to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning for all to hear. "There’s a mousetrap in the house! There’s a mousetrap in the house!" The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said, "Mr. Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it. Please leave me in peace."

The mouse ran over to the pen and proclaimed to the pig, "There’s a mousetrap in the house! There’s a mousetrap in the house!" The pig sympathized with great compassion. But then the pig said, "I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse, but there is really nothing I can do about it but pray. Be assured you are in my prayers. Okay? I will pray for you. I promise."

The frustrated mouse then went out to the field, and exclaimed to the cow, "There’s a mousetrap in the house! There’s a mousetrap in the house!" The cow said, "Wow, Mr. Mouse. I'm very sorry for you, but it's no skin off my nose. I have problems of my own to think about. If you want to hear some real problems, just let me tell you about my difficult life sometime!"

The mouse, feeling downtrodden, turned and headed back in the direction from which he came. He thought to himself, “There’s a mousetrap in the house. Doesn’t anybody even care? Nobody even cares.”

So, the mouse returned to the house, his head down and feeling dejected. He knew he would have to face the mousetrap alone. He was frightened, but determined that he would survive this new and difficult challenge.

That very night, all through the barnyard, a sharp sound was heard coming from the house. Indeed it sounded like the snap of a mousetrap catching its prey. The farmer's wife rushed to see what she had caught. It was dark, and she could not see clearly. If she had, she would have noticed that the mousetrap caught a venomous snake by the tail.

As the farmer’s wife approached the trap in the dark, the snake suddenly bit into her leg. She screamed out in terror, and her husband rushed to her side. The farmer then rushed her to the hospital, and after several hours in the emergency room, she returned home with a fever and a huge bandage on her leg.

Now everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, and they also know that chicken soup soothes the soul, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard and killed the chicken to make the soup.

As his wife's sickness continued, friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. She didn’t seem to be getting better, and there were so many people coming, the farmer wanted to at least provide them with some nourishment. So in order to feed so many people, the farmer butchered the pig to provide a nice ham.

Sadly, the farmer's wife did not get well; in fact, she died. Because she was so popular in the town, many people came for her funeral, and many of her relatives from all over the country came. And so the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for all of the family and friends who had come to pay their last respects.

And all through this, the mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness. He alone knew why all of this had happened, yet no one had listened to him.

So, the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and you think it doesn't concern you, just remember—when one of us feels threatened, we are all at risk. Please pray with me:
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God, we are all involved in the journey. Help us to look out for one another, to make the effort to encourage one another, and to put aside our childish ways. Remind us, God, that when we know we can count on one another to be there, we’ll never have to face anything alone. Thank you, God, for giving us such companions on our journey. And may my words and all of our thoughts be filled with honor and praise to you. Amen.
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Have you ever had something happen to you, some event, large or small, so that when it was completed you said, “I’m a new person!”?

I have often heard married couples or partners who’ve lived together for a long time who’ve said of their spouse or partner, “She made a new man of me,” or “He made a new man out of me!” or “… woman of me!”?

What is it we mean, exactly, when we say, “I’m a new person” or “I feel like a new man or woman”?

Surely we say this in light of some transforming event that has changed us – either internally or externally (or both). Perhaps we’ve changed our look or our hair, or we’ve lost weight. Perhaps we’ve been exercising and building muscle, strength or endurance. Perhaps we’ve changed a habit—given up smoking, given up sweets, stopped swearing.

Or perhaps our persona or the essence of our character has changed. Maybe we’re kinder than we used to be, or more patient with others and ourselves. Perhaps we’re more loving.

Obviously, these possibilities are spiritual in nature, even if they concern themselves mostly with physical changes. It’s as if we’ve passed through a black hole in the universe; there’s no turning back. The old way is dead and gone. It would take a miracle to restore it, a miracle we would not pray for.

In Mark’s account of the Transfiguration of Jesus, we are offered the opportunity to hear the story from the perspective of the witnesses. Often, when such transforming events take place, they are invisible and felt or seen only by the one who is tranformed.

But in this instance, Peter, James and John had a visceral experience in their witnessing. They saw Jesus’ essence—his very aura—change before them. Even his clothing changed to a dazzling white so they could barely look at him. And the presence of Elijah and Moses were there, and the instructive voice of God further transformed the experience.

