Spirit of Unity

 

Poet, writer, and musician Joy Harjo – a member of the Muscogee Creek Nation – recently concluded her tenure as our country’s first Native American Poet Laureate.  To mark the changing of the guard, I want to share her poem “Remember” with you.

Remember

Remember the sky that you were born under,

know each of the star’s stories.

Remember the moon, know who she is.

Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the

strongest point of time. Remember sundown

and the giving away to night.

Remember your birth, how your mother struggled

to give you form and breath. You are evidence of

her life, and her mother’s, and hers.

Remember your father. He is your life, also.

Remember the earth whose skin you are:

red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth

brown earth, we are earth.

Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their

tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,

listen to them. They are alive poems.

Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the

origin of this universe.

Remember you are all people and all people

are you.

Remember you are this universe and this

universe is you.

Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.

Remember language comes from this.

Remember the dance language is, that life is.

Remember.

 

Speaking of wise indigenous women… I commend a beautiful, powerful book to you: it’s called Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants.  In it, mother, scientist, and professor Robin Wall Kimmerer explains that nut trees “don’t make a crop every year, but rather produce at unpredictable intervals.

Some years a feast, most years a famine, a boom and bust cycle known as mast fruiting.”  She goes on to share this wisdom from her indigenous Potawami ancestors:  “If one tree fruits, they all fruit…Not one tree in a grove, but the whole grove; not one grove in the forest, but every grove; all across the country and all across the state.

The trees act not as individuals, but somehow as a collective.  Exactly how they do this, we don’t yet know.  But what we see is the power of unity.  What happens to one happens to us all.  We can starve together or feast together.  All flourishing is mutual” (15).

It is a deep and abiding spirit of unity.  And if that isn’t God’s messy, mutual beloved community, I don’t know what is.  And I think that’s the heart of the reminder that Paul is trying offer the Galatians.  Indeed, he’s calling them to remember who they are…together.

“There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”  Remember, he says, there is no us or them, there is only all of us together in Christ.  All flourishing is mutual.  Remember.

I can almost hear the urgency in Paul’s voice here, and I’m reminded of civil rights’ activist Fannie Lou Hamer’s words:  “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”  So when it comes to flourishing for all people…we can’t be complacent.  The status quo just won’t do.  The way it’s always been just won’t do.  While there are still hungry people and hurting people and excluded people, there’s work to do.

We don’t flourish until all people flourish.  And so we must be ready and willing to take the risk—to open our hearts and our homes and our schools and our church doors to everyone.  Truly…everyone.  All of people; even the difficult ones and the ones with whom we disagree.  For all of you are one in Christ Jesus.

I’m reminded of the work of the Poor People’s Campaign led by Rev. Dr. William Barber.  In 2018, the Poor People’s Campaign picked back up work begun by Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and others to “shift the moral narrative, impact policies and elections at every level of government, and build lasting power for poor people.”

This movement works to build power, build moral activism, build voter participation, and it works toward the end of “the interlocking injustices of systemic racism, poverty, ecological devastation, militarism, and religious nationalism.”

They have a unifying call and response chorus for their gatherings and marches: Forward together, not one step back.  Those words become a powerful call when many voices proclaim them together.  I’ve been lifted up and energized to keep on keepin’ in making good trouble by crowds sharing these words.  It is a commitment to one another as much as it is a call to action.  And as a community of faith in unity with their work, I think we might borrow their proclamation this morning to find our own spirit of unity.  [Lead chant.]

Indeed and amen, friends.  All flourishing is mutual.  But that doesn’t mean it comes easy.  In fact, if that vision of community and relationship feels hard or uncomfortable…it’s because it is.  If it feels like the Gospel is inviting you to ask bigger questions or offer a wider welcome or try innovative things or embrace more change, it is.  And I invite us all to lean into the discomfort together and take the risk.  Someone else’s flourishing…and our own…might just depend on it.  For all of you are one in Christ Jesus.  Remember.

If I’m really honest with you, even for us pastor-types sometimes, this communal call for all of us to embody love and create community and wrestle with our faith together is daunting.  The heart, the soul, the stuff of being people of faith together is really, really lovely…and it can also be messy and complicated.  Especially in seasons of change and discernment.

I know sometimes when church folks hear words like “new” and “change,” people can get a little squirmy. Often, I think that’s because of a real and deep fear of losing the sacred history of the people and experiences that have shaped a community of faith.  So please hear me say: the past is important.  Deeply so.  And growth and transformation are important, too.

In fact, our memories and stories matter so much that we can’t proceed into the Spirit’s new vision for us together without restoration, without the re-story-ation, of our collective past.  And at the heart of it, being people of faith together is about sharing life, about telling God’s stories and our stories.

In my previous call, the Deacons and Elders met annually for a Leadership Retreat about this time of year as the new leaders transitioned into their roles before the new program year and those wrapping up their terms concluded their service.

Before a day of learning and conversation and business on Saturday, on Friday evening, we’d gather to eat and share stories and worship together.  One year, we focused our time reflecting on God’s faithfulness and light among us as a community.  We sang together: The Lord is my light, my light and salvation.  In God, I trust; In God, I trust.

And as we sang, we lit candles to help us remember.  We lit candles and placed them where we usually sat in worship.  We lit candles and placed them where someone who mattered to us sat in worship—not a family member, but someone who had made a difference and shown us God’s love.

We lit candles and put them in places that reminded us of God’s faithfulness—the communion table, the font, the steps where our children gather each week.  And we lit candles and put them in places where we felt called to show our faithfulness to God—in the choir, here at the pulpit, in the ushers’ chairs, and by the doors to represent serving out in the community.

And then we wandered around the sanctuary in the dark and in silence, marveling at how all those little tiny tea light candles shined so brightly.  We remembered together.  It was incredibly powerful to see the candles scattered throughout the pews, puddles of light here and there, where faithful people showed up week after week. And where God showed up week after week.  And it was deeply moving.

I wonder where this community might place its little candles in this space or around this campus?  I wonder who you’d remember?  Where you’ve felt God’s presence? And where you feel called to serve now or nrext?

Whatever the answers, I hope you’ll remember.  And I hope you’ll

spend time with one another, telling stories, telling jokes, drinking lemonade, enjoying wine, in the sanctuary, in your homes, in our community, and out in the big, wide world.  And as we do so, let’s remember to remember how good God is to God’s people.  Let’s tell this community’s stories of loss and heartbreak, tell its stories of joy and longing, tell stories of hope and healing. Together.

I hope you might tell your own individual stories, too. Honestly.  Openly. Vulnerably. And that you’ll be transformed by the stories you hear and the ones you share; be changed by compassion; be moved to tears; laugh until your belly aches and tears stream down your cheeks.  Let those stories of how God has and keeps showing up always remind you to remember to remember.  And let those stories cultivate in us a spirit of unity—a deep commitment to walking whatever path lies ahead for us together.

Forward together, [not one step back], dear ones.  We have every reason to trust that God’s has been, continues to be, and will always stay with us.  We are called to remember.  “Remember you are all people and all people are you.”  For all of you are one in Christ Jesus.  All flourishing is mutual.  May it be so, friends.  This day and each day.  Amen.