But what of Jesus’ experience? We rarely, if ever, are given insight into what Jesus thought—only how he responded to what we assume was his experience. Jesus may have felt a newness about him after this transfiguration. He even warned the disciples not to tell what had happened.
But in retrospect, the remainder of the earthly ministry of Jesus was clearly impacted greatly by this event. It molded all that was to follow; it impacted how he would embody the presence of God to all he encountered; and in fact, it was what ultimately let to his suffering and death. It was Jesus’ response—or responsibility—to the call of God that would lead him to his ultimate destination.

Harriet Tubman also became a new person. When she reached freedom for the first time in her life, she became somebody entirely different.

Did she look new or even feel new? She described that she looked at herself, unable to tell if she was the same person. Yet even in the newness, something seemed muddled and confused.

She was free, but her freedom came at a cost. Her freedom meant that she now had to work in an even deeper and more connected way. She had to commit herself, spiritually, to growing into and becoming fully that new person that God called her to be.

Ultimately, she turned back to God, the one who provided the opportunity for freedom through her actions which emanated from her own free will.

And she realized that she was, again, alone. And for the moment, except for God, she felt very alone.

In our membership class yesterday, someone recounted an experience many of us had the first time we walked through the door of Metropolitan Community Church. When that happened to me in San Francisco, it came at a time when I had been desperately trying to get back in the good graces of God. I even went back to the Catholic Church there to try it one last time.

And when that attempt failed, three more years passed before I found myself in the Sanctuary of MCC. And as I told the prospective members yesterday, there I was, for the very first time, it seemed—like a newborn, naked before God, vulnerable, yet assured—visibly present to all around me, without shame; without fear. But though that was the first time I felt that way in a church setting, it was not the first time I felt that way.

You’re going to laugh, but I felt the same way when I walked into a gay bar for the first time. I saw young men dancing with one another, and laughing and talking and hugging and kissing. I would be lying if I did not tell you that visions of sugarplums danced in my head in those moments.

But there was a also a very clear spiritual awakening that defies explanation. It was because I discovered, for the first time, that there were many, many other people who were just like me.

I was no longer alone. I would never be alone again—not in that way. God led me to this discovery—and for a very young man searching for an identity, it was a huge moment. I was a changed man and would never the same.

But along with those changes, came huge responsibilities.

When I learned how to be in relationship with other men, I also learned that it would not be an easy adjustment, particularly in the society and culture I thought I felt at home with.

Everything changed. I was now required to be responsible to others—to respect them and respect their feelings. I began to learn to look outward rather than remain looking inward as I had done for many years.

And when I walked away from that first church service at MCC San Francisco, I was a new man. I was different. Had you known me, you would have seen the difference. My clothing may not have been sparkling white, but there was a glow about me.

Harriet Tubman called it a “glory” that rested over everything, like the shimmer of gold through the trees. It was truly a magnificent experience and as I attended, week after week, I wept with joy at this new discovery—the person who I was now was closer than I’d ever felt to my true identity in my entire life.

And my participation in the faith community demanded a new responsibility. It demanded that I give my full attention to the mission and ministries of the church. There came the expectation that once I got involved, I could never step back, never step away – not necessarily from that church, but from this call from God to participate more fully in the human experience.
These are the things that have informed my life. This is where my real education took place. This was the calling that God placed before me: to come into my true identity; and to participate in community and respond with love and compassion to the human condition.

And as we speak today, a dear friend is recovering from surgery – you might call it a sexual reassignment surgery – not moving necessarily from female to male – because it’s not that simple. It moves her more into a neutral zone where she feels more at home in her body, more alive in her spirit, and more at one with God.

All of us may not understand this. Perhaps we don’t need to. Perhaps all we need to do is find a way to accept it as another expression of God’s calling us to be who we’re meant to be. Nobody can speak to that except the person feeling it. And so, as time goes by, it never hurts to ask ourselves, from time to time, “Who am I now?” in light of the many transformations that happen to us, large and small, as time goes by.

We have each had our moments of being reborn, of feeling alive, of experiencing life in a new way, or becoming a new person. I invite all of us to relive some of those moments and to take stock of who we were at the time. And as Lent approaches, let us look ahead toward who we will be the next time God invites us to become someone new again.

May it be so. Amen.